"Sometimes I wonder what her life would have been like if he hadn't died."
"Luciano! Luciano!" she called, her voice a bell. She was a girl, young and beautiful. Her voice carried through the garden, seeming to float with the breeze that lifted leaves from the myrtle trees.
"Maria!" he answered, his figure appearing on the path before her. She smiled, her curly brown locks framing her soft, gentle face. And as he approached, dressed in the humble garb of the Italian renaissance artisan, she smoothed out her white dress.
"My beautiful Maria," he hummed, coming to the stone bench on which she sat, "I apologize for leaving you without company."
"Your consistency would be admirable if only you arrived on time."
"I was helping my sister!" he defended, bringing his hands up as if to ward of fists, "I had to deliver her wedding announcements!"
"I wouldn't be surprised if you are late to your own wedding, Luciano!" she attacked, but her voice broke into a laugh. He fell in sync, and another breeze swept through the path, carrying the myrtle leaves and stirring the scent of foliage.
"Do not joke about it so. You are probably right." He sighed and sat beside her on the bench, his dark leather boots dragging along the gravel.
"That is, if you can find a wife." She added slyly, her body leaning in as if passing a secret, "That, in itself, is a great feat."
A tinge of blush bloomed on his cheeks, and he chuckled nervously, "Well, as we are on the subject..."
"You aren't leaving again, are you? I hate these 'trips' of your's," she scolded.
"No, no," he waved his hands and grinned with a hint of guilt, "I'm staying put."
"Good."
He stopped, and he looked over to her face. She observed the garden, her body and expression relaxed. The moment froze, and the two companions sat silently, the myrtles and the olive trees rustling gently.
"Well," she began again, "what is it?"
He slipped into her eyes.
"Maria, would you marry me?"
The moon was pale, and the clouds swept over it as they were fingers and hands, hiding its face.
A woman stood on the tower, a scarlet scarf trailing behind her moonlit silhouette.
Her gray hood concealed her face, and her loose shirt was tucked into tight trousers at her waist. They betrayed her curves, but that kept attention away from her arms, clad in lightweight but durable leather armor. A trickle of blood seemed to drip from her fingers.
Voices called from below, "Up there, I see something." Two guards raised their heads, but the shadow was gone. All that was left was a gust of wind.
Her legs sent her into a sprint along the rooftops. Her boots fell quickly. She flew along the tiles of the Venetian houses, and her figure would appear, then disappear, the only true sign seeming to be a streak of red that lingered, and then vanished, in the peripheral vision of the night guard.
"Go northwest, past the northernmost tower in the district," he pointed to an old, stained map of the merchant's quarter, "He will be in his study, talking with a good friend of ours."
She watched him scratch his beard, "Marcello."
"Listen to the meeting, then kill him. As for Marcello, you do with him what you will. But remember," he turned to her and he stood rigid, "Be silent. Be quick. Be fatal."
She reached the window, her hand outstretched as it grasped just below the frame. Her hands hung to the ornate carvings, crafted by architects not long ago. She flattened her body against the wall, but let her ear lift to catch the falling words of the conversation inside.
"This must end!" he roared, his volume filled with rage.
"Be quiet," Marcello hissed, "Who knows where loose words will land."
"Those damned assassins," his voice oozed with bloodlust, "I will kill them all! I will tolerate their schemes no longer!"
"That is a useless cause! They are rats; hidden within the cracks of the city in numbers we can't count."
"I don't care how many there are! I will bring them all to ruin!"
"Save your anger, friend, we have more pressing matters that your passion must serve."
Marcello calmed the beast briefly, as the man's protests fell back. He walked towards the window.
She could hear him heave, his breath that of a bull's.
"They're out there, Marcello. I see them. They make this city stink."
"It sickens me, as well, but I need you to get me the letter."
"Don't fuss, you will receive it soon enough," he retreated back from the window, but left it open.
She put her ear to the wall, and she heard him walk across the floor. The sound of a creaking drawer and a rustle of papers caused her to feel a surge of anxiety. The letter.
"Here it is, as promised."
"Thank you my friend." The sound of fabric and clothing meant they must have embraced, "You will soon receive your reward."
"Make haste, Marcello. This business is not yet done."
With a movement, the echo of the door opening and closing whispered in the brick walls. And as the man still remaining in the room sat, another figure began to move.
She pulled herself down from the window, and stood on a ledge. She glanced over, and saw the small, discreet bloodstain left from when she had stabbed the night guard on the opposite roof. Now, she raised her arm and tested her hidden blade. With a flick, the blade shot out from its slot, the metal polished and deadly. Returning it to its original position, she breathed in the night air, and then ascended the window.
It was a quick, silent ascent. She pulled herself up onto the sill, not a noise to disturb the sleeping man reclined in his chair by the fireside. She wasted no time, leaving the sill and entering the room. Although she was aware he was asleep, she acted as if he were awake, and drifted through the room as a flickering shadow from the fire. Then, as she came to the back of the chair, she raised her arm and held it to his greasy, unshaven neck. He breathed in, the artery and air tube inflating under his vulnerable skin. She watched him deflate, and then thrust her wrist down. The blade entered his neck, and severed the tube, and gently hit the artery. The touch caused blood to explode from his neck, but her skilled hands were fast from experience. She retracted her weapon and pulled away, only having a few splatters of blood hit her armour and face. It was done.