Just wanted to mention that the historical correctness of this is falling drastically. Juan's murder's a bit late, I'm not sure about the date of Savonarola's execution and I'm pretty sure that Lucrezia should be married by now. And her husband might already be dead as this point. Oh heck. Also, the thing that happens in the end of this chapter (exciting!) actually did happen, though I think it happened in 1499 or something. This is actually just some shit that I'm randomly writing down from the best of my memory...

He is me; all the fire and the fury, the drive. The pitiless ambition. I look into his eyes, I see myself. Do you expect me to love that?
The Borgias

Chapter 24
August 12th 1498

The intensity of the search for Juan's murderer was lessening as time went past. Everyone was almost certain that it could only have been a drunken fight that had ended up more serious than intended – after all, Juan wasn't exactly known or his peaceful behavior when drunk. In fact, almost no one in the entire country, or continent for that matter, suspected anything else. Except for a selected few.

"It was you," Lucrezia said, her voice even but not calm. She was sitting in a chair, her hands on the table, looking at Cesare. He sat on the other side of the wood from her while Jane had walked over to the window to look outside. It was still early on the day and the sky had a bright blue color. When Lucrezia spoke, she turned her attention away from the view. "You killed Juan," she stated.

Swallowing deeply, Cesare looked over at Jane. "Not now, sis."

"Please." The word was harsh, almost offended. "Jane knows everything before anyone. She will find out soon, if she hasn't already."

He sighed and rested his head in both of his hands. "You understand why I did it?"

Lucrezia stood up from the table and walked away a couple of steps. She was wearing one of her old gowns, a deep blue one. Her hair was done in intricate braids that trailed down her back. "And what if I do?"

Cesare shrugged but didn't answer. He was holding a letter knife in his hand, carving into the table which probably cost more than a normal family could pay for in a year. A hundred years from now, Jane mused, those carvings would be worth even more than the table.

Lucrezia was fidgeting, her neck bent forward slightly. "Why did you do it?" This time, her voice was meek.

His carving stopped, brown eyes looking at her back. "For the family. For you."

Her back straightened. "Just for me?"

Cesare let out a small laughter, a smirk on his lips. He looked at Jane. "Can we trust you not to tell anything?"

"You know you can."

His smile grew even more. "Even to my father. If he were to know…" His eyes darkened for a moment. "Do you understand as well?"

"I think so." She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. For family."

Lucrezia turned around and gave both of them a thoughtful look. "For family?" Her voice was uncertain and her eyes were on Cesare, seeking certainty. He nodded. "It has been a while since you did something for the family."

The room fell silent, silent enough that the sounds from the crowd on the street outside the window reached them. When it had stretched for long enough, Jane decided that it was her cue to leave. "You must excuse me," she said before leaving the room as quietly as possible. This time, she didn't stay to listen in on their conversation.

Instead, she walked through the halls of the Vatican. She thought about how few people really got to see these halls. It would seem like there were many when you came here every day; the servants, the clergy, the guards. But in comparison to how many lived in Italy, in Rome, and how many were never allowed inside, it was a small number.

It was a shame; the building was beautiful. Incredibly beautiful, in the word's real meaning. They changed from time to time, revealing that the Vatican had been rebuilt over time, but it was all beautiful. Jane's steps stopped when she heard excited laughter from just down the hall.

She had reached a part of the building where there weren't that many people around. In fact, she was the only one. Well, except for the two at the end of the hall.

A door had opened and out came a servant, dark-haired and Italian. Her dress was not exactly done all the way up and her hair was a mess, a cardinal's hat sitting on top of it. Her lips were locked with a man that Jane recognized to be Ascanio.

When they pulled apart, Jane could see that she knew the girl. It was Maria, the handmaiden that had cared for her while she lived at Machiavelli's. She was smiling widely as she put the hat back on top of Ascanio's head before giving him a quick peck, whispering something and running down the hall, away from Jane.

Ascanio drew back into his room, the door closing. Just as it hit the doorframe, it flew open again and he peeked out, wide-eyed. "Giovanna?"

She just smirked. "I see you have made a friend."

He cleared his throat, eyes on the floor. "How may I help you?"

Her smirk growing into a kind smile, she shook her head. "I did not mean to interrupt." It wasn't until she saw him return her smile warmly, almost affectionately, that she realized how long they had known each other. She knew she respected the man, but did she care for him? He did for her. But when she had decided not to tell the Pope about his doubts, had it been out of genuine care? Jane lowered her gaze. "I should leave."

"Are you sure?" He seemed concerned for some reason. "If you want to…"

"Are you dressed?" Jane cut in.

"I can be, in five minutes."

She had to stop herself from laughing. "Would you take a walk with me?"

Ascanio really was a quick dresser. Of course, he had worn the same kind of clothes for years now, but he had still been incredibly quick. It wasn't long until they were walking in the gardens in comfortable silence – a sort of silence that Jane had thought extinct.

"So," she began, reluctant to end it, "you and the servant? Maria?" He smiled, looking ahead of him. Jane studied his face, the beginning of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, the rich brown hair that may soon begin to gray. "I suppose it wasn't just one night?" Jane remembered a day in Florence when she had seen them talk and laugh.

He shook his head. "That would be a shame to say."

"How long?"

Throwing his head back a little bit, he laughed. "Why? Are you beginning to regret that you rejected me?"

"I didn't reject you," she countered, smiling playfully. "I just… kept from continuing down that road."

He chuckled low in his throat, eyes on the ground. "Why did you want to see me?"

Jane looked at his face once more, her eyes squinting in the sunlight. "I am not sure. I wasn't planning on it." Falling silent once more, she walked a few more steps. The garden was lush at this time of the year. It was mostly green, with the trickling sound of water from the fountains and the chirping of the birds. "An impulse, I suppose."

"Impulses are not something you usually work on," he commented, looking at her for the first time since they walked outside.

"This place has changed me." She looked around, at the tall beautiful buildings, the towers and windows, the bushes and walls.

"And only for the better."

They walked for a while like that, comfortable with talking about nothing in particular. It had been a while since she had last done that, talking without worrying. With the Borgia family, there was always an extra depth, something between the lines. They never stopped scheming. Jane supposed she knew them too well, saw through them easily. It wasn't hard to do that, not when she was so like them herself.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that she decided to seek them out again. This time, she found Rodrigo in a smaller dining room. It was dark, dimly lit, with dark mahogany furniture. A long table was placed at the middle, with five chairs placed around it, one at the end. There were the leftovers from a meal on a plate and he stood with the back to the door facing a fire, a cup of wine in his hand.

"Holy Father?"

He jumped a little in surprise before turning around with a smile. "Giovanna." His voice was a low rumble, but a kind one. "A kind face, at last."

Jane smiled, taking a few steps into the room. "How are you doing?"

He hesitated. "He was very dear to me." Looking at her, he seemed to think about something. "Have a seat. Cesare has requested a meeting. I am sure he would not mind your presence."

With another polite smile, Jane sat down. It wasn't long until Cesare arrived. He shot a glance at Jane, offered her a smiled and said jokingly, "It seems I cannot meet with any family member without you being there."

Jane just smiled a little while he sat down across from her. The Pope sat down at the end of the table, taking a large gulp of his wine. "You requested to see me?"

Cesare nodded, collecting his hands on the table. "Holy Father, I would once more like to request that I leave the Church, to take up another position."

Rodrigo sighed, leaning back in his chair exasperatedly. "Not this again."

"Father." Cesare caught his father's eyes, returning their gaze with a hard one. "Father. You need me, not in the Church, out of it."

He shook his head, slowly. "I need a son in the cloak…"

"And one in the armor," Cesare completed the sentence. "I know. You have said so. But where is your son in armor? Where?"

"Cesare, I will not discuss this tonight," he said sternly.

Cesare sighed, looking at Jane who suddenly felt awkward for being there. "Please father. Trust me, just this once." Rodrigo leaned his forehead on his hand, shaking his head. "Please."

"I need you here," he objected. "Inside the snake pit of lies and schemes."

"Father, you have plenty of cardinals…"

"Not one I can trust…"

"…but you have no gonfalonier."

"I can get one easily."

They glared at each other for a long time, the silence tense, so tense that Jane could almost taste it. She knew that they were no longer aware of her presence and she did nothing to remind them of it.

"You have already lost one son," Cesare finally said, his voice quieter. There was emotion in it, but Jane couldn't put a finger on what kind. "Do you intend on losing another one tonight?"

"Cesare…"

He didn't let his father finish his sentence; instead, he reached forward and took the Pope's hand in his own. "Trust me, father." Rodrigo tried to pull his hand away, but Cesare kept a firm grip, looking into the man's eyes. "Trust me."

"Why?"

Cesare shook his head, not as a 'no' – more as a sign of pity. "Because you have no alternative." Finally, he let go of his hand. "Trust me, and I promise you, I will carve out the empire you always wanted. I will give you all the power that your ambition can take. I will protect our family against any enemy. I will unite us once more." He swallowed, reaching out with something other than his hand, something nonphysical. Something that only father and son could understand. "But if you cannot trust me, believe me, those enemies that you are so afraid of; they will shatter us, destroy everything that you have built."

Without breaking eye contact, the Pope leaned back. "You are wearing your cardinal's cloak."

Jane only then noticed that Cesare was wearing the red cloak of the cardinals. He stood up slowly, not breaking eye contact either. "Only so that I could do this." Without hesitation, he reached up and, with both his hands, ripped the collar of the cloak. He moved his hands downward, ripping the cloth apart until he was standing only in the white cloak underneath. Then, he let his hands fall down to his sides. "I am not a cardinal, father. I am a soldier. You can either let me work for you, or against you."

The rests of his cloak fell off of him, creating a pool of crimson by his feet. His feet made almost no sound against the floor as he left the room.

The Pope was completely silent. Jane looked at the table, the deep brown mahogany. It was only when the silence had gone on for several minutes that she looked up at him – and realized that he wasn't entirely silent.

His eyes were wide and plastered to the table, shocked and afraid. Little choked sounds escaped his throat and he had begun trembling. When the trembling became shockwaves and the choked sounds became gurgling, she began to look around the room for something that could cause this.

At the end of the room, she saw him, enveloped in shadows. His red eyes watched them carefully, a smirk playing on his lips. They were pale, sickeningly pale. His name escaped her lips in a whisper. "Amadeo." Then she realized that he had died. He was dead.

She returned her eyes to the Pope, who was now leaning over the table, blood running over his lips. Despite herself, she sucked in a deep breath. And then she screamed. Over and over again, she screamed for help. She even stood up and ran into the hall.

When she asked herself why she didn't change him, didn't save him, she didn't know the answer.