January 2, 1500

Countryside, Italy

They sat Caterina next to Catherine on the left, with Micheletto on her right, a knife still in his hand, ready to threaten her neck again. He wouldn't kill her, that Catherine was sure of. They needed her alive and well, but this man was dangerous. He would harm her just enough to keep her docile, but that could mean a lot of things. A cut would be tolerated, no doubt, and so long as he didn't harm the unborn child or make her incapable of doing as they needed, it would be allowed. It didn't leave her with many options, although the redhead was more than tempted to suddenly lash out with her boot's heel and ram it right between the legs of the man sitting across from her. The man who had led the siege of her city—her home. The man who threatened her family and had taken away Mario from her.

Cesare Borgia.

Bastard.

Hazel eyes flicked to the woman whom sat beside him, practically lounged across his chest with her breasts daring to pop out of that gaudy, pompous, whore-dress of hers. Lucrezia, she recalled was the bitch's name, and the one who had dared suggest they take her child.

She'd make sure the cunt suffered for that. She'd made them all suffer.

For all the anger brewing within her, however, she did not have the strength to do more than glare at her captors. She kept her lips sealed tight, not sure if a curse would come out or a sob. It took everything to not simply fall apart then and there, recalling the memories just moments—or was it hours—ago. The city had long since fallen away from view, but the images were still there, burned into her mind. The smoke-filled sky was clear now, the sun shining bright, and yet she could still feel it suffocating her lungs. She could still hear the screams and howls of agony. She could still feel the heat of fire, and the clash of steel. The blood-spattered stone, and the dead, unmoving eyes of Mario were there, staring steadily at her.

No matter how far the carriage moved, the fall of Monteriggioni and all she knew and loved remained there, brewing within her head and her heart. It bubbled with sorrow and rage all mixed into a venomous concoction that ate at her insides and grew worse and worse with each moment of her reality crashing down on her—the helpless of it. Her failure. Her powerlessness. Worst of all—her fear.

She didn't know what had become of her people, and now she could never know. She prayed that it wouldn't be forever, but the thought clung tightly to her. Would she ever see her loved ones again? Had Ezio survived the fight? Would he come for her? Would he know where to look? If he was alive, had he found his mother and sister and their daughter? Would Diana be alright? Was she safe? Did Annetta take her somewhere safe? If not with her family then, perhaps—Firenze? Surely Paola could help. Maybe. She hoped. Would her family go there? What of her nephews? Had Giovanni held and escaped with Federico? Were they alright? Or were they—could they be gone?

Catherine shook the notion from her mind but could not be rid of it. It lingered in the back of her mind, ready to strike at any moment her will wavered, and it was already so weak now. It didn't help her body was, too; the fire of the battle had left her, and now she felt heavy and exhausted. Her body hurt and ached all over, and she could already feel parts of her limbs swelling where she'd been struck. Her cuts stung, and her head was swimming. She could still taste the copper from whatever had cut in her mouth. Keeping her eyes opened hurt, but she didn't dare let her guard down. It was hard, though, with how hard her head pounded; as if it were a drum someone beat upon. The thunder of a marching army all around didn't help, either. The thought of it a victorious army marching home only made it worse.

"Oh, do try to not look so sad, my Lady—we will take good care of Monteriggioni for you," Cesare chuckled.

Catherine's gaze, having wandered to the countryside, shot fire at the man. Blood had pooled into her mouth some, mixing with her saliva, and so she spat it right at him, hitting his cheek. Micheletto's hand shot to her chin, grasping it tightly and wrenching her back while Lucrezia shouted some petty insult at her. To his credit, the man only flinched a little, though he did scowl when he wiped it off.

"Even the Auditore women are savages," the blonde-haired bitch hissed, leering at the redhead.

"Says the woman who helped massacre an entire city," Caterina scoffed in return, leering in kind.

"I merely retaliated to your attack on His Excellency, the Pope. If you Assassins had simply left things be, then I may very well have ignored your little group," Cesare hummed, looking rather pleased with himself.

"If your father hadn't been so greedy and hadn't tried to subjugate the people, we wouldn't have done anything to your fucking shit-sty of a family in the first place. Rodrigo made the first move—when he killed Giovanni Auditore all those years ago," Catherine spat, body shaking now. Whether if it was from the exhaustion, fear, anger, or all three, she couldn't be sure. She only wished her hands weren't tied so she could wrap them around that man's neck.

Cesare scoffed, "What does it matter who struck first, mm? My father might have started it, but now I aim to finish it. Your stronghold has fallen, and the Apple is mine. Once you divulge its secrets for us, even the infamous Ezio Auditore will not be able to best me."

Catherine waited a moment, and then chuckled, "Your father thought the same thing, and here you are, making the same mistake."

"Oh?" he inquired, brow raised while his smile remained.

"You let my husband live."

The man regarded Catherine for a long while, his expression faltering ever so slightly. Whether it had been the possibilities of the future, the lessons of the past, or the tone of her voice, the man was somewhat fazed by her words. At least it felt that way for the redhead, and she took a measure of joy from it. She also took pleasure knowing it was truth. Although she had no actual proof her husband lived, if the Borgia had not seen to it himself that Ezio was dead, then he was surely alive. Her husband would not fall so easily, and he had faced far worse than this. He'd danced with death all his life, nearly lost it once before, and if Cesare had not skewered her husband on his own sword, then no mere soldier would have. And if he was alive, then he would come for her, and he wouldn't stop until she was by his side—and Cesare's head was on a pike.

Just like they had done with Mario.

"Ha!" Lucrezia spoke up, leaning back, but never too far from her brother. Catherine couldn't help, but wonder as she looked to the bitch, letting her go on. "What do we have to fear from the 'great' Ezio Auditore? His pitiful army of mercenaries is gone, Mario, their leader, is dead, we have his precious Apple, and you are our prisoner. If he is your husband, he must surely love you quite a bit, and if he does truly love you, then why would he dare risk it?"

"He cannot resist rescuing his dear wife, trapped in our Castelo," the dark-haired man chuckled, his hesitance from before gone. "No, Ezio Auditore will come for his wife, and I will enjoy watching him despair as he fails yet again."

"We will see," Catherine replied, her gaze never wavering and burning hotter than the sun. If it gave Cesare any discomfort he, to his credit, didn't show it, and even met her gaze for a long while. He was the first to break it, looking out to the countryside and then to the woman next to him. They struck up a conversation, no longer taking notice of their company. That was fine by Catherine. It gave her all the time to continue glaring at them, letting her hatred stew. She contemplated many things, too; of perhaps wriggling her wrists free.

She shifted her arms some and did find she could slip the rope more than before. Not entirely, but it gave her hope, and so she began to shift this way and that. There was a sharp bit on her belt in the back, and so she tested that. Beside her, she felt Caterina shift, and glanced over. The woman was watching her sharply, no doubt feeling her own movements, and trying to understand. Or—no; it was concern. She was worried for her. Perhaps for her child, too. She could tell Caterina wanted to shake her head—to urge Catherine not to try; to not seek freedom. Not now. But how could she not? Cesare was right there. Prone for an attack. She could do it. She just had to get her hands free and she could strike him. She might even take the knife of the man who'd captured her and stab him in the throat. What did it matter he'd kill her in the next stroke? What did it matter even if she killed him instead or that an entire army was waiting outside with weapons that could cut her to pieces?

A hand on her arm made her pause, as did the press of Caterina's leg against her own.

Catherine looked to Micheletto, whom did not turn to face her, but she saw his focus on her from the corner of his eyes. He was watching. He knew what she planned. He could sense it, even. She knew he could. He had his dagger there in his lap, in his hand, and it was ready to kill her at any moment. Or, rather, to subdue her in such a way she would be even more helpless than before.

She could not escape.

She could not make even the smallest move.

She was trapped.

For now.

Catherine forced her body to relax; forced herself to accept the situation. For now.

"What? You are leaving me already? Why?" Lucrezia suddenly cried out, rather pitifully.

Cesare sighed, stroking the side of her face, "I must, my dear Lucrezia. I still have the rest of Romagna to conquer, and I cannot bring you with me for this venture. You and Micheletto must return to the Castelo. You will need to see to our new guest and ensure the Lady Auditore is... comfortable."

"Just her? What of Caterina?" the blonde-haired woman scowled, her glare icy towards the other woman.

'Yes, what of Caterina? What's going on?' the redheaded Auditore inquired as Cesare sighed again, although this time with exasperation.

"Because it seems Caterina is craftier than I gave her credit for, although she foolishly found herself trapped here trying to collude with my enemies," he hummed, almost snorting. "She surrendered to Valois and not me, so she is under his charge. As such, we must 'discuss' matters before I may take her as my own prisoner. A matter of politics if you will, and so she will not be brought to Belvedere... for now."

Lucrezia made an annoyed sound, "Of course. But I do not wish to leave you, Cesare."

"Ah, the battlefield—a true battlefield—is no place for you, my dear. I need you to see to Lady Auditore. Keep an eye on her—and Giovanni's new brother. You know you are the only one I will trust with this."

"Tsk... very well. For you," she semi-huffed and brought his hand to her lips, kissing it gently. "Return safely, my dear brother. I will await your return."

"I look forward to it," he chuckled, kissing the back of her hand as well, and then turning his focus to the man next to the Lady Auditore. "Micheletto—you will ensure her safety?"

"Of course, my Lord," the man nodded, grip tightening on Catherine's arm, and Cesare nodded. As if on cue, the carriage came to a pause, and the leader of the Papal army opened the door, stepping outside. He turned, looking to Caterina.

"My Lady Sforza, it is time we depart. We will join your temporary warden in his carriage from here on out. Rejoice, though; you will bear witness to the beginning of a new age as we subdue the rebels here," he smiled, and while he was but a mortal man, all Catherine saw was a snake. She knew her fellow lady saw it, too, but Caterina kept her features passive and her will strong as she stepped out, all the while ignoring the cruel man. The door almost slammed shut behind them as they turned and left. The Lady Auditore hoped Caterina might look back so they could share one final look—to share silent words of strength and comfort—but the carriage began to move again, and the strong, fierce, redheaded Lady of Sforza was gone, left to her captors; a lioness among hyenas.

Catherine couldn't help feeling the same, though she was hardly a lion. Rather, while she had once been a wolf, now she was a sheep, surrounded by the hungry pack.

It was then the anger finally began to ebb; that the hopeless really set in, and she found any thoughts of escape were fleeting. No plan dared form. There was only a small, tiny prayer: that Ezio and her family had gotten out alive—and that they would somehow find a way to stop this man.

"Feel free to slap her if need be—she does not need a pretty face to birth a healthy child," Lucrezia hummed, eyes narrowing as she inspected the woman across from her.

"Careful, lest I not be able to help you with that little Apple of yours."

"I do not suppose you could teach her to be silent without taking her tongue?"

"Don't worry, bitch. I don't intend to talk to you beyond this: you better pray my husband is dead, because if he's not, then he'll be coming for me, and once I'm free... there's nowhere you, your bastard dog here, or your fucking piece of shit brother can hide that we won't find you, and when we do... you'll wish you were never born. Think on that, why don't you? It's a long ride to Roma."

"Brave words from the conquered," the blonde hummed, but the redhead knew she had reached the woman. Irked her, at the very least, and that was something. She was the weaker link of the Borgia, and Catherine knew better than to let that notion slide by. So, she held onto it, keeping it in the back of her mind. She glanced to Micheletto, wishing he were an easier reader, but right now he was too tough a challenge. She could only wait and watch and learn. And then, when the time came, she would make her move. She would get free, be it by her own power or with Ezio's help. Not here, though. In Roma. There, she would find a way to escape and reunite with her family.

Catherine looked to the slowly moving countryside and let her heart soar back to the smoking embers of her home.

'Ezio, Diana... everyone.... Please be alright. I'll see you again soon.'

For now, though, it was a very long ride to the city.

-O-

Monteriggioni, Italy

The first thing he felt was pain—in his shoulder, and then in his side. A sharp pain through his left arm came next, and then there was the sensation of being dragged. His eyes popped open, revealing a darkened sky lit with tendrils of red light—fire, he realized. The dark sky was caused by smoke, which filled his nose and threatened to suffocate him. His arms were being pulled by two men, which he knew to be his own with their tattered, bloodied, and blue-colored garbs. Their expressions were of defeated men, too; hardly that of victorious soldiers tugging along a prize. It helped the reality of his memory sink in: of the brute who fell to his Hidden Blade; the crashing of the gate walls; the group of men—and a woman—who had waltzed in so plainly; Mario and his wife and then—the crack of thunder.

"Stop! I can walk!" Ezio Auditore shouted, his stomach churning. He wasn't going to vomit, but his growing fear made him want to.

Mario was dead. Shot—at the same time as himself. And his wife—she had been there. His Catherine had been captured along with Caterina. The Lady of Forli he could understand, but his wife? Why? Why was she taken? And why had they killed Mario? Why had their leader goaded him? Invited him? And what of the Pope? Rodrigo? What had he told the man? Who had he been? He had known who the Assassins were and of the Apple. He mentioned blood shed between family—a Templar then? He'd known so much, and he had so much now. It was enough to make defeat nearly consume Ezio, but he couldn't give in. His wife needed him. He had to get her back. He would get Catherine back.

"My Lord, look out! They are coming! Everyone, retreat to the Villa!" one of the soldiers that had dragged him shouted as he pointed at two red-armored Borgia goons that raced toward them, swords drawn. Ezio made to draw his own, but winced instead, a sharp stab going through his belly and the rest of him.

"I cannot fight like this," he rasped, more to himself than anyone else. He looked to a group of soldiers nearby. "Not alone. Come! Stand with me! We must keep them at bay!"

The soldiers obeyed, and the battle began. It was, perhaps, one of the most difficult fights of his life. His body hurt more than he realized, and he wondered more than once how he managed to keep moving. He was thankful his Hidden Blade's gun still worked, and it was he was lucky— his left and not right shoulder had been struck, allowing him to draw his blade to counter the second soldier's and the third's, too. The men were his greatest help, taking care of most of the goons who came for them and finishing them off rather quickly. Another time, his pride might have been wounded, but his actual wounds made him grateful. It made the flight up the stairs to the Villa's front gardens easier, although he could not help noting the rubble all around. Monteriggioni was in ruins, and if the Borgia forces were still here, the danger was not yet over.

"Ezio!"

The Assassin's gaze shot to the right where he spotted his sister, still in good health. Her dress was tattered in places, and he could already see black and red smudges on her face and clothes, but she was alive. She was under attack, though, and he shot straight into a sprint as a soldier came upon her, dagger ready. She grabbed hold of his wrist, though, and held him off long enough for Ezio to descend upon the man and shove his sword through his gut. He lurched, gasping in pain, and then fell, soon to perish. More soldiers were all around, and so he worked quickly to get his little sister behind him and keep other soldiers at bay while his men helped.

"We must get to the Sanctuary!" he bellowed, parrying a sword and then slashing the soldier across his chest. His men handled the others as Claudia tugged his sleeve, urging him onwards. To his relief, more citizens joined them, stragglers who had finally managed to reach them. Yet, to his dismay, there were also more Borgia. He met them with the growing anger inside him, wondering all the while how it all went so wrong; how the enemy had managed to sneak up on them during the night; how they had destroyed them so easily; how he should have killed Rodrigo—how he had been so very wrong.

"Ezio, hurry!" Claudia called after he slew one of the last remaining guards, although more were sure to come. He nodded, racing after her and into the Villa through the rear entrance. As he reached the study he saw a familiar face by the bookcase—his nephew, Giovanni. The relief he felt was greater than he thought it would be and he embraced the young man quickly. His mother did so as soon as he let go and held him tight. Giovanni latched onto his mother's dress and let out a sob. His body shook, and Ezio noticed his garbs were blood-stained. He'd been fighting, and his arm looked nearly totally