She had been exhausted that night, nearly falling asleep during her bath. She had collapsed into her bed naked, not even bothering to dry off. She had returned to Monteriggioni that afternoon and it had taken her several hours to tell her allies all that had happened. Her uncle and Machiavelli had been quite upset over the fact that she had chosen to let Rodrigo Borgia live. She knew that she would most likely live to regret her mercy, but she had been tired and half dead and just so fucking sick of killing.

She had arrived home nearly unconscious, her uncle practically carrying her as blood dripped down from the gash in her side. That night in the bath she had traced the stitches holding her wound together, frowning at the blood that weeped from it and stained the water. Undoubtedly it would scar. Another to add to her ever growing collection. At least it was in a place few could see, unlike the line that slashed through her lip. She hated the scar on her face. Not because it was ugly but because it was noticeable. If one were to say to a guard that the murderer had a scar stretching across their face it would be easy to identify her as the culprit.

It was all Vieri de' Pazzi's fault, when he had thrown that fucking rock at her like a coward nearly fifteen years before because he had known he couldn't take her in a fight. Though lord knows he had tried. He had ambushed her in an alleyway several times, he and his idiota friends. She had always broken free and clambered up onto the roof of the nearest building, but not before she had punched him in the face a few times and given him a nice kick in the groin for good measure. Her feud with Vieri seemed so petty now, after all that had happened.

Her sleep, for the first time in years, was peaceful. She had finished. She was done. She could finally put down her blade and rest. No more killing, no more fighting and running until she could barely even stand. She would still be an assassin, of course. She would still go on missions for her uncle. But no longer would she be fighting with the knowledge that she had to avenge her father and brothers weighing her down. She had fallen asleep with dreams of the future mapped out in her head. She could finally attempt to repair her relationship with Claudia, who had always resented her a little for being above the rules, for being able to fight, to travel and wear pants and wield a sword and bounce from lover to lover while she was stuck in Monteriggioni managing the villa's finances and being badgered by their mother to take a husband. Ezio had never quite figured out what made her so different from Claudia, why she had practically been raised a son while Claudia was forced to be a lady. Perhaps it was because she had grown up alongside Frederico, and that he had taken her everywhere with him.

Frederico. It still hurt to think of him and of father and of little Petruccio. She still saw them swinging from the gallows in her nightmares, faces purple and tongues swollen. She was forever thankful her mother and sister hadn't been there that day to witness their deaths.

She had been woken rudely from her sleep by the sound of cannon fire and, assuming it was only target practice, simply rolled over and swore quietly to herself. The peacefulness of sleep was already leaving her.

Then the world exploded. A cannonball tore through her room, showering her with splinters of wood. Ezio tore the sheets from herself, peeling them away after they had dried to her wet body. A hiss of pain escapes her lips at the sudden movement and she feel hot blood flowing down her side but she keeps going. Ezio throws on a simple cotton shirt and trousers before donning her hood. She doesn't even bother to put on her armor. She grabs her hidden blade and thrusts her sword into her belt before moving to the gaping hole that had once been her bedroom wall and leaping out. She runs along the rooftops, desperate to get to the gates, to find out what was happening. She takes control of a cannon as one of her uncle's men tells her that it was the Borgia who were attacking, led by Rodrigo's son, Cesare, and that her uncle was fighting outside the walls, trying desperately to hold them off long enough for the people to escape.

She made shot after shot but it seemed to make no difference. There were simply too many men. Monteriggioni was already lost. It was just matter of time before they breached the walls.

The gates finally gave in, crashing to the ground, and the enemy flooded in, led by Cesare himself. She had certainly heard of him before but this is her first time seeing him in the flesh. He's tall, with dark hair and a pointed beard. He is young too, younger than her by several years. She doesn't have long to look him over however, as she sees the man that is being dragged behind him. Her uncle. With urgency dulling the pain from her wounds, she climbed from one rooftop to the next until she was directly above them, ready to strike.

Then Cesare pulls Mario to his feet and shouts "Ezio Auditore, I know you can hear me! My father sends his regards!"

Before she could react, a gun has fired and her uncle's body was lying in the dirt at Cesare's feet, blood flooding out from the gaping hole in the side of his head. Her mind goes red. All thought, all reason has left her and all she can think of is avenging her uncle.

With a scream of fury, she runs forward, preparing to jump off the roof and thrust her blade into that bastardo's neck. Then pain explodes in her shoulder and she is falling falling falling and landing in a crumpled heap. The bullet wound in her shoulder burns like fire and judging from the wetness running down her side, her stitches have likely burst as well.

She tries to get up off the ground, to stand, to fight, but her limbs are heavy and her mind foggy. Her strength fails her and hands pull her up and begin dragging her by the shoulders. She has not the strength to resist.

Ezio's mind is swimming and suddenly she finds herself on her knees staring at a pair of armored legs. She resists the urge to look up, not wanting her enemy to see the pain clearly visible on her face. She fixes her eyes upon the cobblestones with her head bowed and her face obscured by her hood. She is in so much pain that it is a miracle she is still awake, and angry tears work their way down her face, creating streaks where they wash away the dirt and dust.

She hears cruel laughter coming from above her head.

"Oh how the mighty have fallen. The infamous assassin, the great Ezio Auditore kneeling at my feet. You should have learned by now, all men, no matter how strong, eventually fall before the Borgia."

She spit blood at his feet and a gasp escapes her lips as his iron-clad foot connects with her abdomen.

"I did not think you a man to be so easily taken. I had expected more of a fight. A pity, really, that the man does not live up to the myth. But no matter. The end result shall be the same regardless. I shall break you and then I shall make you beg for death."

Something stirs in the back of her mind, though the haze of pain and rage. He had called her a man. Could he really be that misinformed? She knew that the Templars didn't exactly advertise that the greatest threat to their organization was a woman, but she found it hard to believe that Rodrigo's own son, bastard though he was, wouldn't have been told the truth. She wants to laugh in his face but the sight of her uncle lying dead cools her mirth. Rage sets back in and her temper finally snaps.

"I swear to you, you bastardo, that the last thing you shall feel before you are taken from this earth is my blade carving your heart from your chest. Questo vi prometto. (This I promise you.)" She spat the words at him, knowing that she would not stop, would not rest until he was choking on his own blood. All thought leaves her mind, leaving it blank but for the red, pure bloodlust running through her veins.

Her face smashes into the ground and a foot stomps down on her back and then darkness takes over and she knows no more.