The Vampire and the Pope's Illegitimate Daughter

Chapter 2

According to Vannozza's letter, Giorgia's biological mother, whom she had never met, Mrs. Martina Cattaneo, was a Mantuan girl renowned for her beauty and rebellious nature. After Vannozza became Rodrigo's mistress, the Cattaneo family received considerable wealth, with a man in the family even assuming holy orders locally, and they began gaining some prestige in Mantua. At fourteen, Martina was engaged to a member of the Sforza family, the ruling dukes of Milan.

"However, she did not seem satisfied with this marriage. When she was sixteen, the Sforza family demanded she fulfill the marriage, but she knocked out her maid, took only a set of clothes and some valuables, and ran all the way from Mantua to Rome."

As Giorgia read this part, she genuinely developed some curiosity about Mrs. Martina.

Although women in this era did not control their marriages, their social status was equal to that of men. Even having a lover after marriage wasn't something shocking to people. There were very few cases of women pursuing personal love to the point of running away from home. After all, the social norms were quite liberal, and everyone knew they could still have extramarital relationships after marriage; there was simply no need to do something that might sever ties with one's family.

"Martina was extremely willful. Giorgia, you are different from her; you mustn't imitate her." After learning that Giorgia had discovered the identity of her biological mother and had decided to visit her in Florence, Adriana began educating Giorgia on noble ladies' etiquette.

Giorgia listened to Adriana's nagging while folding the letter back along its crease and slipped it into a half-read copy of *The Decameron*. She turned and stole a glance at Adriana. Seeing that Adriana did not notice the book she held, Giorgia sighed in relief and placed *The Decameron* under Plato's *Phaedrus*.

Boccaccio's descriptions of the Roman Church were far from polite, and Adriana had always forbidden them from reading it.

It was now the hottest part of the day, and just hearing the cicadas on the oleander tree in the courtyard was enough to make someone drowsy, not to mention Adriana's constant nagging.

"I heard that after leaving Rome, she went to Florence and married a banker, with whom she had a son," Adriana said. "But no matter how well-off she is now, the Cattaneo family will never acknowledge her again. She probably won't ever return to Mantua in her lifetime."

Giorgia put away the books on her desk, then picked up the two glasses of iced red wine the maid had just brought in. She slowly walked to the Casa Panca bench where Adriana was resting.

She decided to use a bribe to end this "noble lady behavior education session."

She handed a glass of wine to Adriana and swirled the glass in her other hand, listening to the ice clink against the glass. Then she smiled and changed the subject: "This morning, Branda brought me to Father's palace, and I still haven't seen Juan yet. How is he now?"

Perhaps due to the heat, Adriana felt her anger dissipate as she took a sip of the iced wine. She glanced at Giorgia, seeing her with the same light golden hair and fair skin as Martina and a beauty that could be described using the best words in existence. But she was fundamentally different from Martina.

This was a girl she had personally taught, calm and wise since childhood, the most cherished among the children.

Thinking of this, Adriana retracted her gaze, feeling reassured, but soon became annoyed when she thought of Juan, who had been lying in bed for days. "He hasn't gotten better yet and keeps insisting on riding horses every day."

"Seems like Juan's interest has shifted to horseback riding lately," Giorgia smiled. "I'll go check on him."

Besides adopting Giorgia, Vannozza and Rodrigo had four children: Cesare, Juan, Lucrezia, and the youngest, seven-year-old Jofré.

Cesare was less than a year younger than Giorgia and mature beyond his years since childhood. Other than Vannozza sometimes lamenting that her eldest son never acted childishly with her, he never caused anyone much concern.

The childishness Cesare lost at an early age seemed to have been fully distributed among his three younger siblings.

Juan was reckless, loved all the popular toys of the day, while Lucrezia was spoiled. And every time the two of them met, they would nearly get into an argument. Thanks to Adriana's meticulous teachings, their arguments ranged from celestial phenomena to street rumors, always witty and eloquent, while Giorgia, who considered herself to have a poor vocabulary, could only widen her eyes and respond with enthusiastic applause to such spectacular debates.

However, reality didn't permit her to be just a debate audience.

When the two younger siblings finished arguing, they'd come to her, each pulling one of her sleeves, and ask: "Giorgia, who do you think is right?"

Giorgia would start: "I think you both make sense..."

She swore she meant it sincerely.

The two: "No way! Everything is either black or white; one of us has to be wrong, and one of us has to be right!"

Giorgia: "..."

At that moment, Giorgia felt that if God gave her another chance, she would never again criticize the referee of the World Cup final.

As for Jofré, who had just learned to walk unsteadily, he was also no easy case.

He loved to cry—a lot. Even if he was gasping for breath, he would still manage to stammer out, "Sis... sis..."

Back when she was only seven years old physically, Giorgia had once cradled him to sleep on the bed all night. When morning came, her arms were so numb she could barely lift them.

She didn't know if the Romans of the Middle Ages had it tough, but she felt she certainly did.

Last week, Juan had begun learning horseback riding. His riding instructor, knowing his reckless nature, specifically chose a gentle young horse for him. After struggling to get onto the saddle, Juan—still unfamiliar with reins and riding crops—saw Cesare, who was only a year older, galloping across the arena. He frowned, clenched his teeth, raised his hand high, and whipped the horse's flank hard.

After that, he ended up lying in bed for a week.

"The riding instructor did it on purpose!" Juan grumbled while sipping a glass of iced wine that the maid brought. "He wanted me to make a fool of myself in front of Cesare, so he gave me the fiercest horse. When my leg gets better, I'm definitely going to ask Father to get rid of him... No! I'll throw him in the Tiber to feed the fish!"

He spoke with such venom and force that he ended up choking on the wine and started coughing violently.

It wasn't the first time Juan choked. He'd choked on breast milk as a baby, cow's milk as a child, and now regularly choked on wine.

Already accustomed to this, Giorgia, sitting lazily in the ebony Dante chair in front of his bed, didn't panic at the sound of his gut-wrenching coughs. She kept her head lowered, reading the ancient Greek history book she had brought from her room.

She was just reading about the end of the Peloponnesian War, where the statue of Apollo at an Athenian temple, head of the Delian League, had its head destroyed by someone—yet the culprit still hadn't been found.

After being helped by the maid and finally calming his coughing, Juan wiped away the tears from his eyes and turned to look at her, a bit aggrieved: "Giorgia, did you come to see me, or are you here to read?"

Giorgia looked up at him, smiled, and said, "To read." She waved the book in front of Juan's face, "Adriana probably doesn't want to see you right now, so I just happen to be able to read here."

Juan stared at her for a few moments, then snorted through his nose: "I get it, you love Cesare and Lucrezia more. You don't love me at all."

Giorgia didn't know why she had to face such life-and-death questions, similar to "If Lucrezia and I fell into the Tiber at the same time, who would you save first?"

She closed the book, tucked it under her arm, walked to the bedside, stepped up on the Roman scroll-carved dais, and sat beside Juan.

Juan was about to turn away from her but accidentally touched his injured leg and winced in pain. Giorgia rubbed his brown curly hair and said, "Juan, aren't you a little old to be whining?"

"You said it yourself—I'm still a child," Juan grumbled.

Giorgia smiled: "So why did I hear you patting your chest last time in Father's palace, saying you were grown and ready to learn horseback riding?"

Juan: "..."

He could muster every skill he'd learned from rhetoric class while arguing with Lucrezia, but whenever Giorgia gently teased him, he was always at a loss for words.

"If you don't turn around and look at me, you won't see me again," Giorgia added.

Juan turned around immediately, staring at her with wide eyes: "Why? Is Father marrying you off?"

When Giorgia heard that, she couldn't help the twitching at the corner of her mouth. She repeated to herself, over and over in her heart, that Juan Borgia was just a twelve-year-old child. Then, calming herself, she lightly tapped him on the head, stood up, and said, "I'm going to Florence in a few days."

"What for? Is Father marrying you to the Medici family?"

Giorgia: "..." He's just a child.

Giorgia: "No."

"Not them?" Juan scratched his head. "Could it be the Pazzi family? No, wait... that family has already fallen under Medici pressure. Father wouldn't marry you to the Pazzi family..."

Giorgia: "..." He's still a child.

"I'm going to protest to Father! Giorgia must not marry into the Pazzi family!"

Giorgia: "..." So what if he's just a child.

Giorgia tapped Juan on the head with *The Decameron* and said, "Lucrezia was right. Sometimes, you really can't let yourself listen to more than three sentences from you, or you'd feel an urge to hit you."

In the evening, Giorgia walked out of Juan's room, holding the book.

By this time, the oppressive summer heat of Rome was beginning to recede, along with the orange twilight. The day had started its farewell ceremony, and Giorgia, who had only survived the daytime heat with iced wine, finally found some respite. The brass lamps hanging under the Corinthian columns of the courtyard's corridor had already been lit, their flames intertwining with the sunset, making the poppies at the base of the steps particularly vivid and beautiful.

As she slowly descended the stairs, she spotted the corner of an ivory-white chemise behind the poppy bushes.

She paused, glanced at the flowers, and then said with a smile, "Jofré, I see you."

At her voice, seven-year-old Jofré poked his head out from behind the bushes and slowly walked up to Giorgia.

He had the same dark brown curls as Juan, but his gaze lacked the arrogance and boldness of his brother's. He looked up at Giorgia for a moment, his eyes starting to avoid hers again, and finally said only one word, "Sister."

Unlike the other siblings, he liked to call her "sister."

"Did you come to see Juan?" Giorgia glanced towards Juan's room. "He seems a bit tired."

"No, no..." Jofré's right hand unconsciously tugged at his shirt hem. He turned to watch the sun slowly sink behind the rooftops, then quietly asked, "Sister... will you fly again tonight?"

Giorgia's smile faded slightly after he spoke. She bent down to look Jofré in the eyes, asking, "What did you see?"

Jofré grew nervous at her sudden serious tone, clutching his shirt even tighter. He stammered, "I-I saw you last night, flying on the rooftop."

As soon as he finished, Giorgia let out a laugh. She straightened up and ruffled Jofré's curls. This kid really was Juan's brother; both of their hair had the same texture.

"It seems our Jofré had a very interesting dream last night," Giorgia said gently, trying to comfort the uneasy boy. "No one can fly—not even me."