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Toxic Dealings	By : MeffieMarlowe Category: +A through F > Assassin's Creed Views: 1308 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin'S Creed, nor do I make any money writing this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Toxic Dealings
- 1
It was a clear Roman night, the kind that called for some 'fun'. At least, what his notions labelled as fun. Apparently, the wider population did not abide these. Again, how could they? There was something about experiments that held something strangely akin to arousal. It was more subtle. Still. As he put on his gloves, he reached for the vials lying on the table. He had gone through great length to create that poison, and he really could not wait to try it. It was a variation of what he normally used – it just took more time to achieve its purpose. Should be interesting. Again, as one of his... colleagues... mentioned, it was probably safe enough to use it on the city's whores. Easy targets. Easily replaced. And the poisoning often written off as a consequence of their trade. The bright green liquid seemed full of promises in the candlelight.
Smiling grimly under his mask, Malfatto made his way to the streets. The Tiber smelled worse than usual, probably due to the sheer amount of corpses currently filling it. He would not be surprised if soon, people would be able to cross the river over the bodies without even wetting their boots. He inwardly shook his head. Sometimes, he liked to think that he did all this out of scientific interest – but he was being a hypocrite. Something that he rarely was, probably a remnant of the oaths he swore when he was a young doctor, away from the city's rotten ways. His mask muffled part of the sick scent of decay but it was not enough. He had known for a long time that whatever doctors said about the uniforms protecting them from the plague, it was all wishful thinking. It might prevent the contamination from occurring too fast, but no one was immune. Well, it was besides the point. The plague was partially eradicated from this part of the peninsula. And anyway, anyone crossing his path – or crossing him – would be in no condition to enjoy the debilitating effects of the disease. Death was the best cure to all life's problems.
Arriving to the district where he knew he would find new, fresher subjects of experiments, Malfatto put on his assumed 'helpful doctor behaviour'. It would not be a 'poison, kill and run' this time. He will take his time. Peering at the crowd, he was wandering apparently in an aimless fashion, soon reaching the skirts of the district. Quiet – proper for experiments. He thought he saw a shade, but it was not an assassin. Probably a thief. Nothing to be cared about. Looking around, he finally spotted her. She was perfect for this. Beautiful, at least compared to her fellows. After years gleaning lives through the brothels' girls, he had come to know a lot more than he would have liked. She looked smarter than the rest, her dark eyes staring into space as though nothing touched her. Withdrawn. It would be interesting to see how the poison affected her – would it destroy her poised façade? His fingers itched – he would need to act swiftly and hide, out of sight. And wait. He had never tested this poison, he will have to stay close by.
He approached the group casually, waiting as the girl stepped away from the rest as two men went with some of the girls. She had seen him but probably thought of him as just another plague doctor. He was a plagued doctor, though. The thought made him smirk. Looking at her, something was amiss. Her eyes went wide with fear, looking beyond him. Before he turned around, her mouth opened in one breathless, soundless scream as a shade fell over her. The sickening sound of steel tearing flesh. Staring back at the display, Malfatto did his best not to lash at the one responsible for the carnage. This cloak, that hood. He'd be damned if he did not recognize them. It took all his self control not to jab his syringe into the man's neck. Turning around, the man just looked at him and Malfatto could only guess what the prowler was thinking. Without so much as a word, the man darted from the scene, reaching the nearest rooftop – quickly running out of sight.
At least, he would have. But Malfatto, despite being an outwardly patient man, hated to have his prey taken from him right under his nose. Templar or not, that damned Prowler will pay. Uncaring for the screams that sparked behind him, he rushed away as well. Without needing to look, he guessed where Il Lupo was headed. And he will catch him. Self-righteous anger fuelled his body and he ran faster, jumping on boxes and catching a ledge. Pulling himself on the roof, he caught a glimpse of the other man's retreating form. Whoever stole a prey from Malfatto became prey. Oh, he will not kill him – it would not be wise after all. Il Lupo was the closest to the Assassins, skills-wise. No doubt him murdering their copycat would bother more than a few of his colleagues. And despite what others may have thought, Malfatto rather valued his own life.
A few blocks away, he lost track of the prowler and had to let himself fall in a side street. He was not far, he could feel it. He was not a tracker himself, but there are things one learns when working for the Templars. One of them is never to think of shadows as just that. He walked slowly in the dark alley – closer. Despite the layers of clothing, he could feel heat radiating – he laid a hand on the wall. The signal. Heart pumping strongly lifeblood into limbs. Right – there. He whirled in time to see Il Lupo dashing from him. But Malfatto was expecting this and immediately lashed at him, throwing his arm on the side, catching the heavy fabric of his hood. Caught by his momentum, he slammed the wolf into the wall, hearing the satisfying thud of face colliding with the damp stone. No words were spoken – not that he expected to. He did not recall ever hearing Il Lupo's voice. The temptation to kill him was great. However, to have this strong, lithe body at his mercy sparked entirely different thoughts in him. Oh, he would be a hypocrite not to admit having some kind of interest in see the results of the training forced on the man.
He drew his syringe, pressing the needle to the neck of the prowler. He could feel his rattling breath, smell the cold dread slowly settling in. He knew that Il Lupo rarely ever acknowledged fear, and he was well-aware that for now, he was not perceived as threat. He decided to clear that up.
"I do not care why you did what you did, Lupo. However, stealing my prey is more than enough for me to forsake my oaths and just kill you off."
His voice was muffled by the mask – but even with him speaking in a low tone, he knew the man heard him. He could feel his muscles tense, waiting for the moment to strike. But he was not going to back off – he wanted revenge and revenge he will have. He pressed the needle further, feeling the tip breaking the skin and sinking into the tender flesh of the prowler's neck. What could have passed as a whine was heard – Malfatto was, after all, well-known for his poisons and even Il Lupo was not stupid enough to think he would survive it. Or maybe he would? Who knows. The poison had been dosed for someone of smaller built. However, the effects will still be there. He pushed the lever, the bright green liquid driven into Il Lupo's system. A keening sound echoed, the only evidence of the man's horror – at having been played, at having gotten caught – at having been poisoned. Malfatto did not release him – the prowler was still strong enough and doing so would make him an easy target. He had not doubt Il Lupo would kill him, even if he had to die right afterwards. Instead, he waited until he felt him sag against the wall, probably dizzy from the poison.
Malfatto lifted his weight from Il Lupo – since he had injected it into his neck, the effects would appear soon enough. He had to get the man away from the streets before that – he really did not want someone like Fiora or Baltasar know what he just did. He was not certain his clothes would withstand an iron-tipped fan. He half-dragged, half-carried Il Lupo back to his 'laboratory' – which was not as far as he previously dreaded. He barely had time to close the door that Il Lupo nothing short of fell to the ground. Catching him, he decided to get him upstairs. Laying him carefully on the bed, he went out only to bolt the door, and grabbing his supplies – his antidote was nearly ready. He was not certain why he always did that. Creating antidotes for his poisons. It was not a requirement, but in case Il Lupo's condition worsened, it would be useful.
Getting into the room, he lit the candles on the table, so he could observe the man on the bed and write down his observation. He also got the finishing touches to his antidote – smelled foul, but again, antidotes are not meant to be pleasant. At all.
He considered letting go off his mask but he would not. It was not safe. He was not certain about Il Lupo either. He looked at him, pondering just how long it would take for the effects to finally kick in. Just as he was wondering if he did something wrong with the preparation, a low sound echoed from the prone form on the bed. Looking more closely, Malfatto took in the flushed face, closed eyes – he was panting slightly, as though from a run. So far so good. The effects were indeed slower to show than on his previous poison but it was what he expected. Il Lupo opened his eyes – they were hazy, as though he could not focus. Hands came to his front, latching on the bindings of his cloak and doublet. Malfatto considered helping him, instead deciding to keep acting the casual doctor.
Never mind the sudden stir he felt in his belly at Lupo's growing desperation – as though he could not breath. Gloved hands reached down, helping the struggling 'subject' with his clothes until he was lying there, bare-chested and looking as though he had barely any strength left in his body. It was an illusion, Malfatto knew it. He saw the place the syringe had sunk in, leaving an angry purple blotch on his skin. He touched it slightly, rather impressed at how easily his skin was marked. Coming from a killer, it was almost odd. A hand caught his wrist, hard enough to bruise. He looked at his 'patient', only to find Il Lupo staring back at him with clouded eyes. It was bad. That stare shot right through him – a lesser man would have given in. He was not any man.
"Malfatto..." It was a low sound, his voice raspy as though he rarely ever spoke. It probably was the case. Il Lupo was but the underdog in the grand scheme of Cesare, that much was true. To hear that same voice say his name. His mind screamed at him to get out of here and just let the man die, just to get the Hell out of here because it was bad and he HAD to get out. His body, however, did not seem to agree and instead, he was experiencing a strong urge to just touch him. He could not. Should not. For a moment, his mind had won over, making him bolt away from Il Lupo despite the vice-like grip on his arm. He backed to the door, refusing to look at the man lying down as he got out and closed the door. He let himself slide against the wall. It should not happen. It never happened with anyone, why now? Why him? Perhaps because, despite whatever he would think, they were similar. They were tools used by one man for his personal advancement, and there was nothing gained from it but the relative freedom to do what he did best. Otherwise, no doubt his body would be already feeding the fishes in the Tiber.
In other circumstances, he would say that his interest in Il Lupo was purely that of a doctor. Again, that would be hypocritical. Maybe some part of him took the stealing of the girl's life as an excuse to get the prowler where he wanted him to be? He shook his head. He had never thought about getting the hunter in his bed. He really had not. It was stifling under that mask. Groaning, he untied the straps and took it off. Better. But he was confined still. Trying not to think about it, he lied back against the wall, listening for any changes from the room. And felt his cheeks colour ever so slightly at the sounds he could hear. Still, he had to check on Il Lupo. That's what he told himself, at least – he was not a dupe, capable to lie to himself. There was a limit to the amount of lies he could get out in one go and he clearly had reached the line a while ago.
Back into the room, he wanted to go and open the window. Even without his mask, it was still too much. Looking towards the mattress, he instantly regretted his decision. Had he ever thought Lupo to be handsome – which he most definitely was – to see him desperately touching himself made Malfatto near uneasy. He had underestimated the power of the poison in that regard. He had thought the symptoms would be less blatant. Apparently, it was more than a mere 'pleasurable' poison: it wrecked the nerves of the poisoned ones and made them desperate for what could be accounted for as just any kind of release. However, analysing the situation did little to calm him down. He rarely ever contemplated tossing all caution to the wind but... the poison would either kill him or leave him so sick that anything would be thought to be caused by the fever. He wanted to slap himself – he really was getting old if he kept making excuses. He did not know why – or he knew well enough why – he walked up to the bed, staring at his 'handiwork'. This poison was definitely effective enough to be used.
His name came out from parched lips. Even as a doctor, he had limits. Even as a man, he had limits. Lupo just crossed them. He hated him for this.
He was helpless, he did not know what was going on – he was poisoned, that much was clear. He could have dealt with death. Not with that thing that set his nerves on fire, racking his whole body. Was that how people burned at the stake felt in their last moments of awareness before pain engulfed all? But the pain was real – whatever he did, it was useless. The cold air of the room slashing against his skin was not enough. He needed to know. Why? Why was Malfatto doing that to him? A wanton moan echoed – a voice he was not used to hear, as it was his own. Through a haze, he saw him – tall and clad in his usual garb. Something was wrong... no beak – no sightless eyes staring at him. In other circumstances, he would have phrased his astonishment at seeing Malfatto's face, much unlike what he thought he would be. Too young – he often thought of doctors as old. His heartbeat was pumping in his veins wildly, he could barely hear anything the doctor would say. Was he talking?
He felt trapped, trying to break free – fabric confining. He had to get free – he could not breath. Panic swelled through his chest as the fire in his body pooled in his lower abdomen. He had known lust, known need. It was not the same. Something his life depended on. All of a sudden cold leather hit him, a hand holding his right arm down on the linen. The other - around his neck. He was going to die. The panic normally associated with death in most human beings deserted him. He could not understand why. The leather was heating up, sliding on his skin. Sweat running down his spine, his neck – his face. It was a blur – why wasn't Malfatto wearing his mask? The touches more insistent – his body reacting, his mind reeling. The poison. Could not will himself to calm down. He was so close – close enough so he could reach him.
His arms moved faster than he thought, shooting forwards to latch on the shoulders of the doctor. Bringing him closer. The waxed clothes did not hinder him, he found his neck. He barely saw Malfatto – just felt. So hot. He wanted it, needed it. What exactly, his mind denied him – a gloved hand holding his back. His breath – against his face – his lips. At the back of his mind, he knew he will regret it. He did not want to die – not like this, not like a dog lying in an alley. Not like a whore craving his release. Lupo's mind fled – his lips crashing against those of the doctor. Intoxicating. More – he wanted more – teeth clashing, tongues battling – he did not want gentleness – just the raw force of the other man caving in.
A low growl escaped him when Malfatto finally leaned into the kiss, pressing down onto him. It was comforting, to have him towering over him, giving in. He was not one to submit – to anyone. Maybe now, he would.
The poison's effects were now in full swing. Malfatto had not anticipated Il Lupo's... earnestness. He allowed himself to be dragged down, his left hand bracing him upward. His clothes were a hindrance – a protection. Who knows what a wolf was capable of when wounded and seemingly unable to refrain more primal urges. He could feel an animalistic sound rise through their kiss – lashing straight to his loins. It was somewhat unsatisfactory that him, a doctor, so easily gave in to a mere killer. Il Lupo was not a mere killer though. He might want to give in as well, why not? He jerked away from his patient, looking down on him – his chest was heaving, his breathing obviously laboured. Slender, muscles limbs holding him still. He wondered – how long would it take for his heart to attain its critical pace.
Unthinking about the consequences, he lowered his head to the wolf's chest, listening – it was hard – apparently the poison increased sensual responses, explaining why Il Lupo suddenly pressed against him. Listening to his heartbeat, Malfatto risked a glance downward. He looked so painfully aroused, lust immediately stabbed him in the back. Maybe it was sick, maybe it was contrary to the doctors' oaths. Again, just how many of them had he not broken already. It had been a long time after all. Il Lupo would forget. Arguments already mentioned and forgotten. Again, his name, this time in an almost demanding tone. He knew it would have been a demanding one in other circumstances, though at the time it sounded more like the plea of a wounded animal in dire need for healing. And healing he would provide – eventually.
He drew himself away from Il Lupo's shuddering form – interesting symptom. Like withdrawal. He had seen it once when dealing with addictive substances. Opiates. A loud thud echoed in the room, the waxed robes falling to the ground. He felt much lighter now. More like Malfatto and less like the dottore. He kept his gloves – when dealing with a wolf, it was probably safer. It was only then that he realized just how hot he had been wearing his garb. His boots joined the rest – he would not need them, and really, he did not need to feel like he was being cooked. Standing there in his breeches and shirt, he realized just what was bound to happen. In a sense, it felt so foreign, almost unreal – like a dream would. Il Lupo seemed interestingly close to rutting on the mattress, his breeches riding low on his hips. He could feel the need coming from the younger man in waves, crashing against him.
So helpless, this little wolf. He knew the man enough to notice just how panicked he would normally be – but his mind seemed to have gone. He stalked towards him, this time settling over the captive wolf, kneeling above him. No need to waste time with obvious though useless questions, right? Hands immediately latched onto his hips, the suddenness of the move making him shudder. Reflexes were not dulled by the poison it seemed. Good. A breathless chuckle escaped his lips when he felt Lupo grind against him. Perhaps now was not the time to ponder about symptoms... He caught the wrists of his 'patient', throwing them back against the mattress. His face was inches from the prowler's – he could see it all – the lust, the pain brought by need – and the fierce rage at being detained. Maybe Il Lupo was unaware of this, but it was there – Malfatto understood that his life was at stake. While it was an interesting observation to make, it also meant that time was running short. This and the ragged, erratic breathes.
Had the poison been in sufficient quantity, Il Lupo would be but dead meat. It relieved him somehow. Those dark, longish hair clung to his forehead – his mouth was hanging open – inviting. He bent to kiss him, and once more he was stupefied at the strength displayed by the wolf. It was as though he was sucking on his life force, his heart beating in his throat. He ground down on 'his' wolf, forcing a long whine from his mouth. He could almost taste his own medicine on his tongue, as though poison had pervaded every inch of his body.
There was more – the hunger, the thrill of the kill. Catching Lupo's lower lip between his teeth, he bit down – not as hard as he would have liked, but it was a test. The growl it earned him encouraged him to do it again, this time drawing blood. He would never admit it – but the scent, the taste of blood – it was exhilarating. When he had first experienced it, it had been unsettling – not so much now. He went to his jaw, biting, kissing – drawing as much response from the prowler as possible. Desire threatened his sanity – and for once, he thought about giving in to it. Like a leap between two buildings even when the chances for him to actually make it were thin. It was a thin line he was treading, looking for the moment to corner Il Lupo – to make him lash out with everything he had. Kind of a death wish – but he was a death dealer, more than a life saver anyway.
He had no warning – all he knew was that suddenly, his hands were holding thin air and that strong arms had caught him, throwing him on the bed. Reversal. Apparently, he found the breaking point. A glance at the prowler towering over him was enough to make him taste fear. He had become the prey – he had played and lost. That was what Lupo's eyes were saying. He had no mask to hide his fear, without this mask, he was just a man. And a man was no match for a killer such as this. Like his namesake, he pounced – trapping him with his body. His bodily temperature was incredible, almost inhumane – it was a miracle he was still standing. Hands tore at his shirt – he did not move. He did not know how to stop this – and maybe, just maybe, he wanted to know where it would lead.
Teeth found the junction between his neck and shoulder, biting hard – the pain momentarily blinded him. He knew pain – he dealt it daily. It was different. It was as though he could feel the canine digging, shredding the tissues. Fingers clawed at his side, his chest. His skin was raw in parts, the cold air of the room whipping him. He was not a doctor anymore – just a man. He cringed as a low whimper tore from his throat – rewarded by what suspiciously sounded like a purr of sort. A sound heard in animals. Maybe Il Lupo was just a wolf – maybe not. Right now, Malfatto could not care less. He wanted him – about as much as Lupo craved release. And he did not even have the excuse of being poisoned.
His hands came to rest on the prowler's hips – to keep him at bay, to hold him closer, what was the point? He closed his eyes, his senses overwhelmed for a moment – that hellish mouth biting, licking every parcel of skin at hand. He felt owned – possessed. It was a dreadful feeling, one of weakness. He fought back – tried to – his hand found purchase on the wolf's hair, forcing his head back just was he was reaching his lower abdomen – no time for that. He had to know – just how far does the poison prevents the subject from thinking about what is really happening? Malfatto was not crazy enough to think that Il Lupo would willingly pertain in sexual activities with him. Or maybe he would, but then, Malfatto would be a corpse sinking in the Tiber right after that.
"No." His tone was commanding, something he did not really expect, growling as Lupo bared his teeth in defiance. A bloodstained mouth – one that he immediately claimed. His hands worked deftly at unlacing completely his remaining garments, bestowing the same treatment to his 'partner's' – backing off fast enough to avoid one of the boots that were being kick away. He took a split second to actually look at him. Magnificent – the result of years of training, scared coursing on his slightly tanned skin. Wounds he had mended himself. He trailed his hands against his flank, taking note of every single shiver he managed to elicit. Before his hand got caught in a vice-like grip. Now was not time to admire, apparently.
At the back of his mind danced all the things he could do to him while Lupo was too far gone to actually notice. He shook his head. Time to work. He let his hands wander, sometimes pressing hard on his skin, sometimes just barely touching him. Malfatto just yielded to the urge to kiss that wolf again – a wolf that shamelessly sprawled on his bed. In another life, he would have apologized. This was now. His hand trailed down, fingers circling the other man – a strangled cry echoed in the room. He had no qualms – Lupo would never beg outwardly. This was as close as he would ever get. And he was the one getting it out of him. He could feel his pulse – faster than he thought possible, he wondered how he had not dropped dead already from all that pressure. His own arousal made itself painfully known but it was not about him. As a true man of science, he would leave his own needs in a corner – for now.
There was no reason to deny his wolf any longer – each of his strokes was met by his rising hips, pants growing louder. He should have used that poison earlier, really. After all, he was a selfish man, no point hiding that. A sound vaguely reminiscent of a howl was his only warning as Lupo met his climax. However, he noted with amazement that his body did not grow limp – in fact, he seemed to tense even more. What in Hell's name brought that up. Glancing up, he saw Lupo's eyes clearing slightly, his lips forming a silent plea. He was truly helpless – in such a way that Malfatto nearly forgot himself. Coherent thoughts, he decided, were no longer needed nor desired. He was still faintly aware that despite the haze of lust clouding the wolf's mind, he would have Hell to pay for that. He was in Hell already.
Or perhaps Lupo would react fast enough? As though on cue, he was thrown on the bed – again. He grunted under the impact but air vanished from his lungs when he saw the killer straddling him. No he wouldn't... would he? He might have underestimated the power of the poison... just might. He tried to warn him – he could not move, only watch, transfixed as Il Lupo "took matters in his own hands." Literally. He sighed, releasing a breath he forgot was stuck in his lungs. Staring his counterpart, he just shuddered – desire and need of course played a role. But to see such raw, undisguised emotions contorting the younger man's otherwise handsome features was almost too much. His own heart was raging, hammering mercilessly against his ribs. He wanted him. Now. He cursed – Lupo must have read the mess that formed his thoughts because he nothing short of slammed down on him.
A keening sound – pure pain slashing his throat open – echoed in the room. Malfatto could not breath anymore. How could, he when such ungodly heat imprisoned him. His heart threatened to burst – probably Lupo felt that too. He could feel it – all his muscles shivering and tensing from the exertion. He was faintly aware that there would be blood but for now, he could not move. Now he was the helpless one.
Strong hands caught on his shoulders, preventing him from rising. Just how strong was he? He would need to run some- test. His mind reeled when his wolf started to move, his face a mask of pain laced with desire. Malfatto shuddered for him – he could only begin to imagine the pain he was forcing upon himself. Survival instinct that normally warded off pain obviously disintegrated. Part of him wanted to get free, to gain the upper hand and just have his way with Il Lupo – the other part, the strongest one just begged for him to wait and see. Try and analyse. How could he? He shut his eyes, concentrating on sounds – sensations. His blood was on fire, his nerves were a total wreck – it was a wonder he was still holding on. Sharp, crimson pain burst from his chest – he did not need to look to know Il Lupo had bitten him – right over his heart. A show of ownership – dominance – animal instincts ruling out senses. He trashed against that devilish mouth that was mercilessly marking him, his arms held above his head as he had done it before.
He thought wryly that maybe it was only fair – to be the one being used – abused. He did not mind. Using whatever strength he had left, he brought his hips upward, trying to break free – it would only antagonize Llupo further. He knew. Would he get killed? A snarl was his only answer before he felt lips latch on his. He was being devoured, his life force drained from his body – almost literally. Pain laced his limbs – his arms deprived of blood – blood pooling down – as though he was bleeding. To his death. He felt strings pulling on his heart – he could feel Lupo's heartbeat – he was surrounded by him – lost.
Orgasm drove white-hot claws through his body, his head – he could not control it – his head falling back as his whole body arched from the bed, driving himself even further into the hellish furnace that was Il Lupo. He could not breath. He could not see. The sudden tension in his wolf brought him back in time to see him shudder – without thinking Malfatto found the use of his arms, forcing their mouth together. He swallowed the primal scream that torn through Il Lupo, shaking his whole body before he nearly fell down, his breathing ragged and shallow. Malfatto let himself fall back on the mattress, not bothering yet with their predicament before the prowler made to disentangle himself. He did not seem to have regained consciousness just yet.
He was exhausted – but glad he at least managed to get some informations about his new poison – definitely going to use it. He got up, going to the basin lying in the corner of his room – he usually keep water so he does not need to bother looking for it in the morning. Soaking a cloth in it, he observed Il Lupo – he was perfectly still except for the rise-and-fall of his chest as he breathed. He seemed much calmer now, the effects having probably worn off. He went back to him, carefully – almost gently – cleaning his skin. He truly was beautiful, if such a word was to be applied to a man like him. He looked so peaceful that he felt like he had dreamed the violence he had showed earlier. His sore limbs, and the numerous bites littering his skin proved otherwise. After a cursory cleaning for himself, he went back to the bed, making to lie down. He was tired after all. When Lupo made to get closer to him, he was surprised – but the night was still cold and now, it was even more so. He allowed it. He was certain someone would tear his head off his shoulders – in the best of cases – the day after. Until then, he could have some rest.
Strange how a simple revenge and poisoning could change his view of a person. Maybe Lupo was worth his interest – medical and personal as well. Pleasure and work don't mix but Malfatto never lured himself into thinking his doctor act was anything but that. His job for the Borgia was not one – just a nearly-legal way to do what he wanted, after all.
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Toxic Dealings