AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

4. A Broken Brotherhood

Part Four: A Broken Brotherhood

Ezio realized after leaving the warehouse that he didn't know where to start. He had no idea where the Roman Thieves' Guild was located, and the mercenaries could be anywhere in the countryside. He didn't know specifically where the brothel the Assassins used was, either, and he made a face as he realized he had nowhere to go.

That didn't mean he didn't have something to do, however, and so he walked around the tiny island, familiarizing himself with the buildings and noting the shops that were open and the shops that were closed or run down. A smithy was attached to the warehouse, a bank not far – he would have to visit that the next day; he still had no coin in his purse. His shoulder throbbed and his energy seeped out of him, but that didn't stop him from deliberately starting up conversations with the people that were out and doing last minute shopping or shuffling home, putting on the charm and making his presence known. When everything was closed, he went back into the now empty warehouse and lit a candle at the ornate desk, sifting through drawers before he found quill and parchment and began making lists.

Finances came first, he needed to talk to that banker and set up his accounts. Most of his plans needed access to money. Favors came next – nothing exuberant; at least, not yet. He needed a better assessment of people first, meaning he needed to be more familiar with the city. A map, he needed to dig up a map. Borgia towers; he underlined that several times, adding the word "symbols" next to it in broad, heavy letters. Contacts were next, he needed to find the brothel first, it was probably the closest and he was in no condition to go gallivanting about the city as he had that day. He grimaced at the thought of setting back his recovery and did not want to do that again.

There were other things on the list as well, larger priorities: finding Caterina Sforza, finding the Apple, locating Cesare after the attack, getting eyes on the Pope, planting spies in the papacy. Machiavelli seemed to have a strong start on that front, diplomat as he was, but Ezio didn't want to leave everything to his fellow Florentine; the man was too set in his own ways, Ezio feared he wouldn't adapt as need be.

Food, too. And furniture and supplies for the warehouse, maybe a stable for horses? But then there was feed and upkeep for that as well, and...

It was no surprise when Ezio fell asleep at his desk, ink smearing his cheek.

When he woke his shoulder utterly hated him from the prone position he had put himself, and he downed more of that terrible tasting potion to help with the pain. He made a more concerted effort to stretch out the arm, trying to limber up the torn and abused muscles.

A week; he'd give himself a week to heal and then he would try to find the brothel, by then he should be past the worst of the pain and able to move about without worry of doing more damage. Once he was satisfied he was out the door again, foregoing breakfast and going straight to the bank. After dropping Machiavelli's name, a man named Matteo ushered him to a back room, and Ezio explained his needs.

"Messere, I must admit, I've never heard of such an account before."

"I'd be worried if you did," he said with easy charm. "If my banker survived the attack, he'll contact you quickly and things will go much smoother. If not..." His voice trailed off, thinking about falling ramparts and burning streets and powder and cannon and siege engine and shots and Ulderico and Mario and... He shook his head, taking a deep, oddly shaky breath. "If not, I will show you how it's done," he said softly. "In the meantime, I need some simple pocket money, which means I need to set up a shell account and then link it to my other funds."

"But how do I keep it off the books?"

And so one (former) banker educated another in the fine art of shell accounts and shadow transactions and how to hide them. Claudia was more adept at this than he, to be honest, but he would prefer to do the work himself if it meant his sister and mother and niece were all safe in Florence. He looked north, to where the city would be, and wondered how they were doing. With Machiavelli here, they would have sought Paola, and she and Annetta would ensure they were well looked after. So long as they were safe... The reassurance gave him strength, and he took a deep breath and rubbed his injured shoulder.

His money was sparse indeed, but after three hours of searching to find a carpenter that was not only open, but also of any quality, he placed his orders to furnish the empty warehouse he was now calling home. A bed, another desk, a weapon rack, some chairs. Ezio didn't need much – he couldn't afford much – but he didn't need much to survive, and he bought only enough to set up a comfortable room to sleep. Cartographers were virtually nonexistent in Rome, and so he realized with some annoyance that he would have to make his own. Leonardo had shown him how, and he realized his near future would involve a lot of climbing. He rolled his shoulder and moaned at the thought. The two stitches on his side also reminded him it was a bad idea.

For the next several days, he followed a similar pattern. His secret accounts had an adequate sum of money, but he knew better than anyone how quickly florins disappeared – he remembered his first few years in Monteriggioni and how he had been forced to loot tombs to make ends meet and have enough finances to renovate the small city. With Monteriggioni destroyed, he had no income coming in, and he had to be more than frugal with his earnings. How would he get money in Rome...? The people here had no money to spend, let alone donate. He could invest the guilds, Antonio and the other Assassins were always generous with their allies, but first he had to find them. What about a public front...?

Ah, but he needed money for that, as well. He ran a hand through his hair under his hood.

"I have grown complacent, it seems," he muttered to himself, standing on the bridge connecting the Tiber Island to Rome, he still didn't know its name yet.

When he had first started out in becoming an Assassin, he'd had nothing. The Pazzi had murdered his family, had seized all his assets, and left him literally with just the clothes on his back; but he had had Mario, and Monteriggioni. Even as low as they had started, the Auditore family had started with something, and Ezio was only just beginning to realize he now literally had nothing. No income, barely any finances, and no Zio Mario to go to.

Mario...

Ear and bone flying, the scuffled sounds of a brutal fight, Ulderico kissing Claudia, Mario going for a horse.

"We stand together!"

"Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told different."

...

Merda.

Merda!

"Merda!"

Ezio pounded his fist into the rail of the bridge, startling several people.

He had enough presence of mind to know that he did not want the public to witness the breakdown he was about to have, and so he stormed back over the bridge, navigating the crowds with as much decorum he could muster and going back to the warehouse. Once he was safely locked in the cavernous space and many rooms, he pulled out his sword and recklessly bashed it against a stone column, heedless of what it would do to his shoulder. After that first visceral swing, he practiced forms on the only "dummy" the warehouse had, working until the anger and energy spilled out of him.

Ezio had always been like this. Even when he was younger the impatience and the anger at the death of his family would drive him to desperation and reckless abandon. It had almost gotten him killed, once, and since then he had learned to temper it when he could, but sometimes... Sometimes... He just had to fight it out of him.

… Ulderico loved those days.

"MERDA!"

When it finally left him, he sank to his knees, panting. Sweat bead down his brow and in his hair, and his breath came out in short, sharp gasps. Tears were mixed in as well, but he paid them no notice. He sobbed, falling asleep on the stone floor and mourning his losses.

---

Waking next brought him shivers and agony in his shoulder. He cursed himself for his idiocy and got up slowly. The stone pillar had a significant number of chips in it, he winced at his work. The sword, of course, had no nicks, constructed by the great Altair himself and as impervious as his armor had once been.

Sighing, he went out into the streets and silently stole a horse, riding north to the city wall and the doctor, Dante.

"What did you do in the last four days?" he demanded. "Start a massacre?"

Ezio winced. "I have been left little time to rest," he said, his usual ironic tone absent.

"And just who are you working for that you need to rip your arm off of your very body?" Dante demanded, touching and probing and rubbing salve over the ripped hole in his shoulder.

Ezio was prevented from answering by a heavy knock on the door. One of the patients answered, and both Ezio and the doctor stiffened when they heard the shrill cry, "Borgia!"

Everyone scattered, tripping over themselves to get away. Even through the plague mask Ezio could see the doctor lose all color, and the Master Assassin quickly grabbed him and shoved him under a table, throwing a cloth over it and grabbing a roll of bandages and unrolling them. No sooner had he made his cover that the door burst open and a city guard in red uniform stormed in.

Ezio gave a level look. "Can I help you?" he asked in a low, deceptively neutral tone.

"Are you the doctor that works here?" the man, a captain, demanded.

"What if I were?" he countered, ripping the bandage off and wadding it together to press into his injury. The level of motion required was murder on his injury but he showed no sign of it.

"Then you are under arrest and must come with me."

Ezio gave a flagrant scoff. "Look at me, idiota, I'm a man who's survived some magic fire that came from a condottiero's hand; do I look like someone who could be a doctor? There's nobody here, I've been treating myself." He wrapped more bandages over his shoulder and threw on his shirt – and most importantly, his hidden blade.

"If you were shot by one of Ser Cesare's men you must have come from Monteriggioni or Forli. You're coming with me."

"Porco puttana," Ezio cursed, making a show of ignoring the captain and reaching for his cape. "Go back to your masters, I have work to do."

"You think you can stand up to the Borgia, you-"

But the captain could say no more, he had reached for Ezio and the Master Assassin in turn had grabbed the man's shoulder, extracting his hidden blade and letting the thin shaft of metal dig deep into the man's chest. There was a startled gasp, and then a groan and the familiar smell of death as the man sank to the floorboards. "Yes," he told the corpse, rich baritone low and threatening. "I can stand up to the Borgia; and I intend to."

Silence hung in the tiny room for a moment, before Ezio stepped over the body and looked out into the main room. Empty. Apparently cowards were bred in Rome like livestock; Machiavelli would have some snide comment on that, and that just put Ezio in an even worse mood. Stepping back in he threw the tablecloth up and crouched down to the doctor. "Does this place have a back door?" he asked.

"W-what?"

"I can't drag the body out the main door, it would attract too much attention... unless you have a shroud? We can disguise him with that."

Dante was slowly drawn out from his hiding place and reassured that it was safe. When it finally settled into his head, his rational mind started functioning. "Yes, yes I do have a shroud, and there is a back door, come with me." Between the two of them, they stripped the corpse of armor and weaponry, some of which Ezio pocketed for himself, and hefted the body out. They were too far from the river, but they found an open corral and dumped the body in a trough of manure. The entire process took an hour, and Ezio's shoulder hated him even more.

"As I said," he pointed out with some of his Florentine irony, "I have been left little time to rest."

Dante studied Ezio carefully, wiping his hands of the dirty work and sizing the other man up.

"... You must lead an interesting life," he said finally.

Ezio smirked, tugging on his hood and massaging his shoulder. "The most interesting life you can imagine."

"When everyone else ran to save their own lives, you stayed to protect mine, Messere; I can hardly thank you enough."

"What will you do now?"

"Find a new place to hide, it seems."

Ezio blinked, realizing serendipity had just fallen on his head. "I think I have a place for you to hide," he said smoothly, an ironic grin tugging on his features and charm filling his voice. "And, in time, I could even give you a clientele that would defend you instead of flee." That last one was a stretch, he didn't know what Machiavelli's men were like, but they were not the only two Assassins left in all of Italy, and hopefully not in Rome, either. It was something.

Dante, eyes wide, blinked. "Messere, if you could do that I would call you Maestro."

"Then come with me," Ezio said genially, walking back to the house and the horse he had stolen. He rode it back to where he had left it, and quietly led Dante to the warehouse.

---

With a doctor on hand as he went about his errands, Ezio's shoulder fared quite a bit better. He withdrew enough money to seed a new practice for Dante on the island, sent a letter to Paola in Florence to ask after his family, made his face generally known to the island and the surrounding areas, and began the slow process of making a map of the city, spending hours on the roof of the warehouse staring out and blocking what he could. Machiavelli called on him on occasion, curious to see what he was doing, and their conversations often devolved into philosophical theatrics. Castel Sant'Angelo loomed in the distance, a dark reminder of his ultimate goal. Machiavelli was a fool to think they could attack right away; he still injured and with no resources in the city. He refused to make the mistakes of his youth and let impatience kill him. It had ultimately taken Antonio and an assault on a Barbarigo palazzo four years in the making to drill it into him, and he strove to take that lesson to heart.

He also, finally, learned the location of the brothel the Assassins had contact with.

It was the end of January when he finally felt well enough to go. The sharp pain had dulled to an ever-present ache, and so he went north, following the river, and went to the brothel after leaving a note for Machiavelli.

He remembered his first visit to such a location; his embarrassment to witness people fornicating all over the building, the shock of realizing his mother and sister were staying there and that he had nowhere else safe to keep them while his anger drove him to kill the Gonfaloniere, Uberto Alberti. That had been his first assassination, in a way, and the ugliest initiation into the ways of his father that one could experience.

Twenty years removed from that inexperienced whelp, he had no problems entering the brothel and seeing the men and women with their low cut corsets to distinguish gender, nor the patrons as they did their business. He frowned when he realized the scents of perfume were overwhelming instead of subtle, and that the rich, warm fabrics of any bordello he had ever been to were worn and threadbare.

"Welcome to the Rosa in Fiore, stranger," a courtesan said, eying Ezio with decidedly wary eyes despite her welcoming voice. Where was the shy blush, the lustful glance, the advertisement of desire?

Ezio shrugged off the irregularities. "Salve," he said politely, bowing his head. "Would you be kind enough to call the owner for me?"

The courtesan's eyes narrowed. "Madonna Solari is not in." She crossed her arms, a defensive gesture.

"Do you know where she is?"

She looked to the side, shifting her weight uncomfortably and clearly thinking of what to say next; her movements were an open book, and Ezio knew the woman, Solari, was in trouble. "I —"

"Help! Help!"

Ezio and the courtesan, and half the constituents of the brothel, looked up to see another prostitute, corset missing and bouncing everywhere, come running into the bordello. "Madonna Solari...!"

"Lucia!" the first courtesan said, darting up to her instead of ushering her to a private room. Amateurs, Ezio realized, these women were amateurs. "We thought you were gone for good!"

"The men took us on a ship. They released me, but she-"

Ezio swept up to both of them. "Perhaps we should take this conversation away from prying ears?" he asked, not without some derision. How was he going to work with these people? Never mind, one problem at a time. The first courtesan, he still didn't know her name, caught onto his suggestion and tugged them both to a private salle, shutting and locking the door. Ezio turned to the second, Lucia. "Who took you on a ship?"

Her makeup was smeared all over her face, her arms covered her naked breasts, and she shivered violently, in fear or chill was anyone's guess. "Slave traders Messere. Near Isola Tiberina. They want coin in exchange for her life. I told her the Cento Occhi would do this, but she wanted the money so badly, she even went against that monster Cesare Borgia."

Ezio blinked. "Cesare Borgia is linked to this bordello?" What luck!

"No. Yes. Sort of. I don't know for sure, he was here a few years ago; Fiora and I entertained him, and then he said he would take one of us. I never saw Fiora again, I hate that bastardo, and Madonna Solari never listened, she and her brother went right back to it; the Cento Occhi kept demanding more and more, and now this... They want over two thousand florins for her return! We don't have that kind of money!"

Ezio nodded. "I will get her back."

Both women stared at him. "... What?"

"Lock down the brothel, don't let any of the other courtesans out. Be subtle, if you can," he added with some doubt, "And wait until I return. If I am not back by nightfall, assume the worst."

He left the brothel without another word; they would either do as he said or not, and if he wanted to garner their loyalty, he would have to save this bitch of a madonna. He dared not risk his own money for this exchange, and getting that much money from Matteo would take time. Grinding his teeth at the thought, he got the money from the first money lender he could find – who grinned in delight at the exchange – and made his way to the river.

The docks were not on Isola Tiberina – it was too small to hold any – but rather on the west back of the river, the rione Trastevere, near the southern end of the city. He took a gondola and rowed it downriver, letting the current take him where he needed to go and looking for any large ships as he reached the ports. There was only one of any size, run down and disreputable at first glance, and he saw several thinly dressed men, obviously thieves of some kind. A Borgia tower loomed over the pier, making the encounter even more dangerous, and Ezio resolved to keep the entire affair low key.

Any thoughts of that were immediately put to a halt when a shrieking woman was hauled on deck, utterly naked and clearly abused. A man with a cloth tied around his face held a knife to her throat.

"Are you here for the whore?"

"Help me!" Solari shouted, struggling against her captor.

"I have your money," Ezio called up in calm tones. He eyed the Borgia tower, hoping they did not witness the exchange, or at least thought of it as nothing more than entertainment. "Let her go."

"No, take it up with Cesare."

And with that he drew the knife across her throat, arterial spray flying everywhere.

There was no helping it after that; the thief and everyone else on board moved in on Ezio to take his money, and he was not going to face the interest rates of a moneylender, nor was he going to let the death of a woman – idiot though she may have been – go unanswered. He drew his beloved sword and turned his back to the Borgia tower, he did not want the men up there recognizing him for any reason.

The fight was brutally one-sided. Even favoring a shoulder, Ezio had over twenty years' experience fighting, had learned from the very best, and he also had the speed and agility of an assassin, twenty years in the making. However fast and agile the men were, Ezio was just as fast; he matched them move for move and then backed it up with mercenary training to cut them down like wheat. Blood flew everywhere, bodies littered the deck of the ship, and soon Ezio was standing in a sea of seven bodies.

He looked over the carnage he has wrought.

And he sighed, massaging his shoulder and began the arduous task of looting the bodies. He didn't find much, no letters or orders from Cesare, no link to the Pope's son. Glancing at the Borgia tower, he wiped the blood off his sword using his red sash and disappeared into the crowds and the half rotted buildings. The moneylender was disappointed to get the money back so quickly and not charge interest, and the walk back seemed longer with the weight of his failure pressing on his shoulders. He had failed to save the madonna, that left the bordello with no reason to ally with him. He would have to work twice as hard to garner their favor and their trust – and that was even assuming he was able to use them, pathetic as their abilities seemed to be. If he had to retrain them, it would take months, he couldn't call in Paola, busy as she was with protecting what was left of his family – and Teodora was too far away in Venice. Besides which, the nun had left the Church to run her business, being at their very seat could be dangerous for her. But what else could he do?

His shoulder throbbed after the fight, and he tried not to think about the enormous failure that was attached to his injury.

"Uncle... be careful."

"I will."

He grunted against the thought, returning to the Rosa in Fiore as the sun began to set.

Someone had been keeping lookout, Ezio was immediately ushered in and swept into the private salle of earlier. Lucia was there, fully clothed this time and clearly half drunk, nursing a bottle of wine and crying in a corner to herself. Has she been left alone all this time? What idiocy!

She looked up, blubbering at first, before surging to her feet when she recognized him. "Where is Madonna Solari?"

"... She's dead," he said slowly.

Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she collapsed back into her corner, wailing.

"Merda," said a new voice, and Ezio turned to see the blond courtesan from before.

"What now?" Lucia wailed. "Will we have to close?"

Ezio held in a growl. Amateurs! "You cannot close," he said, "I need your help."

The blond cocked her head to the side, looking at him like he was crazy. "Messere, without someone who can run things, we are finished."

"Have you no one to go over the accounts?"

"Don't be stupid. None of us can read."

Ezio gaped, appalled. Paola and Teodora both made sure a small collection of their girls could read for that exact reason, so that someone could take over if something happened or they were away. Just what kind of assassin ran his bordello?

"... Ezio?"

The new voice sent a cold shiver down his spine, and he whirled around. "... Mother? Sister?"

Maria offered a soft smile, walking up and taking his arm while Claudia closed the door behind her. "Ezio," she greeted, touching his arm. "Ser Machiavelli said that you might be here."

Never mind that! "What are you doing in Roma?" he demanded. "Has Firenze been attacked?" Where was Federica? Had he just lost another of his precious few...? His gut roiled at the thought...!

"No," Claudia said. "Or, rather, I do not know. We did not stay in Firenze long. We left as soon as Federica was settled. We contacted Machiavelli this afternoon and he said that you were here."

That... that made no sense.

"Why?" he asked, bewildered.

"Ezio," Claudia said, "we want to help."

To help? To help? Helping was staying Florence, helping was knowing they were safe, helping was being out of the line of fire. To help? This was no help at all! Now he had to figure out where to hide them, the warehouse was no place for them, and dig up the money to send them back to Florence, and make sure they stayed there and... and...

Ezio took a menacing step forward; upset, furious, frustrated, and thinking about Mario and Ulderico's death. How could he look out for his sister as he had promised if she kept stepping into the line of danger? "I was trying to help you by sending you to Firenze," he said. "It's safer there, you would not be in danger like you would be here."

"But it is acceptable that you are here?" Claudia countered, "Surrounded by Borgia and injured and without anything resembling help?"

"I can take care of myself!"

"And so can we," Claudia insisted. "We shouldn't be shuffled around like dolls, Brother, we can be of use to you and the-"

"You can be of use by staying hidden so I don't have to worry about you!"

Claudia's eyes widened briefly; Maria giving a soft moan of resignation.

"Is that all we are to you?" Claudia demanded, her eyes narrow and her voice deceptively quiet. "A worry? How do you think we feel, seeing you ride off at every opportunity, risking your life, never knowing if you'd come back, never knowing if you'd survive. How do you think it felt to have Ulderico shuffle us down to the Sanctuary while he went off and died?"

"Look after them. I'm sorry I ever told you different."

"Tell Federica her father died a hero."

The memory hit Ezio like a blow.

"I promised him to look after you," he said in a broken voice. "I have to make sure you're safe."

"Is that what you think you're doing?" his sister demanded, stepping forward and putting her hands on her hips. "Did you really think leaving us, leaving me over and over again was protecting me? Did you really think letters were enough? And what was your excuse when Federica came? Huh? What happened then, Ezio?"

Where was all of this coming from? What was Claudia on about? And why was she here and not Firenze? Ezio growled, taking another step forward, his rich baritone rising. "Claudia, you're not safe here!"

"I'm not safe anywhere!" Claudia shrieked, her volume startling everyone in the room. Tears spilled down her face but she ignored them utterly. "Father is dead and nothing's been the same since then! Spain wasn't safe, France wasn't safe, nowhere was safe and we were trapped in Monteriggioni. How was that safe? And you left us over and over!" her voice cracked with emotion. "But I did it. I worked through it for you. For Mother. For Zio... I looked after Mother when she couldn't talk, I looked after Monteriggioni when nobody else would, and when I finally started to feel safe, when I finally found Ulderico, and Federica, when I finally thought everything would be okay..." She gave a deep, shuddering breath, cheeks red and wet and so pained that Ezio didn't know what to do anymore. "I'm not safe anywhere, Ezio," she sobbed. "The only place I'm safe now is with you. I have to stay here! We have nowhere else to go."

Her pain cut through Ezio so deeply his own eyes watered. His arms grabbed her shoulders, gripping her as if she would break like glass. She was just as broken as he was... Nothing he had done in the last twenty years to protect her had helped. None of the people he had killed, none of the acts he had performed, the sins he had committed, had spared her of her innocence. It had died along with his father and brothers, all those years ago. The vow he and Federico had made that no one would make her cry was broken, the innocence she had possessed had been ripped from her, and it was his fault because he could not look out for them and make the world safe for them at the same time. He had been forced to rely on Claudia to look after things so that he could go out and take his revenge, to free the world of the Borgia and the Templars so that they could themselves be free.

He had failed.

Again.

He had failed again...

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I couldn't stop it. I tried so hard..."

"Ezio..."

"But the world isn't safe for you yet. I need more time."

"... We can make it safe together," Claudia said, looking up to him. "Let me help..."

He shook his head, gently. "I can't let my piccina be hurt any more than she already has."

And, to his horror, he saw her watery face suddenly harden.

" 'Piccina'? 'Piccina'?"

Abruptly, she shoved him away, startling him. "I'm nobody's 'little one,' not anymore! I haven't been for years. It's time you realized that!" Hissing, she turned to the two courtesans, forgotten in the argument. "You said you would close down if you don't find someone to run things? I'll do it."

… Wait. What?

Claudia, Claudia, his piccina, running a whorehouse? Of all the..!

"You do not belong here, Claudia."

His sister's eyes flashed, several expressions flitting over her face before she offered a bitter retort. "I know how to run a business. I ran Uncle Mario's for years."

No. No. This was idiocy. "This is different," he started to explain.

"No it isn't," she insisted.

Their mother, quiet up to now, offered a soft, "What alternative do you have, Ezio?"

"Don't tell me you can train these girls and do everything else you plan on doing?" Claudia pressed.

And he couldn't. Ezio has just been dithering over the burden the brothel would be. The cold truth of it left him without breath, and the realization did not help his mood. At all.

"What about Federica?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten your own daughter in your mad rush to prove yourself, 'piccina'?" he added with a hoarse snarl.

Her reply was a brutal slap to the face. "Don't you dare," Claudia hissed. "Don't you dare bring her into this when you're the one that abandoned her on a whim!"

"It was not a whim!" Ezio shouted, fed up. "Ulderico told me to! He didn't want her to think she had two fathers with me always nearby! I was hurting her, I didn't want-"

"You could never hurt her!" Claudia shrieked, tears streaking down her face again, "And you're a fool for thinking otherwise! But you'll have to learn that the hard way. Good luck seeing her when she comes here-"

Ezio was aghast. "You're bringing her here?" he demanded, gesturing at the horrible excuse of a salle they were standing in. "You'd make yourself the madonna of this whorehouse and now you tell me you'll raise Federica to sell herse-"

Another slap, to his other cheek this time. The two glared at each other, tension rippling through them.

How had this happened? How had Ezio let his family down so badly that everything he was trying to protect was falling down around his ears?

But... no. He couldn't take the blame for this. If his sister wanted to be taken seriously, if she no longer wanted to be considered his piccina, then she would have to live with the consequences of her own decisions.

Fine.

"You do this Claudia," he said, his rich baritone low and threatening, "and you are on your own."

"I've been on my own for twenty years," she answered, crossing her arms.

"...Fine. I intend to repair the brothel," he said, gesturing to the bordello, its thick perfumes and poor performances. "This place is a real mess. And I want your whores to find Caterina Sforza," he added pointing to his sister. "If you can even get them to perform adequately enough to get inside the papal courts. You wanted this Claudia. Well, now you have it."

"You can count on us," she said softly, bitterly, before looking away.

Fine! Ezio stormed out of the whorehouse, utterly spent and completely unable to understand how things had somehow managed to get to this point.

"Ezio..."

He turned to see his mother. Pausing to let her catch up, she looked up to him with eyes as tired as his. "You cannot let this get between you."

"And what exactly is 'this,' Mother?"

"Oh, Ezio," she sighed. "This has been growing for years; I tried to tell you. Just... Don't give up on her so easily. She will surprise you." Cupping his cheek in her hand, she guided him down for a gentle kiss. "Trust her," she whispered, before turning back and going into the brothel.

---

The next couple of weeks had Ezio meeting with Matteo and architects to set up the Rosa in Fiore, but Claudia very firmly said that Ezio was only there to pay them, as she had her own ideas on how to improve the brothel and make it more appealing. The brothel was closed during that time and while Ezio was managing the finances, Claudia said she had a good chance to start really training the courtesans.

Ezio scowled at the very idea and left her to it, not wanting to imagine what his sister knew of whoring.

Instead he wrote letters. Now that he was more or less settled in Rome, it was time to let his allies knew where he was. No doubt word of the fall of Monteriggioni had reached them and they'd be worried. Machiavelli had likely sent word, but Ezio wished to pass on some personal pleasantries as well. And offer some firm words to Paola about letting Claudia and his mother come to Rome.

Matteo seemed amazed by the web of accounts Ezio used for his financing, and was eager to learn more on how to manage such books and make it invisible to any prying eyes. Admittedly, Claudia and their old banker from Monteriggioni, Romeo, would be a better choice for teaching him, but Ezio was well-versed in finance himself. His lack of interest growing up didn't stop his father from teaching him, and managing finances with Claudia for twenty years for their little Villa and town had firmly entrenched banking into Ezio's blood.

He also spent time out on the streets, continuing to become a familiar face on Tiber Island and the surrounding area. Not as an Assassin, but as someone who helped. If a person was struggling with a horse, Ezio calmed the animal down and guided it for a while, chatting with the person. If a mother was trying to corral her children, Ezio helped, entertaining them with quick sleight of hand that pickpockets were often good at. If a man was arguing with a neighbor about who had rights to something, Ezio would mitigate the dispute and find a middle ground. All free of charge, with a friendly smile.

The people were distrustful at first, of course. But Ezio knew trust would come with time. And with it, people looking for favors. And from there, he could start seeking small payments to help him restock.

It was half way through February when having a meeting with Machiavelli that the diplomat mentioned that Bartolomeo was in Rome.

"Really?" Ezio asked, surprised. "He's always been in Venezia."

Machiavelli snorted. "Venezia has allied with France. They'll be up to something, but for now they're helping Cesare prepare for something. Bartolomeo and his men have left Venezia for now. He's set up barracks here in the city."

Ezio smiled. Bartolomeo was a boisterous, loud, aggressive mercenary loyal to the Assassins. With his massive sword Bianca, the man could mow down a squad entirely on his own or set them crying home with just his foul language and creative cursing. The mercenary was a good ally and friend, and Ezio planned to look him up.

The following day he checked in with Dante, as scheduled ("You're not going to aggravate that shoulder any more, right?") and was pleased to learn his stitches could be removed and that his side was almost completely healed. ("Your shoulder is a different matter! You keep doing something to it!")

From there he walked off Tiber to a nearby stable he'd been helping at from time to time.

"Messere!" the stableman, Salvatore, greeted. "Welcome, welcome, what brings you here today?"

Ezio smiled, taking a brush and starting to brush down a horse. "I'm actually in need of a favor," he said, "but I don't want to put you out. I know times are difficult under the Borgia."

"No problem," Salvatore smiled back. "You've saved me a few florins by helping out so much. People are starting to notice my horses are better than the nags the Borgia offer with the brushing you always give them."

"I just need a horse for a few days," Ezio replied. "I've heard a friend is here in Roma and wish to visit, but he's out in the fields."

"Ah, I can see why you'd need a horse just to get there and it'd be far too long to ride back," Salvatore nodded. "And to visit! You need more than a few hours! Yes, take this one," he pulled out a sturdy mare, "she can canter all day long and not tire."

"I must offer payment," Ezio reached for his purse.

"Nonsense! You've been helping me get business. You've already paid!"

Ezio smiled. Progress was indeed being made. Hopefully with the business coming in, Ezio would be able to find a good stable boy, make an introduction, and business would continue to prosper. But for now, he mounted, settled in the saddle and smiled to Salvatore. "I'll be back by the end of the week."

"Bene. I'll let people know. They'll miss you."

Ezio grinned.

It took most of the day to ride out to Bartolomeo's barracks, which were far out in the fields surrounding Roma, overlooking a sunken lake. The barracks themselves were... less than ideal. The Venetian had obviously bought old barracks, and the disrepair was obvious. Framing was exposed, leaving the upper stories open to the elements, the stables were poorly kept. The surrounding wall was in similar states, crumbling in areas and hardly looking sturdy. A few mercenaries were in front, lazing about and not even training. They should be handling minor chores if not learning. What was Bartolomeo doing?

Looking around with a critical eye Ezio knocked.

Bartolomeo himself opened the door, not a captain or sergeant. "Ezio Auditore!" Bartolomeo threw his arms open wide with his boisterous greeting. "Come in, come in. I'll kill you if you don't."

Ezio smiled, pushing aside his impressions of the barracks. "Bartolomeo!" They hugged and Bartolomeo surged around the room, attempting to clean up what was clearly a mess.

"Wait here," the Venetian said, smiling broadly. "You have to meet my wife."

Wife? Ezio had not been aware of his friend marrying. But then, the last ten years Ezio had been in the saddle crisscrossing all of Italy searching for the Apple. It's no surprise he'd been out of touch.

"Pantasilea! Pantasilea! Where is she?"

Ezio was struck of by his first meeting of Bartolomeo in Venice, cursing out the guards and the return to his barracks in the floating city and calling out for Bianca, his massive broadsword.

Holding back his chuckle, Ezio asked, "Did you check behind the table?" with full irony as that was where Bianca had been all those years ago.

The joke flew over Bartolomeo, however. "Ahhh. Here she is!" Elegantly coming up from the stairs a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties, easily, with the grace and poise.

She curtsied delicately. "Nice to meet you."

Ezio took her hand and kissed it with the same grace she showed. "Charmed," he greeted, with far less sarcasm than when he'd greeted Bianca. "Truly."

She smiled and bowed her head, then turned to her husband and held his arm. "Bartolomeo," she said softly. "Little Lucrezia is picking on Isabella again."

The Venetian mercenary gave a great laugh. "That's my girl! Oh, but Isabella isn't big enough to fight back yet. Girls!" Bartolomeo took off with a bounce in his step of a far younger man. "What are you doing!"

Ezio smiled. "I did not know he had married, nor that he'd become a father."

"You were in Spain, I believe, when we met," Pantasilea replied, offering him a seat at a beaten table. "Stubborn oaf took three years to propose. Eighteen was pushing past marriageable age, but I insisted to my family that no one else was suitable."

Chuckling, Ezio shook his head. "I can't picture him married. He's far too much like a little boy sometimes."

She smiled demurely. "It's what I love about him. His zest for life. Everything is fun for him. It wasn't for me, not before I met him. He was my way out of that life. That pain."

"I'd hate to be the suitor of one of those girls once they reach marrying age."

Pantasilea smiled more broadly. "Oh, I look forward to it. He'll see to it that they marry who they want. They won't have to fight like I did."

Two girls came racing in, one barely a toddler and another reaching seven or eight, dressed in pants instead of skirts, much like Federica would prefer, giggling and screaming as Bartolomeo came after them like a bumbling ox. "See?" he hollered. "Teamwork! That's how to do it!'

The toddler crawled up to her mother's lap and the older one ran back to the mercenary for a giant hug.

"Girls, meet Ezio Auditore! A great man and much smarter than me!"

The oldest girl protested vehemently. "Only Mother is smarter than you!"

"That is true!"

Ezio laughed.

"You must stay for dinner! Our cook is horrible, but he's getting better with practice."

The day was spent with Bartolomeo going through the barracks and catching up. The mercenary regaled Ezio with many, many stories of his wife and children as they walked among the men. Ezio eyed their training critically, noting that many were doing nothing at all, and those who were getting trained had to wait before the solitary drill master could come to them. Where were Bartolomeo's seasoned veterans? They'd be useful in training and setting up the barracks here. And the recruits were skinny and impoverished. Clearly not ready for the physical endurance that such training required.

At dinner, Ezio brought up his concerns. "My friend, where are your men? Those with you from Venezia?"

"Up in Romagna, helping them fight off the Borgia and the French and the Venetians," Bartolomeo explained.

"Fighting so outnumbered?" Ezio replied.

"No, not really fighting," Bartolomeo replied. "They're keeping an eye on Cesare's movements. I don't trust the bastard. I managed to wound his face four years ago when fighting with the Orsini. I hear the pretty whore wears a beard now to cover it." The mercenary smiled.

Ezio raised a brow. "Do you need all of your men there to keep an eye on Cesare?"

"Of course! He's a slippery shit-stain that's sliding all over Italia."

Ezio tried not to wince. Instead he glanced at Pantasilea, who looked just as pained over this stupid move.

This was going to be a long week.

The following day, Ezio declined joining Bartolomeo, saying that as the commander of the barracks, he needed to attend to his men. Bartolomeo agreed and Ezio instead spent the day talking with Pantasilea as she tended to the accounts and the girls.

"I love my husband dearly," she said, "but he has such an aggressive view of the world. It's endearing, and wins him many battles. However, strategy is equally important."

Ezio grinned. "And I sense that perhaps his more spectacular wins are due to your strategy?"

"It is the least a wife can do for her husband," she said eloquently. "But where he listens to strategy of war, he doesn't understand strategy of recruitment."

Ezio nodded. "These barracks hardly look like they belong to as successful a man as Bartolomeo."

"Indeed," Pantasilea nodded, sending Lucrezia to the kitchens for a snack for them all. "Growing up as strictly as I did, I learned that presentation is everything. Bartolomeo's presence is strong and if you listen to him, you can easily see how good he is at what he does. But these barracks undermine that. The recruits we have aren't ready for this. They just want to learn how to fight." She sighed. "I wish he didn't send all of his men to Romagna. A dozen or so would do. The rest could help train the recruits here, share stories and inspire them. To say nothing of teaching them the basics of the chores mercenaries do around a camp."

Ezio chuckled. "But Bartolomeo doesn't see that."

"No," she said. "I've suggested it to him, but he's brushing it aside. He sees my strategies on the field and the immediate benefits. He doesn't see them here."

"We'll have to work on that," Ezio replied. "How are your finances?"

"Tied up in feeding and equipping," she replied, pulling out accounts. "We haven't had a contract yet, though I expect with the French we will soon."

"I can help," Ezio replied, thinking of his own finances. He still had no money coming in, but Bartolomeo couldn't keep working like this. "I can finance repairing and expanding this structure at least and you can show recruits that this is a new set of barracks and a sign of expansion."

"That would help," she smiled. "Now how do we convince him?"

"That is easy."

The next morning, Ezio took Bartolomeo up to the exposed beams that were starting to show sign of rot on the upper floors.

"Where are your daughters?" he asked, wanting to make sure they were safe. Pantasilea was out with the cook, going over supplies.

"Looking after the horses," the mercenary replied. "They love playing in the stables."

Good. With one swift kick, Ezio completely knocked apart one of the beams and the roof sank inward.

"Ezio!"

"I think it's time you repair your barracks," Ezio said in full Florentine irony. "Unless you like rain and snow coming in this winter."

"Hmmm," Bartolomeo rubbed his chin. "You may have a point. But I'm no good with these things. You're the educated one, you approve the plans!"

"Bartolomeo!" Pantasilea came running up. "Some of the men are brawling!"

"Scusatemi, Ezio," the Venetian grunted, hurrying down the stairs. "Throw me Bianca!"

And the elegant, dainty Pantasilea easily hefted the sword and grunted as she threw it. Ezio was impressed.

Out in the yard, three were up against two, at Ezio's best guess. They were so piled on top of each other, with a circle of crowing recruits around that it was hard to say with certainty.

"Luridi codari!" Bartolomeo bellowed, running through the crowd with his sword held high. The circle quickly parted and the Venetian brought his sword down hard on the ground mere inches from two participants who were about to attack one another. The fright scared sense into them and they backed off. Bartolomeo continued to wade through the brawl, using the pommel of his sword when necessary to knock someone away or swinging between combatants to get attention. Once everyone was separated, Bartolomeo threw Bianca and Pantasilea caught it carefully in her arms, not even ripping her dress.

Now that everyone was staring, Bartolomeo looked around, staring everyone in the eye. "You're all a bunch of tight-legged nuns!" he spat. "You're here to learn, to get the skills you need to fight the Borgia, not each other like my children do!" He spun to one of the brawlers. "Giovanni, the Borgia took your sister from you, yes?"

One eye swelling shut and nose bleeding, the man nodded.

"Well save your anger for them!" He rounded on another. "Francois, the French abandoned you because of Borgia treachery! Pedro, the Borgia left your family in ruins back in Spain! Bernardo! Federico! Carlo! Lorenzo! All of you are here because you hate the Borgia, but none of you are willing to learn!" Bartolomeo was on a roll now, shouting out like a general. "Well the Borgia can suck my balls then eat my shit and drink my piss! I'll teach you how to fight and we'll fight them once they're on the move, but if each of you wants to slice off a piece of Cesare's cazzo or Rodrigo's testicles, you need to learn how to get there. Now, who wants to learn how to kill the Borgia?"

Everyone around him cheered and the Venetian took them all to drills, showing of skills himself with the drill instructor.

Pantasilea slipped beside Ezio. "He can handle them now because they all do have a common goal. But as they get better, they'll need more than him for discipline."

"He's agreed to repair the barracks, but we need to convince him to bring some of his veterans back," Ezio nodded.

They watched Bartolomeo swing practice sticks slowly with the drill instructor, shouting out the times to get the rhythm, then pairing up recruits and getting them on beat. Bartolomeo stalked among them, correcting forms and shuffling feet and talking to each, but he could not do all this every day and manage the barracks and the information Ezio would need.

Pantasilea turned with a sly smile to Ezio. "Do a bout with him."

Ezio blinked. "Oh?"

"Show the recruits what a full battle is like," she explained. "Let them see and get excited. Get enthusiastic. And mention to my dear husband that such displays from veterans might be a good idea."

Ezio smiled. "You are a true master of strategy," he bowed.

"Anything to help my husband," she said with an elegant, sincere smile.

So the Florentine Assassin stepped forward.

"Bartolomeo, my old friend," Ezio called. "Why not show these boys what a true fight looks like?"

The mercenary looked up and grinned widely. "You challenge me, Ezio? Are you prepared for me to show what a weeping vagina you are?"

Ezio shrugged. "Only if you're willing for your men to see what a slow ox you are."

"Oh-ho! The man thinks he can best me!" Bartolomeo's smile seemed to widen. "I do enjoy a challenge."

The recruits circled again as Ezio joined Bartolomeo by the shabby but sturdy practice wands.

"And no fancy armor?" Bartolomeo jeered.

Ezio frowned, remembering the intricate armor of Altair that was light as leather but offered more protection than he'd ever imagined. "No," he replied with forced levity. "I need no armor for you'll never hit me."

They circled each other carefully, watching for weaknesses. Ezio knew his shoulder wasn't healed, so he used one hand for his sword and crouched, ready for anything. Bartolomeo was more energetic, despite being older, constantly circling. The first to strike was the Venetian, hollering and charging in, which Ezio easily parried and danced away from. He attempted a counter attack, but Bartolomeo brushed it aside with brute force and Ezio backpedaled, blocking another blow.

The men around them quickly realized that these were both seasoned fighters. Bets started to change hands, jeers and cheers echoed, and the energy from earlier seemed to increase exponentially. While Ezio doubted Bartolomeo's veterans sparring would be as good as Ezio facing off with the Venetian, Pantasilea was right. This would convince Bartolomeo to recall most of his men to help train all the recruits.

Ezio ducked under a heavy swing from Bartolomeo and tried to tap the Venetian's shoulder, but Bartolomeo changed directions quickly, bringing his practice wand down hard on Ezio's left shoulder. Agony turned his vision white and instinct had him kicking Bartolomeo in the balls before his sword came to the Venetian's neck, stopping only by Bartolomeo somehow grabbing the practice wand through his own pain.

Both were gasping and sweating, and Ezio quickly dropped the wooden wand and peeled back his shirt to see that blood was starting to seep through his bandages. "Merda," he hissed.

Bartolomeo couldn't speak, but he was staring at Ezio through squinting, watering eyes. The crowd was silent around them as Pantasilea rushed forward, checking on her husband first before looking to Ezio. Upon seeing the blood, she turned to the crowd. "Giovanni! Fresh bandages, now! Lorenzo, Pedro, help me carry Ezio inside!"

"I can walk," Ezio grunted, still trying to contain his pain.

"Those fucking Borgia!" Bartolomeo finally growled, still holding himself. "How! How did they get you! You'd never fall to their men, you're too damn good!"

"Surely you heard what happened to Monteriggioni," Ezio hissed back. "Even I cannot fight off an army that took us by surprise."

"But that was over a month ago!"

"And being shot by these new guns takes longer to heal," Ezio shouted back. He could smell Monteriggioni burning again and he didn't want to think about it. Not with Bartolomeo's recruits surrounding him and Bartolomeo and looking at them in awe.

"Shall we continue the discussion inside?" Pantasilea suggested in prim and proper tones. Both Ezio and Bartolomeo nodded and Ezio walked like this was natural and showing none of his pain that was blazing hotly through him while the two Pantasilea had called helped Bartolomeo up and to the barracks.

Inside, Ezio stripped his shirt with far too eased practice of only using one arm and displayed the bandage beneath and the blood slowly seeping through. Dante wasn't going to be pleased to see this. Bartolomeo, Pantasilea, and the two who had helped Ezio in gasped. But Ezio ignored them and once more with ease of practice, took a clean cloth, washed the wound on both sides of his body and rebandaged himself with the offered cloth.

"I never should have fought you..." Bartolomeo said quietly.

"Think nothing of it," Ezio grunted, still hurting, but not so fiercely any more.

"You were right..." Giovanni muttered.

"What?" Bartolomeo said sharply.

Giovanni stuttered for a moment. "You said a trained man, even wounded, was fiercer than a lion."

"Yes!" Bartolomeo shouted. "Which is why you drill and drill to you can strike even when blinded by pain!"

"Yes, sir!" the recruits said in unison.

"Then what are you standing around here for? Go and drill!"

"Yes, sir!" They ran out.

They were silent for a moment, Ezio rewrapping his shoulder and then shrugging his shirt back on. "You need help, Bartolomeo."

"No," the Venetian said, still rubbing his balls, "everything is fine."

"Machiavelli seemed to think things were more difficult."

"You know Machiavelli," Bartolomeo grunted. "So dour-"

"Bartolomeo," Pantasilea cut in, putting a delicate hand on her husband's shoulder. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, and Ezio looked away, feeling like he was intruding.

"Fine, fine," the Venetian relented. "I'll call back some of my veterans. They can help whip these kids into proper shape."

"Va bene," Ezio nodded, strapping his hidden blade back on. "I still need to know Cesare and Rodrigo's every move. Can your men track them for me?"

"The way Cesare's stomping across Italia? Easily," Bartolomeo promised.

"Excellent. Now let's see if that cook of yours has improved at all for dinner."

---

Salvatore smiled broadly when Ezio returned the horse, not noticing how Ezio was careful with his arm. He shooed Ezio out, saying that Ezio needed to settle back home before helping him out anymore and Ezio gratefully left, checking in with Dante first.

"What the hell did you do THIS time?" the doctor all but shouted once Ezio's bandages had been removed.

"Bandits," was Ezio's response, not desiring to get into the complicated story of what had actually happened.

"Damn followers of Romulus," Dante growled. "You'll never heal at this rate, Maestro. You must confine yourself to the city. I cannot in good conscious even let you leave bed for a month just so that it can heal, but you'd never listen to that."

"I will be careful with it," Ezio replied.

"Like hell," the doctor grunted. "But I'll make you be careful."

Ezio didn't care for the sound of that, and cared for it even less when Dante pulled out a strip of cloth and tightly wrapped Ezio's arm, binding it to his body, and tying the knot back between his shoulder blades where he couldn't reach.

"There," Dante stood back proud. "If you hope to clean your wound, you need to see me every day to undo that. That way we can make sure you don't break that open any more."

And, as much as Ezio hated the bindings, he couldn't help but chuckle at Dante's persistence in seeing to his health. He'd simply have to train himself to climb with only one arm.

He spent a week staying on Isola Tiberina, per Dante's express wishes, and did what he could. Several of the people he helped noticed his bound arm and were quick to start helping him, though he politely refused. An afternoon with Matteo had funding sent to Pantasilea for the barracks, and Machiavelli spent a quick dinner with him before heading back to Florence for more diplomatic and official reasons.

The following week, as February came to its chill close, Ezio headed into the streets of Rome with a particular destination in mind.

The Rosa in Fiore had new gardens forming up on the roof and plush red drapes were clearly visible through the windows that were now sparkling. Outside, courtesans were sensuously speaking with one another, delicately swaying a fan, or leaning over enticingly. There was much more subtlety about their movements and a demure glance out of the corner of an eye had easily three men and the occasional woman turning to look again.

Lucia recognized Ezio right away and sashayed up to him, taking his arm and quickly leaning to his ear, making even in Ezio's well-practiced loins a fire start to warm. He squelched it quickly and smiled at her with his usual charm.

"Messere," she greeted. "Your sister and mother have truly done wonders here."

"It certainly looks better."

Lucia gave a light giggle, making a passing nobleman turn and look again. "The brothel was always popular, but we had no hope to compete with anyone else other than our closeness to the Vatican. Now, we are flourishing."

Ezio chuckled. "You will always make a man rise to the occasion."

"With more ease every day."

She brought him inside, and Ezio had to admit to being impressed. There had not been much need of full construction, other than the gardens above, but Claudia had clearly spent his money redressing the interiors. The new drapes he'd seen outside were mirrored with new carpets and gleaming candelabras that had clearly been just-polished. Marble sparkled without any dust or dirt and there was a warm inviting glow everywhere Ezio looked. The courtesans were nowhere to be seen, other than one who was sitting at a bench with a priest's head between her legs, identity obscured with the folds of her skirts. But though she was the only courtesan one could see, one could certainly hear the work the others were doing. There was a scream of passion from one of the above rooms and the distinct bounce of beds echoing through the floors.

"Come this way, Messere," Lucia whispered, guiding him forward past a courtesan who was at the counter to great guests, one large breast exposed as if her loose corset had just fallen open. The greeter giggled, brushing her breast alluringly as she pulled up her corset, and Ezio felt his manhood desire what was offered. But he pushed that aside again. He had never needed to pay for women, nor did he intend to here, no matter how desirable. But Ezio was predicting that he was going to find a widow or unmarried girl later that evening for a long night of passion.

Lucia squeezed her breasts to his arm again.

A long night of passion.

Either way, though he didn't wish to think of it, Claudia had clearly done a good job training the girls here. The smells were delicate and relaxing, not overpowering, and the brothel was clearly starting to prosper.

Lucia led him to a small back office where Claudia was set over a heavy book and crosschecking something or other.

His guide smiled sincerely at him, and left on silent feet.

"It seems my money was well invested," he said by way of greeting.

His sister looked up, startled. "Oh!" and then she frowned. "Ezio. Well I should think it obvious I'd spend our money wisely. I'm repaying it already."

"Good," Ezio nodded. "I just signed a large amount to Bartolomeo's wife so they can improve their barracks."

Claudia just nodded and formally gestured to the seat across from her. Ezio sat down, carefully arranging his shoulder and the heavy knot Dante used to bind his arm so that it didn't dig into his back. Claudia watched him, sympathy flashing across her face, but did not comment.

"I'm sure Bartolomeo can use the money," Claudia said. "I didn't even know he was in Roma."

"Nor I," Ezio replied.

They fell to silence again.

Ezio sighed, not liking how awkward it was. He missed how close he'd been with his sister, but if she really wanted to do this on her own, he refused to help. It was like a vast gap had appeared between them and he didn't know how to bridge it.

"Federica will come next month," Claudia said, attempting to start conversation again.

"And she will be staying here?" Ezio gestured around sarcastically.

Claudia narrowed her eyes. "No, she will be staying at my apartment a few streets over. Mother will look after her, mostly, and I'll be sending some of my girls."

He scowled. "To teach an eleven-year-old the ways to pleasure a man?"

"No," she growled. "To teach her about the Assassins. To teach her how to hide in plain sight, how to hear, how to defend herself."

"Defense?" Ezio drew out. "And what do these whores know of defense?"

Claudia glared at him before standing, stomping over to a chalkboard, and slamming it down in front of him. "This is what all my girls are to practice, every day."

It was an impressive list. How to hide daggers in bodices or hair ornaments, how to walk silently, how to disappear in a crowd, how to coax information out of someone in simple conversation instead of pillow-talk, a list of stretches to remain limber that also doubled as a fighting form in a pinch, exercises to keep arms strong without being overly muscled, how long to walk out in the streets each day to keep a running endurance up, it was amazing how much Claudia had packed into that small chalkboard and it was all to be practiced every day. None of it had to do with how to fuck someone, and all of it he approved of teaching Federica.

Of course, he couldn't say that to Claudia. He refused to encourage her.

"You are not teaching them much."

Claudia's face reddened, but she instead took a breath. "Think you can do better?"

"No problem," he replied. "Are they all working, or are there some free courtesans I can do a small lesson with today?"

"Oh, this I must see," Claudia smiled broadly.

The afternoon ended up quite... interesting after that. In the kitchens, Ezio decided to go over the basics of poisons, how to spot them, and how to make them for their knives or daggers. Claudia, it seemed, had set forth a challenge to the girls to distract him as much as they could. So with every leaf he pointed out, or leaned forward to show someone, one or more of the courtesans were drawing his eye to a breast or thigh, or in one case, a completely exposed ass that he blithely ignored as he focused on his lesson and kept their attention on what he was doing and how long certain poisons lasted and what their affects were.

That night, however, Ezio did indeed flirt his way into a widow's house and, despite only having one arm, screwed her repeatedly till dawn and most of the next morning, to relieve the effects of Claudia's girls.

---

It was the start of the second week of March when Ezio finally found a thief of decent talent. During his wanderings along the west bank of the Tibre River, helping a local baker by delivering some bread to a builder who was recuperating from a broken ankle, Ezio noticed that in the shadows, he saw the vague movements of someone with decent skill. Not as good as he himself could be, but a talent nonetheless. Looking around, it didn't take much to find the richest home of the area.

Ezio smirked to himself.

He delivered the bread, and slipped into the shadows himself, completely invisible, despite his white clothing, due to Antonio and Volpe beating lessons of stealth into his thick skull. He stayed in the darkness, observing the house he was sure thieves were hitting. As darkness continued to settle, he switched to his other vision, the sharpness of an eagle. Within an hour, he saw a gold flash of a person diving out a window to a lower roof and taking off along the worn vacant buildings with a flicker of gold tracing along behind him.

Ezio didn't pause to realize that his Eagle Vision was improving, but instead followed stealthily along the streets, since his bound arm would be useless for the climbing he'd need to get to the roof swiftly. The thief went steadily east before crossing the river and turning south. Ezio stayed behind, easily keeping up and staying hidden, until the thief at last arrived at an abandoned building that had shadows that moved and flitted like training thieves Ezio had worked with back in Venice.

Someone here could tell him who was in charge and at last, he'd have his underground network complete.

Ezio stepped forward, no longer hiding his presence and slowly moved forward, keeping it clear that while armed, he was no threat. Up at the door of the building, before he could even knock, a voice came from the darkness and the shadows formed to a violet-eyed man that Ezio know quite well.

"Ezio!" he greeted with a soft chuckle.

"La Volpe," Ezio nodded back. "I am surprised to see you. I thought dear Firenze was your preferred prowl."

The thief chuckled, crossing his arms. "I go where the best opportunities arise. Firenze provided that for a very long time. But now all the money is here in Roma."

"I should have known," Ezio grinned in the moonlight.

"So?" Volpe asked. "Why have you appeared at my door?" he asked lightly. "Wait, I know the answer."

"You always do."

"You want to put my spies to work," Volpe answered, all joviality lost.

"Yes, you always had the best in all of Italia."

"You flatter me, yet state the truth," Volpe agreed, gesturing, the two sat on a nearby bench, still in plain view of all the thieves in the shadows. Ezio frowned. This wasn't like his old friend.

"Then, join me. The Borgia need to be taken down and what was stolen must be returned."

Volpe scoffed. "In aiding Machiavelli? No, thank you," he said coldly.

Ezio blinked, not expecting the reaction. "Oh?"

"That man is a traitor to our Order."

The Florentine Assassin frowned severely at that, straightening. "A serious allegation, coming from a thief and especially from you." Volpe's abilities to sneak into the most guarded of treasuries or offices and getting whatever document or jewel he sought was legendary. He always had the most accurate of information and had a knack on feeling where to go for the next lead when searching the trail of something. It was these abilities Ezio needed for finding the Apple. But for Volpe to be so convinced of Machiavelli's betrayal, it was serious.

Ezio would be the first to admit that the Florentine diplomat was standoffish, dour, and had a tongue to rival Caterina in sharpness and wit. It was a wonder how he became a diplomat given how often he could insult people. But Machiavelli would not have become an Assassin if he didn't believe in the Creed. Ezio was certain that his fellow Florentine was just as determined to take down the Borgia as himself. They disagreed philosophically on how, but that was just method.

To be a traitor?

"What is your proof?"

Volpe scowled. "He was an ambassador to the Papal court and traveled as the personal guest of Cesare himself." The thief leaned forward, hands on his knees, and cupped his chin with his hands. "I also know he abandoned you right before the Villa attack."

Ezio blinked again. "Really?"

Volpe nodded. "After the diversion we did here in Roma, I hurried after you to Monteriggioni to give my own report and find out what had happened in the Vatican. I saw Machiavelli riding away."

"He did not care to hear that I had let the Spaniard live."

The thief's mouth thinned. "I do not care for it either, but I'd have heard your reasoning."

"It doesn't matter now."

"No, I suppose not," Volpe continued to frown. "But he was beating his horse to hurry along through the night. I thought nothing of it at the time other than strange, but by dawn, I arrived to see Monteriggioni burning."

Ezio shuddered at the memory, his good hand reaching up to his bound shoulder. Ear flying. A passionate goodbye. Fire, burned flesh, smoke, explosions, collapses. The memories swept over Ezio unbidden and he pushed them away.

"Machiavelli may not please all tastes, but he is an Assassin, not a traitor," Ezio said quietly. He felt that. He could not prove it, but he felt it.

"I am not convinced."

"Then don't work with him. Work with me."

Volpe frowned, but said nothing as a thief detached himself from the shadows and came up to Volpe, whispering so quietly that even Ezio's keen ears could only pick up intonations, not actual words.

The master thief turned, smiling. "It would seem that our fellow Florentine will be meeting someone in an hour in the Trastevere. Care to accompany me?"

To prove Volpe wrong? "I will follow."

The two melded into the shadows and headed out. Normally, Volpe made a race of it with Ezio, but it seemed the thief was being respectful of Ezio's injury and keeping the pace steady but not tiring.

Trastevere, the rione of the west bank. It took most of the hour to get there, and once they found the small market, Volpe took Ezio through another abandoned building up to a broken down second floor that had no roof to speak of. Around them, Ezio watched the roofline fill with thieves keeping an eye on the empty market down below.

"They are not as stealthy as you," Ezio commented.

Volpe shrugged. "As if anyone other than you can be."

Ezio smiled. Despite the suspicions of Machiavelli, the two of them at least remained friends.

A torch came down an alley and Machiavelli arrived, glancing around before dousing the flame by throwing it down the well. He stayed in the moonlight, still as a statue, and the thieves all stayed flat on the rooftops, not moving either. Together, all of them waited for almost twenty minutes before another torch came down the street.

It was a Borgia guard, glancing around, and keeping a hand firmly on a pouch.

"What do you make of that," Volpe whispered in Ezio's ear as they watched the guard enter the market and look down every alley and entrance before walking up to Machiavelli. Silently a message of some kind was given to Machiavelli before he walked on as if nothing happened, continuing his patrol.

"Machiavelli does have men in the Papal guard," Ezio whispered softly. "Fabio Orsini has no love for the Borgia and is supporting us as much as he can."

Down below Machiavelli stalked off into the shadows, not even using a torch, as he went down a different alley than the one he'd come down before.

The guard, however, bumped into a different patrol of Borgia, who pulled out their swords.

There might have been a scuffle if thieves did not descend down from the roofs, their daggers cutting easily into the Borgia. Machiavelli's contact went down with the others, but not before injuring one of the thieves.

The noise of the encounter, however, had other Borgia in the area coming.

"Help!" the young thief called out, clutching his shoulder.

"Volpe!" a thief shouted from across the street. "My son Claudio!"

"Don't worry, Trimalchio," Volpe hissed back. He turned to Ezio. "I will distract the guards. You get Claudio out of here."

"Bene."

Volpe dashed across the roofs with Trimalchio and the other thieves and Ezio rushed back down the way he'd come and out into the market.

"Quickly, we must hide from the guards," he said, helping the wounded thief up.

But young Claudio was in a panic. "I cannot! They are going to kill me!"

Ezio cuffed the boy's head. "Pay attention!" he admonished. "Do what I do."

"Si, Messere," Claudio grunted.

First thing Ezio needed to do was find a hidden place to set up what they needed. So he pulled the young thief to the abandoned building and through it to a back street and then into another abandoned building. Inside, he pulled out a candle and lit it, leaning in to take a good look at Claudio's wound. It was bleeding steadily, but was not deep. Blood loss would be the worst concern if Ezio didn't stop the bleeding.

He pulled out his knife and reached to the twine that bound his arm so fully, cutting it and freeing his arm. He then used the twine to tie what clean cloth Ezio could rip around the wound, the blood slowed, and Ezio checked his handiwork. It would have to do for now. Stitches would likely be required, but he didn't have the time or materials to do that now. Instead, pulled Claudio from the building, blowing out his candle, and down another alley and another until they were well away from the center of activity with Volpe and his men dealing with the Borgia.

Wincing and pained at the pulling, Ezio flung his left arm around Claudio's shoulders, his half cape covering the blood-spattered clothes and let the young thief lean on him.

"I don't suppose you know any good drinking songs," he whispered.

"I-what?"

"No? Very well." Taking a breath, Ezio started on a familiar drinking song, knowing that his voice was probably breaking every ear who heard him. He stumbled and swayed like a drunkard, and messed up the words as he slurred along. Claudio caught on to the act and did a passable interpretation of drunkenness, but Ezio's exuberance made up for Claudio's shortcomings in acting.

Dawn was lightening the sky and the early workers were starting to fill the streets. Bakers were starting their ovens, farmers were bringing in their crops, and butchers were tending to their pigs and cows before selecting what to slaughter for the day.

Ezio and Claudio barely even drew an eye as they stumbled their way along the streets, slowly heading east.

When they reached the river, Ezio stole a boat and painfully took the two across and setting the boat out again to let it drift downriver.

Once out in the fields, Ezio stopped his drunken demeanor and focused on just helping Claudio along. A farmer, his cart full of hay, offered them a ride when Ezio recounted a tale of how the Followers of Romulus had ambushed them and made off with their horses. Ezio checked Claudio's wound then rewrapped it as they continued south.

The farmer let them off when Claudio started to recognize the buildings that Ezio had not seen well at night and the two continued back to the hide out.

The abandoned building was still in shade, the morning light rising. At the door, Trimalchio was pacing back and forth in worry and then raced forward when Ezio and the young thief rounded the bend.

"Claudio!" the father checked over his son, biting words of worry dripping from his lips before he turned to Ezio. "Molte grazie, Messere. Molte grazie."

Ezio nodded. "Keep out of sight for a while, understood?"

"Si, si, come on Claudio. Let's get some rest and then, a doctor!"

Volpe stepped forward, shaking his head under his brown hood. "What a night this has been."

They stayed in silence for a moment, the sun still rising before Ezio turned to his old friend. "Volpe, listen to me. I know what we saw," and it didn't look ideal until one realized that Machiavelli had garnered allies within the Papal guard and military. "But you have nothing to fear from Machiavelli, I am sure of it." He just didn't have concrete proof.

Volpe said nothing for a moment, before sighing softly. "I have you to thank for saving Claudio's life. If you believe Machiavelli remains loyal to the Order, I will give him the benefit of the doubt." He turned his purple gaze to Ezio. "But I will keep an eye on him. Just to be safe."

"So what of the thieves?"

Volpe smiled. "If you need them, you come and get them. If I find anything, I will send word to you and only you. That way there is no doubt."

Ezio chuckled. "Very well. And how will you start gathering your information?"

Volpe looked back to the abandoned building. "We had plans to repair this. What do you think would attract Borgia but remain above suspicion?"

Ezio stared, thinking of it.

"Perhaps an inn?"

"Yes," Volpe nodded. "I like that idea."

"Then I will provide the funding." Paying for both the renovation here and at the barracks would likely drain Ezio, along with all the other purchases he'd been doing, but hopefully Claudia's brothel would help ease the depletion.

For now, he had to get back to Isola Tiberina and listen to Dante yell at him for straining his shoulder again.

---

The doctor was, thankfully, still asleep in the wee dawn hours when Ezio returned to the warehouse. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours, and he wanted very badly to just crawl into bed. However, he saw Machiavelli at the solitary desk of the space, taking notes from a book and several papers spread out at the station. Ezio looked at the man for a moment, thinking back to the back alley meeting. Being connected to the Borgia was damning, to be sure, but the Florentine diplomat already admitted having a small network of spies; that made the meeting innocuous at best. Still...

No. Machiavelli was an Assassin. If Ezio couldn't trust that, then he couldn't trust anyone, and he couldn't live like that; not after all the people who had trusted him and taught him, through example, the good of humanity. It had to start somewhere.

And Machiavelli had a right to know why the thieves wouldn't talk to him.

Ezio strode into the room, his rich baritone echoing off the empty walls. "Machiavelli. We must talk."

The diplomat looked up. "Yes," he said, standing up. "I secured something of great worth from one of my contacts: We now have the names of several Templar agents Cesare has recruited to terrorize Roma."

Ezio blinked. "What?"

"Cesare has a vast network of followers, loyal only to him, and he is not shy about sending them out into the populous to impose his will. I now have a list of names, and you can eliminate them one by one. It will save your friends the people, yes?"

The tone was snide at the end, contemptuous, and Ezio took a deep breath, ignoring the inevitable devolution to debate. Instead he absorbed the information. Where had he even gotten such a list of names? "How do I find them?"

The diplomat winced. "I can only give you a general location for now; in time I hope they will become more specific. I suggest looking for signs of distress nearby. Perhaps you will uncover citizens who can point you in the right direction. My contact will continue searching for more names."

Ezio blinked, things clicking together. "This information..." he drew out, "came from a city guard?"

"Yes," Machiavelli answered before pausing, frowning as the question settled in his mind. "How did you know?"

… So that had been the reason for the clandestine back alley meeting on the west bank; Volpe had not brought them to witness a betrayal, but rather to watch a Brother doing his work. This distrust... it was poison indeed, it had even – for the span of a moment – made Ezio doubt. Doubt was the one thing he could not afford, and he decided that he absolutely would not spread it.

He gave an easy, charming grin. "Lucky guess. Grazie."

"Maestro, what did you do to those bindings?"

Ezio took his scolding with dignity if not grace, letting the doctor redress his bandages and finally collapsing into a deep sleep. The next day he visited the banker again, and discovered that shelling out the money for Volpe and Bartolomeo left him with exactly twenty-four florins to his name, when all was said and done. He had known the money would disappear quickly, but not this quickly, and he sighed, pursing his lips and wondering just how long it would take to refill his accounts. He still needed to seed the money to set up Dante, and find a blacksmith, and even furnish the warehouse, to say nothing of simply eating from day to day. He couldn't collect money from the businesses he had vaguely planned on investing in until he actually did invest in those businesses. Without the money to do that... He sighed, deeply, and told himself to be patient.

Two days later he woke to find a pigeon tapping incessantly at his window. Still half asleep and utterly annoyed at being woken up, he opened the tiny window to shoo it away when it boldly flew inside, sweeping around the cavernous warehouse before landing at the desk. The behavior woke him up slightly, enough to make him see a note tied to its leg. A carrier pigeon? Trained to come to the warehouse? Confused, he took the message, the bird nipping at his fingers for food that he did not have.

The letter was from Pantasilea, neat and small script explaining that Machiavelli had been using pigeons for the longest time and wondering if they were switching to a different means of communication, given that Ezio had yet to utilize them. That left Ezio grilling Machiavelli about why he hadn't been informed of this sooner – he could have found Volpe so much easier if he had known there was already a form of communication!

Machiavelli, in turn, offered a contemptuous frown. "Did Mario never use them?" he asked in a deceptively neutral voice.

And, in truth, Ezio didn't know. He didn't know because Mario gallivanted about Italy hither and yon, never in one place for too long, and rarely home long enough for Ezio to take notice of how he had conducted business. In fact, Ezio had never taken interest in how his uncle had conducted business, and only now did he realize there was an entire world of teaching he had never taken the time to learn from his precious uncle. The pain of having lost that opportunity sent him to his sword, swinging one-armed at the stone pillar, ignoring Dante's narrow glares and working through his forms to keep himself from giving into the grief too deeply. That night he dreamed about the villa attack, and the death of his beloved Cristina and his family and all the lost opportunities. He had missed so much... and he could never get it back...

He awoke the next morning in a bitter, reticent mood, but forced himself to take a deep breath and move on. Terrible things had happened, but he would not let it rule his life, too many good things had happened to allow it. He thought of his earliest memories of Cristina, trying to get her attention and fighting Vieri de' Pazzi to do so, chasing his brother Federico around the streets of Florence, the lectures from his father and the chess games with Petruccio, training with Antonio and Volpe in Venetian heat, adventures with his best friend Leonardo, his induction to the Brotherhood.

Calmer now, he wrote a letter to Volpe, Bartolomeo, and Claudia, asking all of them to meet him that night at Isola Tiberina to report their progress. He doubted the thief had much information, he had only just set his friend to task; but Claudia had over a month to worm her way into papal politics, and Bartolomeo already had several men tailing Cesare. Machiavelli... he didn't have a way to contact the diplomat. Another oversight, but he resolved to fix that when next he appeared. At least the man seemed to be dropping by on a semi-regular basis... perhaps to check up on his health? Ezio didn't know for sure.

He went out that afternoon to do more favors, keeping his ears to the ground and honing his picture of the city. Slavers were a big problem, people disappeared at regular intervals, it seemed, and the name Cento Occhi popped up whenever it happened. Ezio had heard the name from the courtesans, and wondered if Volpe knew anything about them. Renegades? Bodies appearing in the Tevere was common practice: enemies of Cesare Borgia often ended up there, but others as well. The Senate was talked over with a more than slight tone of cynicism, and nobody dared mention Borgia's name for fear of retribution from the guards. Ezio silently killed one man harassing a mother, using ugly language and threats to take her daughter for himself. It was the loss of a throwing knife, and he really didn't have the finances to just waste a weapon like that, but at the same time he couldn't stand by and do nothing as the guard was so obviously abusing his power. He remembered his friend Leonardo, accosted by a city guard and beaten in his own studio.

That had been his first kill. The memory made him smile, slightly.

Coming back to his bolthole, he saw Machiavelli by the door, obviously waiting for him. He wore a look of undisguised confusion, and locked eyes with the master assassin.

"Claudia, Bartolomeo and La Volpe are waiting for you inside," he said slowly, as if not quite believing his own words. "I can't imagine how you did it."

Ezio grinned. "Virtue, Machiavelli," he said with Florentine irony.

"... Virtue?"

Perhaps he would explain later.

Then again, perhaps not. Machiavelli needed to see it for himself, to come to his own conclusions, just as Ezio had with all of his teachers.

Inside, everyone was surrounding the single desk the warehouse had. Ezio only had two chairs so far, Claudia in one of them and Pantasilea in the other. Bartolomeo was at his wife's shoulder, regaling them with a tale of some exaggeration while Volpe watched from under the line of his hood. Pantasilea smiled and nodded, and Claudia was an interesting shade of pink with all the vulgar language the mercenary was using. An instinctive need to scold Bartolomeo was invoked with that obvious sign of discomfort, but Ezio grappled it and shook it off. She wanted in on this, she didn't want to be treated like his piccina, she didn't want to be coddled, so she would just have to deal.

It... was the only kindness he could offer.

Ezio walked in, Machiavelli flanking him, and watched as Volpe eyed the diplomat with a hard purple gaze. Claudia gave a defiant glare to her brother, demanding with her eyes that he stop Bartolomeo from his vulgarity, while said mercenary laughed at his own tale, oblivious to all the undercurrents in the room. Pantasilea sat perfectly straight, her face tight as the tension started to build in the room.

… What a Brotherhood he had.

Ezio realized that his headaches were far from over. He worked his jaw and started the meeting.

"What have you discovered?"

The mercenary went first. "That bastardo Cesare is in the Castel Sant'Angelo with the Pope. My men say he'll be there for about two weeks. After that he rides to Rimini and Faenza."

"What will he do there?"

"Conquer, what else? Rumors have it he wants to put all of Italia under his thumb. We'll see if he has the balls to do it; the man is a pretty little girl, after all. He probably sucks his own tits to make himself feel better."

Claudia closed her eyes, a deep frown on her face as she undoubtedly started counting in her head.

"My spies tell me that the Apple has been secreted to someone for study. I am working on determining his identity."

Ezio blinked. "That was fast."

Volpe shrugged. "Not really. I had my spies working as soon as I saw Monteriggioni on fire. They've been looking for the last three months. I finally got word the other day. I don't know what their criteria are for sending the Apple to someone for study, but my people are hoping to find that out and, from that, gather a name."

"I had no idea you had spies in the papal court," Machiavelli said. "You could have told me."

Volpe's face was completely blank of expression, but Ezio could hear the faint sounds of a sneer in his reply: "... It must have slipped my mind. I know you didn't tell me that there was a rival guild here."

"I didn't even know you were here," Machiavelli retorted, "And what rival guild?"

"The Cento Occhi," Volpe said. "Quite convenient, that you don't know about them even though you have Cesare's ear..."

"My network is not large enough for that, and I have enough things on my plate right now as it is."

"Wait, wait," Ezio said quickly, stepping between the two before Volpe considered bloodshed. "Back up. The Cento Occhi? I thought they were slavers?"

Volpe gazed at Ezio from under his hood, up even in the safety of the warehouse, before nodding his head. "They have their hands in a lot of pies. We," he explained, gesturing to himself, "have an unspoken agreement with the poor in Roma. We do not steal from them and in turn they do not see us. But the Cento Occhi prey upon these people... They inspire terror and drive them to the church for comfort, they are the primary source for bodies in the Tevere, and yes, they are slavers as well. There is also a rumor that they are Cesare Borgia's private couriers, but I haven't confirmed that. If they were to disappear, no one would miss them." He leveled a pointed glare at Machiavelli, daring him to contradict him.

"A familiar prong," the diplomat said. "Used much like the Followers of Romulus, it seems, driving people to pay their tithes and buy salvation from fear." He turned to Ezio. "The people are easily swayed, it seems."

… Was the man trying to piss off everyone in the room? Ezio refused to rise to the bait, the meeting had derailed enough as it was. He looked to his sister, gesturing her to say something.

"Caterina Sforza was being held at Palazzo Belvedere."

"... 'Was?' "

She nodded. "Rumors are still flying about, but they say she tried to escape."

Ezio openly smiled. "Of course she would."

"It didn't go well," Claudia continued, glaring at the interruption. "She will be moved to the prison within the Castello next week. They're accusing her of trying to poison the Pope."

"She may well have," Ezio said, still smirking in pride at the Tigress of Forli. "Anything else?"

"Only that Madonna Solari was an idiota," Claudia said. "The girls have a long way to go before they live up to my standards, and several of them don't appreciate the change in leadership. More than a few want to go back to the old ways and sell their secrets to the highest bidder. Loyalty is a foreign concept to them."

"Are you asking for help?" Ezio asked, his rich baritone low. Every bone in his body demanded he do just that, to whisk all of Claudia's problems away, but he forcibly reminded himself that she chose this, and didn't want the help.

Her gaze hardened, and she sat much straighter in her chair. "No," she said emphatically. "I can handle it."

Bartolomeo looked back and forth between the two. "What's this?" he asked, confused. "Ezio, I thought you looked out for your women. Don't tell me you're going to let some open legs sweep in and-"

"You stay out of this," Claudia hissed, her eyes hard and flashing.

Bartolomeo blinked, surprised at the reaction, before laughing out loud. "Ha! I see you have more balls that most whores, well sai-"

"Never call my sister a whore," Ezio said, his voice low and dangerous and utterly unable to help himself.

Bartolomeo, for his part, was utterly confounded. "That's your sister?" he demanded, before turning back to Claudia. "You're his sister? The little piccina that-"

"Beloved," Pantasilea said softly, "Now is not the time to talk about it."

"But he's letting her-"

"Beloved," she said again, her voice lower but no less soft. The mercenary scoffed and crossed his arms, closing his mouth.

Silence hung in the air for a long moment, Ezio and Claudia both working to get their emotions under control; Ezio closed his eyes and ran his good hand down his face, pulling at his skin and his closely cropped beard. This was exactly why she couldn't be helping him, she was only causing more problems! Now he had to defend her honor at every turn because this! Why, why did she jump at the opportunity to be the head of a brothel? Just what was she trying to prove?

With a deep sigh he put the feelings away for later and rolled his unbound shoulder.

"So, in short," he said, hoping he sounded less shaky than he thought. "Cesare Borgia is in Castel Sant'Angelo for the next two weeks, with Caterina Sforza scheduled to join next week. The Apple is secreted away for study by some anonymous figure. The Borgia employ at least two different bands of cutthroats: the Cento Occhi and the Followers of Romulus to terrorize the citizens and drive them to the church. We have a list of names of lieutenants employed by Cesare to do more harm, but only vague locations as to where they nest. The Thieves Guild is fighting the Cento Occhi but is likely indistinguishable with each other which confuses the citizenry, and training at the barracks is going to be slow going for the foreseeable future, and the Rosa in Fiore will need its house cleaned. And I am out of money. Is there anything else?"

Pantasilea blinked at the comment about his finances, as did Volpe, but nobody said anything.

"Bene," Machiavelli said. "An adequate position, given what you started with. So the Castello it is. Roma will heal quickly with Cesare and Rodrigo gone."

This again. "Only if the opportunity to assassinate them arises will I take it," Ezio said, his voice firm.

The Florentine diplomat's eyes narrowed. "Do not repeat your mistake in the Vault. You must kill them now. Who knows when Cesare will next be in Roma."

"I'm with Machiavelli, Ezio," Bartolomeo said. "We should not wait."

Volpe gave a wary glance at Machiavelli before saying, "Bartolomeo is right."

Them, too? He looked to Claudia. Her face was still red from Bartolomeo's earlier comments, but he could see her mind working, thinking, assessing. She looked down, her voice soft. "They killed Zio Mario," she said simply.

… Everyone was against him, it seemed. He gave an internal sigh.

"Do not worry," he assured them. "They will die. You have my word."

---

The next morning he didn't want to wake up. He had been plagued with dreams of the villa attack, intermingled with the hanging of his family and the brutal death of Cristina, and he just didn't have the energy of his youth to hop right out of bed. He lingered as much as he dared, before inevitably thinking about the long, long, long list of things he had to do and prepare for.

Ezio had yet to scout out the castello that he would be assaulting next week, and he wanted at least a brief lay of the land to know what he would be getting into. He also needed to spend the next week doing favors for actual payment – it was either that or starve – and he knew the income would be pitiful indeed. Nobody had injected money into the economy yet, and so there was little money indeed to spread around. He had yet to corner Machiavelli and ask about his private spy network; the man was private enough apparently to not want to share, but Ezio wanted to at least have an assessment of the information network he was trying to initiate. Claudia's girls needed training, and Volpe's men had difficulty gathering intelligence if the people didn't actually trust him. Bartolomeo... Ezio didn't know just how large his host was, and it would take time to train the recruits once the renovations were complete. That didn't even get into the wound on his shoulder; all the abuse he had put it through had set his recovery back repeatedly, and he dearly hoped that his assault on Castel Sant'Angelo wouldn't require climbing.

… He wasn't going to be that lucky, but Ezio still wished for it.

He spent the next three days building up his endurance of his right arm, trying to see how much climbing he could do one handed and if his muscles could take it. He determined quickly that he had not lost as much ability as he thought, even with his arm bound to his side he could hop up posts and some signs and make his way to rooftops, and his balance was not terribly affected. His grace, however, was a different story, as was his speed. All climbing took a great deal more care, therefore more time, and he could not do it completely silently. And that, more than anything else, made him realize just how inhibited he was with is injury.

There was a long afternoon of creative cursing as he realized that.

Ezio felt more than slightly cornered into the assault; there was so much disagreement between the guilds that the master assassin found himself thankful they had even agreed on that much. Volpe had always seemed relatively easy-going; he had not expected to see the man giving veiled barbs and innuendo of treachery at Machiavelli – who of course soured everybody's mood by his very presence and blunt opinions. He knew things would be strained with Claudia, but he had not expected her to be so uncomfortable with Bartolomeo's creative cursing, given that Ulderico himself had been a mercenary; and then there had been the comment about her being a whore and... Ezio growled to himself.

Some Brotherhood!

He wondered how his father and uncle had managed to keep everyone unified for so long. After a short three months everything was falling apart, and Ezio was going to stage an assault on one of the Pope's most fortified buildings in an attempt to keep everything roughly stitched together. The thought was cause for depression.

The next day, he found an architect wandering the streets of the island, a confused look on his face.

"Are you lost?" Ezio asked, putting on the charm.

"Si, it would seem," he said, looking up. "I am to contact a Ser Auditore da Firenze, in a warehouse, but I cannot seem to find it..."

Ezio blinked, surprised at the contact, but kept an easygoing smile on his face. "I know the warehouse of which you speak; allow me to guide you there."

"Ah, grazie, messere," the other man said.

He whistled when he saw the barren warehouse with its solitary desk.

"Now then, what can I do for you?" Ezio asked.

"Wait... you..." The architect stuttered for several seconds, before drawing himself up and bowing generously. "Ser Ezio," he said, in full sales pitch, "I represent the combined resources of Bartolomeo d'Alviano, Claudia Auditore and La Volpe. Through my associates spread across the city you can channel your florins to any part of the underground you desire. As a gesture of goodwill, they have purchased a building here on Isola Tiberina for a..." he paused, mustache twitching as he struggled to remember, "... a Dottore Dante. They have also donated the sum necessary to renovate it to his needs, and say they will make further donations in the future."

Ezio blinked, staring at the architect. "... What?"

The man gave his pitch again, or started to, before he grabbed the man's arm and dragged him to the bank and stormed Matteo's office. The architect pointed out the building on the map, explained the work that was going to be done and the costs of everything. It smacked of Claudia's frugal efficiency. Once the architect was dismissed, Ezio turned to his banker.

"That building is going to pay a one percent tax, secret to everyone, that goes straight into my accounts."

Matteo blinked. "One percent? That's hardly enough to eat off of!"

"No, it won't," Ezio said, leaning back with a mysterious grin. "But it will add up once we get others."

"... Others?"

But Ezio left it at that, going back to the warehouse and telling Dante of the windfall that had just landed in his lap. The shower of gratitude was almost embarrassing, the doctor utterly thrilled to have a practice again, and had no problem treating the occasional assassin for free or paying the one percent tax; he considered it a fair trade for the inherent protection from Borgia guards, and he gleefully moved into his new shop before renovations had even started, saying he had no problem working around the construction.

And so, on March 28, Ezio stood in the square of the Ponte Sant'Angelo, Machiavelli at his side, as they discreetly watched a carriage ride up. The noon sun had the square filled with people, heads bobbing up and down, merchants selling their wares, children darting between legs. The papal carriage drew more than a few eyes, and the beauty of Lucrezia Borgia as she stepped out, resplendent in a rich red dress and trendy starched collar, drew even more. The blonde twenty-year old waited, watching people point and stare, until she called out to the crowds.

"Salve, citizens of Roma!" she announced. "Behold a sight most splendid! A bitch of most evil powers, a harlot who tried to send poisoned letters to Pope Alexander naught five months ago, Caterina Sforza, she-whore of Forlì — has at last been brought to kneel!"

From out of the carriage came two heavily armed Borgia guards, pulling out the redheaded tigress. Ezio's eyes narrowed as he saw whatever finery she had been wearing was ripped to nigh nonexistence, her bodice visible and half laced, her skirts in tatters and arms bare for all the men to see. The master assassin could hear the lust in the men around him, and his shoulder strained against its bindings, wishing to stab such lascivious men. Many catcalls echoed throughout the crowds, whistles and vulgarity, and Lucrezia gave a positively smug smile, enjoying the reaction as the blond turned to witness Caterina's humiliation.

The response was not what the blond expected at all.

"Ha!" she scoffed, "No one kneels as low as Lucrezia Borgia! Who put you up to this? Was it your brother or your father? Perhaps a bit of both? Perhaps at the same time!"

Machiavelli choked slightly next to Ezio, but the master assassin grinned at the woman's spirit. She was not broken yet!

Lucrezia harshly slapped Caterina across the face, fury making her beauty turn ugly.

"Shut your mouth!" she hissed, "None speak ill of the Borgia!" A nod to the guard and an armored fist was pounded into Caterina's unprotected belly, causing her to double over as the air was pushed out of her lungs. The crowd reacted to the display, and Lucrezia's hard gaze snapped to the people.

"The same will happen to any who defy us!" she threatened. "Remember that!"

"Good people of Roma, stay strong!" Caterina shouted as they started to drag her away. "You will be free, your time will come, I swear it! The Assassin may be dead but-"

A gauntlet collided with her temple and she at last went limp, the procession crossing the bridge to the castello beyond.

Ezio cursed. "They are going to torture her."

Machiavelli gave his companion a narrow gaze. "You are here for Cesare and Rodrigo. Do not let your heart, or rather, your loins, get the best of you."

Ezio shook his head, offended that his fellow Florentine thought so little of him. "Caterina is a powerful ally, if we help her now while she is weak, she will aid us in return. You remember her assistance in Forli with the Apple."

"That ended very badly for you, as I recall," Machiavelli retorted. "You nearly died, and the Apple was lost to us for almost a decade. Her influence has declined greatly since her son tried to assassinate her husband."

… Was he blind? Ezio turned to face Machiavelli. "How do you think she would react to learn that the Assassins were alive but did not come to her aide? Do you think her influence so far gone that you would risk her ire? Even if her power is less than what it was, she is a Sforza, which means allies all throughout Italia. It would be beneficial indeed if Ludovico Il Moro Sforza was on our side, yes?"

"... Perhaps. But kill Cesare and Rodrigo first."

"Fine," Ezio grunted, his mood sour. He pulled out a red robe Machiavelli had brought, draping it over himself to look like a cardinal, and kept his head low as he began to cross the bridge.

He got perhaps twenty feet in before a city guard pulled him aside. "I've never seen a cardinal with a sword. What business do you have here?"

Ezio, intent as he was on the castello, blinked at the guard with hard gold eyes, taking a moment to think before putting on the thickest French accent he could muster. "What do you want?" he demanded.

The guard pointed at Ezio's hip. "No swords," the man said in slow, condescending tones.

Ezio swore at him in French, demanding to be left to his own devices and hoping he could bluff his way into the castello, but the guard grabbed his (bad) arm and escorted him back over the bridge, cursing French idiocy before shoving him back into the square. Machiavelli watched from a crowd, raising a skeptical eyebrow, before Ezio rolled his eyes. Finding a ladder, he climbed up to the roofs to see if he could ascertain another way to the Castel Sant'Angelo. Asking his eagle for help, he looked for telltale traces of gold, possible paths to climb and...

There, mooring by one of the fences and...

"Merda."

With great frustration, Ezio climbed back down to the square and rejoined his companion.

"I can't do it."

"What?"

"I can't do it," Ezio repeated. "The climb is too difficult for me as I am now. I need time to heal and use both arms before I can stage this assault. I'm not ready; I can't do it."

Machiavelli openly scowled. "Then all of our efforts have been lost. The longer those men live, the more time they take to plan their next attack."

The more time they had to torture Caterina as well, and that was a trail of thought Ezio did not want to travel; but what could he do? He was just one man, none of the others had the skills necessary to perform this assault, and he wasn't so stupid as to commit effective suicide just on principle. Now one of his most powerful allies was going to be tortured for weeks, possibly months, because of his injuries. He had failed. Again. Merda.

Merda!

Machiavelli seemed to sense Ezio's darkening mood. "Come," he said slowly. "We should go back to the warehouse, plan our next move."

"... Si."

"Maestro!"

Both men blinked, turning and looking out through the crowds to see a waif of a man running towards them, in threadbare clothes and a bright smile that-

"... Romeo?" Ezio asked, stunned, as the tiny man ran up to the master assassin and grinned. "... You're... alive?"

"Maestro," Romeo said, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I had thought the worst... I didn't know what to do... but then I saw your accounts and I knew I had to see for myself... oh, maestro, it is so good to see you! Is Lady Claudia alive as well? And Ser Mario?"

"What... what are you doing here?" Ezio asked, beside himself.

"I almost didn't make it, Maestro, but your apprentice found me and helped guide me here. It's a miracle from God! You're alive!"

"... 'Apprentice?' " Ezio repeated. He looked past the tiny banker and to another man, dressed in pale grey with a hood; dark stubble littering his chin.

The man looked up, meeting Ezio's eyes, and gave a pragmatic bow. "Maestro Ezio Auditore da Firenze," he said slowly, his face young. He couldn't have been more than twenty-five. "I am an apprentice Assassin of the Order, and I come here, to you, to complete my training."

"... And who are you?"

He offered a small grin.

"Francesco Vecellio da Pieve di Cadore."

---

Author's Notes: Is that a few shrieks of glee we hear at seeing the above name? Vecellio will be a familiar name to anyone who played Project Legacy, and Ezio needed a positive note after this chapter.

There are several points in this chapter, but two stand out the most. The one is a personal favorite if ours: logisitics. Perhaps it's geeky or nerdy, but the two of us love logisitcs. Anyone who's been in charge of anything, from a classroom to a club to something else, will understand that there is a lot that goes into leadership that doesn't appear on paper: organizing, financing, and in Ezio's case philosophy and secrecy. Whenever the two of us talked about writing ACB, we spent most of our time talking about these early chapters because we were discussing the logistics: how much money would Ezio have available? How would he plan for the future? How would apprentices work (more on THAT in later chapters :P) etc. You see a lot of half formed plans here, and they will continue to develop over the course of the fic, and finances will give him a headache for the vast majority of this fic. And we love it. We just love it :D

Do forgive the geekdom.

The second thing is less self-gratifying: Claudia. Or, more specifically, the role of women in Renaissance Italy. Because Claudia has to fight to be acknowledged in the game, this struggle ran away with us and turned into a political commentary about how women were treated, seen, limited, abused, etc. Nobody blinks when a half-naked courtesan runs through the streets shouting for help, and it's a matter of course that the Madonna of a brothel would have been raped repeatedly before the arrival of money are only some of the things we did in this fic to illustrate the point. That Claudia now works in a brothel perpetuates this, and we spent a lot of time talking about where to go with this, but Claudia and Ezio sort of ran away with us for this particular arc. We finally decided that Ezio, while more evolved than most men on the subject of women, grew up as a Florentine nobleman, and doesn't realize that as advanced as he is he has some preconceptions that limit his understanding. Protecting Claudia by sending her away, his disgust at the idea of her heading a brothel, are symptoms of these preconceptions, and the rest of the fic will exacerbate this friction between them while Claudia... "educates" him on the truth. That Federica will go through puberty over the course of this will not help. Literally every scene between them becomes important for this reason, and it culminates in a way that's quite rewarding for us at the end of the fic.

And then there's also setting up Barto's idiocy, Volpe's distrust, and trying to set things up for the ONE YEAR time skip that's about to hit. Did we mention time skips? This one's short compared to the next one.

Next chapter: "Hey wassa matter with you, Altair?"