It had been in his mouth as he heard his door thrown open. His father roared something he didn't catch as he frantically jerked away and out from between Federico's legs. The blood rushing past his ears was deafening and his stomach was twisting in panic. Worse still, he couldn't find the strength in his legs to stand or even attempt to flee.

Francesco took it upon himself, instead, to charge over and drag his son to his feet. He'd heard the sounds from Vieri's room and had become incensed by it, if not wholly unsure of what he'd been hearing. Continuing his dragging to outside of the room, the man flung his son into another room before pursuing and slamming him against the wall. Getting into Vieri's face, he snarled, "Just what do you think you were doing, boy?"

Vieri's floundered, moving his mouth desperately to find words but failed.

This, of course, only served to further infuriate Francesco – his hand balling into a tighter fist around the front of Vieri's tunic. Francesco raised his voice, "In my palazzo, and when the Grandmaster is due any minute? I should kill you for this!" To drive home his point, he let off of his son a little, if only to make room to backhand him with his free hand. But instead of shouting again, the elder Pazzi hissed, "You're lucky I can find better use of you than if you were dead."

Any fleeting thought that his father might have had good use of him was abruptly scattered as he was again being forcefully moved. Vieri had no choice but to follow in a hurried pace that he could hardly keep up with as he was pulled along to his father's study and commanded to stay. He didn't dare disobey – especially not in these circumstances. Although his stomach was in knots and he had an overwhelming sense of dread hanging over his head, Vieri at least knew that he'd survive this. His father said that he was — at least for now — better alive than dead, even if something extraordinarily unpleasant was to come.

The wait was unbearable, but finally, Francesco arrived, and this time with the Grandmaster in tow. Their guest looked toward Vieri with a calculating eye, leaving the young man to wonder. Rodrigo Borgia would regularly acknowledge him when he was to be involved in plots and dealings, but there was something different in this present scrutiny.

"I think it will suffice, Francesco." He was particularly curt, not bothering to look back to the Pazzi who he'd spoken to.

With an almost passive eagerness that Vieri was used to seeing in his father when Rodrigo had him do something, Francesco gestured him invitingly to sit. "Then, please, gran maestro. Make use of his time. I'll be in the other room should you need me or if his ability isn't to your satisfaction." Then, turning to Vieri, his face betrayed him by showing how angry he was, "You are to do any and all things that the Grandmaster tells you, up to and including your little 'skill' you were putting to use earlier."

It took a moment for him to comprehend what his father was telling him to do, paling as he came to that realization. His father wanted him to— Vieri took a half step back, watching his father leave before looking around the room.

"Vieri."

The Pazzi in question was pulled back from his thoughts, his eyes refocusing back on the other man in the room. He was commanded to come over, to drop to his knees. Each was executed with slight hesitation.

This was for his father, he assured himself as he took it in his mouth.

It was for the good of the Pazzi.

… And Federico would pay dearly.