Antonio paid no mind as he walked around the large crowds that were enticed by a troupe that seemed to be performing a play in the Piazza Santa Croce. With every step he took, his heart pounded louder. He was doing it. He would head to Giancarlo’s house, walk up to Giancarlo, and confess his true feelings. Everything next would be out of his control, but at least the burden would no longer be him. However, as he managed to skirt around the crowd, his heart sank and his eyes grew hollow.
There Giancarlo was next to the muscular figure of whom he assumed was Niccolò. The two were talking to her, along with some other girl. He saw how Giancarlo plucked a flower from a nearby cart and how he gave it to Francesca. He saw the way that she nearly swooned when he did this. This was not a part of his plan. This was supposed to merely be a crush that Giancarlo would only adore from afar. Francesca was supposed to be a Beatrice or a Laura, but it was clear to Antonio that this was no platonic love. Antonio’s blood boiled as he seethed. In a rage, he slammed his notebook onto the ground and quietly cursed his luck. He tried to storm off back the way he came, but he had difficulty navigating through the now dispersing crowd. Someone bumped into him and in his anger, he shoved them to the ground.
“Figlio di puttana! Move!” He shouted.
Header Image: Ginerva de Benchi, Leonardo da Vinci. 1478.