It was as if he was struck by a wave. He gasped for air as he stepped out of the bottega. He walked aimlessly through an alleyway; his mind and body were so occupied with the vast breadth of conflicting emotions joining an overwhelming force of adrenaline that he didn’t even register passing the body of a blonde man lying motionless. A small puddle of blood dried into the dirt around his head. He was hurt, he was furious, he was confused, he was excited, he was energized, he was alive. For the first time in his life, he truly felt alive. He walked through the narrow alleyways surrounding the Mercato Vecchio, he walked past the Duomo standing magnificently in the moonlight, he walked past the Palazzo Medici where he heard a rowdy rendition of a tune similar to what he would hear Niccolò crudely sing over the past few days, he walked through more empty streets and alleyways until he arrived at a small garden. He looked up and saw a balcony.
She didn’t notice the first rock that knocked against her wall, but she noticed when one flew inside her room and slid across the floor in front of her bed. She sat up, investigating the strange phenomenon when another rock flew in. She rose from her bed and peeked out her window. She saw Giancarlo in her family’s garden. His shirt was bloody, and he had a look of a wild-man. Then, the reality of her current situation dawned on her and her eyes grew wide with fear.
“Giancarlo,” she whispered hoarsely, “what are you doing here? You must leave!”
Giancarlo surveyed the wall below. “I’m coming up,” he said. From his tone, Francesca knew it was a statement and not a question.
Without any struggle, Giancarlo scaled the wall up to Francesca’s room and climbed through her window. He stood face to face with her, his chest heaving up and down as he tried to hide his labored breath. He pulled her in for a deep and passionate kiss.
There was an animal magnetism to him and although she was full of questions, Francesca could not resist when he took her in his arms and kissed her without abandon. After a few moments, her curiosity and fear pulled her back to reality and she pulled away from Giancarlo’s tender kisses.
“You shouldn’t be here!” She scolded! “If my father finds out-“
“Fuck your father.”
“Giancarlo!”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
There was a short pause. “Whose blood is that?” She placed her hand on his chest, “Are you hurt?”
“I am alright,” he replied, caressing her cheek. “That doesn’t matter right now. I want you.”
“Giancarlo,” Francesca said softly.
“I have thought of only you from the first minute I saw you. I want you, I desire you, I crave, you. Please, take pity on a wretched sinner such as myself, free me from your spell, and grant me this pleasure that only you can provide.”
He kissed her deeply. With each kiss, there was more intensity and more passion, so much to the point that Francesca could not bear to pull away. She could no longer hide her longing and desire towards this man. A man she had hardly known, but already loved.
Giancarlo led Francesca to the bed and climbed on top of her. Slowly and tenderly he removed her nightdress as Francesca unbuttoned his pants. They rubbed against each other intensely, enjoying every second of body contact, and, when he finally entered her, Giancarlo experienced something that he thought he would never obtain in the next life: paradise.
Header Image: Council of the Gods, Raphael.