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When they were younger Cesare knew that one day his sister would be married. Lucrezia was the beautiful daughter of a powerful man, one of the most powerful man in Rome.
And from that day, he hated that man who would become her husband. He was told that he would become a bishop, then a cardinal, then if he was lucky maybe even Pope of the Holy City. But he didn't want it, he never wanted it. That was always his father's wish.
His was much simpler, yet much more impossible. It was against God's Will, against His very teachings. A man could not take a sibling as a wife, no matter how much he loved her.
Yet every day he would watch her grow up, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight and the moonlight. She was so naive, yet it was a part of her beauty. She never understood the caress of his hand against hers was his silent way of saying "I love you", or that every time he hugged her he used that as an excuse to inhale the very air that hung about her, or that he had lived another life in his mind where they were happy together in another land, where they were not brother and sister.
When the day came that he learned his sister would marry, some Sforza lord that promised his armies to his Holy Father's cause. He meant what he said, he would kill the man if he hurt her.
He wasn't shy to violence anymore, not since he had acquired his assassin and learnt the trade of killing with discretion. He would cut the bastard's heart from his chest and present to his sister, his darling, on a silver platter. After all, if he could not have her as his, then he could at least protect her happiness.