Hi, I'm back again, from the dead! I'm so sorry for the quiet but inspiration is hard to come by and goes away quickly. But here is the new chapter, as before I own nothing but my portrayal of Contessina. I hope you enjoy and leave a review if you feel up to it.

-MusicLover

The Vatican

Cesare waits in the confessional, impatiently waiting for this to be over. It has been a few days since Lucrezia's wedding, and he misses her dearly. He hopes that her husband is kind so that his dearest sister will be happy, for that is what she deserves the most. When he thinks back to her reception, he remembers meeting a lady he danced with there.

He had just finished his conversation with Lucrezia when the next stage of the dance played. His hands clasped with a woman in pale purple, with hair like the golden sun. She reminds him of Contessina, in the way that her very appearance is opposite to the Medici lady.

"Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Can eyes deceive?" The lady asks.

"Perhaps not." Perhaps this lady would distract him from his beloved Florentine, because above all else he wishes he could have Contessina. But since he is resigned to the Church, he does not to corrupt her, and so his penance for desiring her is to stay away. He should seek other companies and leave his lady in her innocence. "Hearts can deceive, words can deceive, but eyes we can trust."

"You're a cardinal, are you not?"

"Cardinal Cesare Borgia."

"Ursula Bonadeo." They cross partners, with the man accompanying her eyeing Cesare with disdain.

"Your husband?"

"Yes."

"Is he blessed with sprezzatura?"

"Sprezzatura? Unfortunately, not. He has the strength of an ox. And sadly, the grace of an ox as well."

"And yet you are tied to him."

"Unless someone can deliver me." She stares at him meaningfully, her eyes with a pleading hope. They dance, their eyes staring into the other. She gives him a coy glance, while he gives her a little smile. As they cross partners again, her husband speaks to him.

"You'd bring a whore to your sister's wedding?" Cesare stops in his tracks, the audacity of this man astounding.

"Pardon me?" Better to see if this man is truly a fool, or else Cesare will make him regret it.

"Perhaps I should rephrase that. You'd bring a Spanish courtesan to your sister's wedding?" Ah, so he is a fool, soon to be a dead one.

"There is a response to such an insult. But it would not be appropriate here."

"Elsewhere, then?"

"I am afraid you can count on it. And I think you should leave us. Now."

"Gladly. The air is noisome here. Unhealthy. Worse than a whorehouse." He stalks off for the exit, turning to summon his wife. "My lady." He commands her to come. She turns back to Cesare, her eyes beseeching him.

"Liberate me." And with that she disappeared from his sight. He turns his head, seeing Contessina standing there with a concerned look on her face. It only occurred to him then that this was the man that insulted her. And yet his wife seemed to vanish any trace Contessina from his mind, for a fleeting moment at least.

Back in his confessional, the door opens for the and the confessor sat down in the small box. As he turned his head, he saw that it was the Lady Ursula herself. In disbelief, he wondered when she specifically requested him, there are plenty of Cardinals to make confession to. "My eyes…"

"You can believe them, Cardinal. I asked to confess to you, in person." The lady seemed nervous to be in his company. She made her intentions clear the other night; she wanted a liberator for her brutish husband. And he wanted relief from his haunted mind. "But I must confess, I have nothing to confess."

"Then why?"

"Because I had to see you."

"And I had to see you, but couldn't you have chosen a more personable venue?"

"There was an altercation at your sister's wedding. A promise of a reckoning. I would beg you to desist from pursuit of your mother's honour."

"You may know little of me, but those who know me know that I remember such things." His jaw tenses at the thought of his mother's honour being slighted as it was. "You are concerned for your husband's safety?" One would think that the lady would be glad to be rid of him.

"For yours. He is a brute, a condotiorre, the veteran of many battles. Your calling is the Church, not the sword. If you were harmed, I could not forgive myself. I could not, perhaps, live."

"You care so much for one you hardly know?" This seems unfathomable, they only met once. This lady seems to have placed all her hopes on Cesare, thinking him to be the saintly Cardinal. Instead, he hurtles ever closer to hell. For with even all her pleaded, Lady Ursula cannot dream to compete with his Florentine angel. But…she can distract him for now.

"Yes. It is a puzzle. Or a mystery. Your visage is before my eyes when I'm asleep, when I wake, when I close them."

"I thought my eyes deceived me. Now I think, mine ears."

"Neither. Bring your lips close to mine, Cardinal. I would feel your breath." He leans in, hoping with all his might that this lady would occupy his dreams instead of another.

"And I would kiss you, but for this barrier between us."

"God is watching."

"As the Bible tells us, he is a jealous God."

"There may always be a barrier between us. But if you promise me you will not put yourself in harm's way, then my heart's kiss will be yours."

"I promise then. I will not put myself in harm's way. But you asked for deliverance, Ursula Bonadeo."

"The Lord will decide my fate and it will be my fate to accept. But now I must leave before my soul flies from these lips." She turns, leaving out of the confessional. And his heart, his heart breaks, and desires. Breaking because even this attempt at distraction, somehow feels as a betrayal to the lady he desires with every fiber of his being. For even this lady who so clearly begs for release can do nothing to assuage his longing for Contessina. His mind always full of thoughts of her, he leaves for his mother's palazzo.

Borgia Palazzo

He stands before his mother's fireplace, face in contemplation. As his mind fills with questions and doubts as to what to do, he turns to ask his mother a question.

"You loved my father." She looks up at him, and sighs despondently.

"Fool that I am, my son, perhaps I love him still."

"Can it be cured?"

"No. It can be endured, embraced, and suffered. You are suffering, my son?"

"I have met a woman, Mother." He sits across from her, seeking her counsel. "And she is married."

"I almost expected to hear another lady's name. But she makes you suffer, this woman?"

"There cannot be another lady."

"Then perhaps she suffers too."

"She does. But if I can rid her of her impediment…"

"She will be yours?"

"To endure a life like you did, Mother." For Contes—no, not her. But Ursula would, begging as she is.

"You could leave the Church. And displease your father. If you dare."

"I fear nothing, Mother." That was a lie. He feared the very last bit of his sanity snapping from the desire he has for Contessina. In his bones, she is meant for him, and he, her. This momentary distraction will not occupy him for long, merely staunch his desires for his one, true lady.

Outside the City Walls

Some time later, Cesare rides towards a convent, know that Ursula would be there. As he rides, he thinks of the lady and his hopes that she will accept his advances, however half-hearted they may be. As he gets closer, he hears her voice, and then he eyes land on her. Sitting on her horse, giving food and alms to the convent. She turns to ride away, but he catches up to her, joining her at her side. As the walk through the forest, she begins to speak.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my spies."

"And they told you…"

"There was a vision, on a white horse, that rides out every morning between prime and terce."

"I am observed then."

"As are we."

"My husband does insist I am accompanied."

"Can they be discreet?"

"I see no need for discretion."

"No need."

"Why do you have spies, Cardinal?"

"A cardinal must have spies. Does it displease you that I searched you out?"

"No. Far from it. There are many things that please me about you, Cardinal. Among them, the fact that you are a cardinal."

"Can you explain?"

"If I can find the words. Your priestly collar makes me hope my heart is safe. Because I am not fully in command of it. So, the fact that you are a cardinal pleases me as it distresses me."

"I thought I would not be a cardinal for today."

"Then my heart is in danger. Would you endanger it, Cardinal Borgia?"

"I would put it in fear of its life. But I would never harm it."

"That sounds like a riddle. Are you good at riddles, Cardinal Borgia?"

"Sadly, I must live in one."

"As must I." And with that remark, she leaves him. He does not despair, because he knows she cannot resist. She is not like Contessina, who would be shamed at the brazen behavior this woman puts forth. As she should, for she is worth far more that, and he is becoming less worthy of her by the minute.

The Vatican

As Contessina left the halls of St. Peter, her mind drifted. To one thing, to one…man. And what a man he is. Contessina has never imagined herself to be the type of woman to desire a man, an untouchable one at that! He is a cardinal; he cannot be permitted anything else. But…the way his eyes, dark, depthless eyes pull her in. So angry and sorrowful at the same time. The way his hands flex with agitation from dealing with his multitude of problems. The way he gives his little smiles when he looks at his family. She would be so lucky to receive such a look. In her musings, as she leaves the walls of The Vatican, she spies the man in question, pinning Micheletto to the wall. As she approaches, she hears him speak, his figure shaking with anger.

"So we lost him and you know not where?"

"Milan." She interrupts, hoping to avoid an altercation between the two. "It is the most likely place he would go to next." Cesare's lips pull back, pressed white with anger. As he draws a dagger from Micheletto's eye, he tells him,

"You should wear a clown's hat. Come my lady, we must inform my father." With those words, she sighed. She hoped to return home to work on the business, but politics first. As they ascend the steps, she grabs his arm to stop him. He turns to look at her, eyes blazing, chest heaving, frustration etched into every part of his body. As he stares at her, the tension leaves his body, finally calm in her presence. She looks at him, concern written on her face.

"Cesare, we will find him. He cannot hide forever." Cesare stares into her face, her concern for him loosening his resolve to stay away from her. He sighs, and then brings her hands to his lips kissing them tenderly.

"Oh, my lady. Your ability to remain steadfast strengthens my will to see this man brought before my father. I thank you for the grace and courage you have given me."

"There is no need, Your Eminence. We made a vow of protection and loyalty. I take my oath seriously and hope you find comfort in my words and in my deeds."

"I do my lady. Come, we cannot be late for the Holy Father." They walk into the Pope's chambers, Contessina arm in Cesare's hand. What small, delicate hands she has. As they both take their seats, Cesare pins a dagger to the table twirling it in his hands.

"Della Rovere has left Florence."

"With or without satisfaction?" His father asks.

"We have the papal armies, the Sforza armies, our allies in the Romagna all under my command." Juan says as he walks around the table. He slams his sword onto the table, fury palpable. "To hell with Florence!"

"My fear is the cardinal would invite apocalypse." Cesare says to his father and brother.

"He would open the 7 seals?" His father asks.

"No, Father. Let us not talk in metaphors. My fear is…he would go to France, conspire with the French to invade us, arrange free passage of their armies through the Republic of Florence, through the duchy of Milan."

"My lady de Medici, you cannot convince Florence?" His Holiness asks Contessina.

"I am a woman, Holy Father. Even with my name the Signoria would listen nor acquiesce a woman's plea. And my brother would give up the city rather than die." The Pope stoically turns away, addressing his son once more.

"And the French King would…"

"Depose you, march south to Naples. His armies are hardened by one hundred years of battle with England. There is nothing here to match them." Cesare says pointedly to Juan.

"Duke Ludovico Sforza of Milan. He is cousin to our sister's husband, Giovanni Sforza."

"Lucrezia did not marry Ludovico Sforza, Brother. And they do not call him Il Moro for nothing."

"I hear he keeps his own cousin caged beneath his castle floors." Juan says, walking towards his father. Cesare stands up as well.

"He would betray us in a moment if he thought his dukedom was in peril. What he fears is that his nephew will wear his crown." Contessina looks pensive, her mind thinking of possible futures that could come about.

"Well, perhaps we should threaten him with just that possibility. And you should go to Florence, tease out their intentions. Piero de Medici have a preacher, Savonarola, who accuses him of usury. Perhaps we should offer them an excommunication…public burning if they support our just cause." Contessina looks startled by this, but Cesare sends her a look to keep quiet. As the Holy Father leaves, Contessina gets up to leave as well. In the hall, Cesare catches up to her.

"My lady, I would ask for your company and insight on my trip to your fair city. Perhaps your presence would help matters there." Contessina laughs bitterly at that remark.

"I am afraid not, Your Eminence. If I were to enter the city, the guards would arrest me and send me back to my brother."

"Surely your brother would not dare—"

"Oh yes, he would. I have humiliated him; I have done what no other Medici has done not even my great grandfather Cosimo. I have established a branch of the bank in Rome, with the approval of the Papacy. And I did it by fleeing in the night, disobeying my head of house. So, no, Your Eminence, I cannot come." Cesare face tenses, the thought of her cowardly brother taking her away from him makes him want to tear him apart with his bare hands. this noble lady, who has helped his family through immense struggle and has risen above any other man by sheer wit alone. Her brother does not deserve her nor deserves to touch her.

"I understand, my lady. Allow me to ask for your counsel, where should I go first, who should I meet." She smiles up at him her eyes glistening in the candlelight.

"Go to the cathedral my family finished. There is a Friar who you need to listen to, if only to see how mad he is. You might chance upon a man in my family's service, who would listen to your concerns and may offer some insight. For he promotes my family and my brother as long as he too is promoted." He kisses her head in thanks, grateful for all she has done him.

"Thank you, beloved lady. With these words I leave for your fair city. Try not to get into trouble when I am gone."

"But you take all the trouble when you leave, Your Eminence."

"I am trouble, am I?" She smirks at him, mirth dancing in her eyes.

"But of course, you are, my lord cardinal. But all the best things are." She steals away from him then, gone on the wings of shadows. And as he leaves his Rome and his Lady, he longs for her even more.

Florence

When Cesare arrives in the city, a mass is taking place at the cathedral that Contessina helped finish. As he stands in the crowd he hears Savonarola, preaching against the vices of nobility and vanity. He feels a body come close and stand beside him.

"It was rumored a cardinal had graced Florence with his presence."

"You are?"

"Niccolo Machiavelli. Ambassador to the House of Medici."

"Does that include all Medici or just Piero."

"Lady Contessina is just as fierce as her namesake. I would gladly serve her if she would ever return to Florence, but I fear her place is no longer here."

"Why say that?"

"Because she has done all she can for Florence, and she can do more for Rome. No, she must stay in the arms of the Papacy. No man, friar or member of the Signoria, would accept her leadership, fools as they are."

"This friar would have my lady's Florence burned to the ground."

"Not quite. He would reduce us to his own status."

"Which is?"

"A pile of straw on a monastery floor. He disapproves of display, ornament, artistry. Even comfort."

"Perhaps Cardinal Cesare Borgia can be of some help."

"He would meet with my master, Piero de Medici?"

"No. He would meet with you, Ambassador."

"Ah, a conspiracy then."

"No. More like an inquisition."

"Perhaps you should follow me." They take their leave of the cathedral, entering a villa and walking its halls. Cesare speaks to Machiavelli again.

"Another cardinal came through here some days ago. He left his mark, I believe, on a confessional door."

"There was a friar found murdered. But that cardinal claimed to be a man of peace."

"We all do, Signor Machiavelli."

"You make the same claims?"

"For the moment. But I would hazard, if this cardinal passed through Florence, he did more than pinion a medicant friar to a confessional door."

"You would?"

"Yes, I would hazard he met with the Florentine ambassador and his master, de Medici."

"And if he did?"

"I would hazard there was a purpose to that meeting."

"The purpose being?"

"That Florence unties with his cause."

"No. On the contrary. He asked for nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Or, to be more specific, he asked that Florence…do… nothing."

"He requested that Florence do nothing, in the event of a great something."

"You are far too clever for a cardinal."

"The times have made me so. He requested that Florence do nothing and allow a great passage of arms through its republic."

"Perhaps."

"And Florence promised him?"

"Why should I tell you what Florence told him?"

"Because you serve the Medici, and my lady would be much displeased if Florence were harmed. And I could perhaps ensure that instead of her beautiful Florence, Friar Savonarola himself burns."

"Hmph! An impressive offer."

"So, Florence offered the good cardinal?"

"What he offered Florence. Nothing." Machiavelli turns away, but Cesare grabs his arm.

"So, the arms of France cannot pass through your fair republic?"

"In a sentence. And if these times have made you clever, the coming months may thrust genius upon you." With that, Machiavelli walks away. Cesare considered the implications of his words, and worries about the possibility of France, and an invasion.

Rome

Upon returning to Rome, Cesare seeks out Contessina, hoping to inform her of the goings of Florence. He goes to her palazzo, seeing her in her gardens with a book in her hand quietly reading its contents. As he looks on her his breath is taken away from him. the way the sunlight hits her hair turning a rich brown into a sundering auburn. The way she nibbles on her fingers as she reads, the way she tilts her head as she absorbs a new piece of information. He knows he is utterly lost on her, but both shame and desire compel him to stay away, for now.

"My lady, I am sorry to disturb your rest."

"You do not disturb at all, Your Eminence. You have returned from your journey?"

"Indeed, my lady."

"And did Machiavelli tell you then?"

"That Florence gives both us and Della Rovere the same answer; nothing."

"Typical of Piero, and of the Signoria. Well, I am glad you made it back safely, Your Eminence. Although it seems even with you gone trouble was still afoot."

"Oh?"

"It seems that Ursula Bonadeo is supporting a nasty bruise upon her face." He bares his teeth in anger. Oh yes, she knew of him and woman. She has spies just as well as him. "I would caution, Your Eminence, any action taken in haste. Might be more trouble than it is worth."

"I still need to make him pay."

"For what? Striking his wife? He is well within his rights to do so."

"And you would tolerate such a thing?"

Of course not. But Ursula Bonadeo and I are quite different." He knows. How can he not know that even with his anger against Bonadeo for striking the woman he is entangled with, she is far more superior on this earth, save for his sister and mother. She who lights his skies and haunts his nights. Still, this cannot go unpunished. He takes her hand and places a gentle kiss on it.

"If you excuse me, my dearest lady."

"Of course, my lord cardinal." He leaves her then, not know that she stares at him as he leaves. He traverses the streets of the city, searching for Ursula. He spies her collecting alms to distribute. As she pays a vendor, he speaks to her.

"You have no servants?"

"Some tasks one must perform oneself."

"Such as?"

"Distribution of alms. In the convent of St. Cecilia, there are many hungry souls."

"I stand in awe, Ursula Bonadeo."

"Of what? Of loaves of bread?"

"Of goodness." She is good, and yet more naïve than Contessina. Because Ursula stills thinks that Cesare is a good man. He is not.

"Would that I were good."

"Do not move so quickly. What is that mark under that veil?" So Contessina was right, he did strike her. Another mark against him, and another mark to exact vengeance upon.

"I beg you, heed it not. It is in his nature."

"So it seems."

"And it is not in yours. So, heed it not." How little she knows him. "Forget him and forget me." She turns, walking away from him in the crowd. He catches her arm, pulling her into an alcove. He pushes her against the wall, her bosom heaving with exertion.

"You cannot stand for this."

"The groom saw. The groom talked. My husband struck. It is what husbands do."

"You must free yourself." She pants, inching ever closer to him.

"He rides to Ostia tomorrow night. For 2 days, I will be free." She kisses him quickly, then flees. He stares after her and formulates his plan. But first, he will need Micheletto.

The Vatican

In the depth of the Castello, Cesare waits for his servant among the arches of the passageway. He has to do this. The man besmirched his mother's honour, and struck his own wife. Insults delt upon the women he considers his. And, perhaps, another. The man also insulted Contessina, heavily implying that she was only good as a whore. So, three crimes, all compounded, and Cesare's fury is primed to spark. His thoughts are interrupted as he hears Micheletto approach.

"You requested these, Your Eminence."

"Yes. Since I have become eminent, I have grown indolent."

"I believe one goes with the other, Your Eminence."

"Call me Borgia this good morning. And I shall call you baron."

"Baron?"

"Yes. I made a promise to a favoured lady that I would not put myself in harm's way. So…put me in harm's way." They begin, their swords ringing as the steel clashes against each other. "Come on, Baron, I would see your best." A few well-timed maneuvers, and Micheletto has Cesare pinned against the wall with his sword on the nape of his neck.

"Now, my best would break your promise, Borgia."

"Show me then." Their swords dance once more, twirling, the blades slicing the air as it moves. Cesare manages to incapacitate Micheletto, only for Micheletto to grapple with Cesare before bringing a dagger to his throat. Micheletto lets him go slowly, holding out the dagger to see.

"One blade is never enough, Your Eminence."

"Yes. And eminence has dulled my edge. Again." And it begins anew. After some time, they stop, and head back to the upper halls of the Vatican. A servant tells Cesare his father summons him to his chambers. As he enters, he sees Contessina standing beside his father, both looking up to greet him. The Holy takes Cesare's arm, pulling him towards the balcony.

"Cardinal Sforza was most distressed. Apparently, Ludovico's nephew dropped dead right in front of him at the duke's table."

"Poison."

"So it is rumoured. Gluttony, it is said. But the result's the same. If the French army moves, it will have free passage through Milan. And the only force to stop it will be Florence. And Florence can hardly stand alone. No, I think it might be time to give Naples what they want."

"An alliance?"

"Better than that. A wedding!"

"Who this time, Father? Me?" The Pope chuckles then turns back to his chambers. Cesare stares out into the city, pondering the ramifications of such an alliance. Contessina walks to stand beside him, resting her arms on the edge.

"The alliance will not last." She says to him.

"Why would Naples risk it?"

"Not that alliance; well, eventually that alliance. No, I mean the alliance with the Sforzas. Now that Ludovico will open his borders, Caterina will stay out of the conflict because it would benefit her if your father were deposed. Giovanni will follow Caterina, and Lucrezia will have been married for nothing. And that mean she is in danger."

"Shall I send for her then? Since this alliance is at an end?"

"For now, Lucrezia is safe. But once the French invade, she needs to come home." Contessina shifts her posture, aching after a long day. She stares at his face, seeing all there is to see in his eyes. "You are going to kill him, the Baron."

"And how do you know this?"

"Because you already wanted to kill him after he insulted your mother, Ursula was just an added insult back."

"And you. He insulted you. I cannot let that stand either."

"You cannot fight my battles for me, Your Eminence."

"We both swore oaths to each other, this is how I fulfill mine, my lady."

"Then fight him, Your Eminence. And grind him into the dust and let him be forgotten from both our minds." Then he takes her head in his hands, looking into her eyes. And something, both knowing what it is but remaining unspoken, passes between them. His thumbs drifts to her lips, tugging gently on her mouth. She sighs and leans her head into his palm.

"Your lips…" And in an instant, he is gone. Disappearing into shadow. Her breath failing, she leans on the balcony, dizzy from the closes which she just endured. And she knows, in her heart, that some resolute line has been crossed…

…and for some reason, she cannot seem to care.

The Bonadeo Residence

In the darkness, Cesare and Micheletto observe Bonadeo as he prepares to leave. Cesare's resolve is unquestionable, steadfast in the enormous fury welling within him. And as he dreams of how this encounter will go, Micheletto implores him one last time.

"You should let me deal with him, Your Eminence."

"Did he insult your mother?"

"Then we should both do it."

"Where would the valour be in that? Or the pleasure? No. I shall do this…alone." He goes to stand in the street, just as Bonadeo come around the corner on his horse. The rain pouring down hinders him, so he takes of his cloak as Bonadeo speaks.

"You, Cardinal, have been nosing round my wife."

"And you, Baron, slandered my mother."

"You mean the Spanish whore?" Cesare finally draws his sword.

"I mean my mother."

"From the whorehouse to the Vatican is quite a journey, after all, the Medici is the most teasing of them all. Tell me, is she good in your bed? No matter, for this ends here." Bonadeo charges him, but Cesare makes his horse rear, throwing off the man. Bonadeo regains his footing, but to no avail. Cesare is a master of the sword, and in a few moves, plunges his dagger in his neck. As Bonadeo's weight goes dead, Cesare drops with him, from exhaustion or adrenaline, he does not know. As Bonadeo breathes his last, Cesare speaks to him.

"Your wife prayed for liberation. Libera me domine de morte aeterna." The dagger rips through his neck as Cesare pulls it out. As he shoves the body off him, Micheletto comes to assist him.

"You never forget your first. Lift!"

"I felt the life go from him."

"Better him than you, But at least you are still breathing." As they lift the body, Cesare cannot seem to keep him mouth closed.

"Was I in harm's way, Micheletto?"

"Not for a moment, Your Eminence." They lugged the body to the Tiber, hoping her waters will conceal the crime, for the time. "You killed this man with grace, Your Eminence. You should be proud."

"Will I be thanked for it?"

"In my experience, one rarely is."

"A thankless task then."

"The river will be grateful for him, Your Eminence. It loves a skewered corpse." With this, Cesare throws his sword in the river, panting, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. He did this for his mother. He did this for him. And he…

He…

He did this for his love.