Salai was, in fact, a big instigator in a lot of things that went on in secret. Leaned flush against Leonardo in the chair, back to chest, Ezio thought Salai looked like a spoiled prince sitting on a throne. He wondered if Salai was the wicked bridge that connected him and Leonardo together, or if Leonardo was the patient structure that connected him and Salai. Their mutual triangle of affairs had become increasingly more woven together, so much that he could rarely see Leonardo without Salai being involved or vice versa.

"Kiss him," Salai said, reaching out to pull him down closer by the front of his robes. Their faces hovered together, unmoving. "Kiss him, or"—and Salai turned to brush his lips over Leonardo's cheek—"I will kiss him for you."

Agitation pushed into Ezio, and jealousy bubbled in the back of his throat. He supported himself on the arms of the chair, leaned in past Salai's expectant face to capture the waiting artist's lips. Salai coaxed the kiss deeper by caressing fingers along their jawline.

Like a puppet master, like a devil wielding pieces in a game of chest, Salai moved them together, twisted them and manipulated them into forbidden, delicious positions.

Salai was, in fact, a big instigator in a lot of things that went on in secret.