The tavern was thrumming with the underground vibe typically found in places of the same breed. The hearty chuckles and drunken rage of the men populating the dim, one-room, drinking den sounded raucously through the heavily drifting smell of alcohol. The place wasn't outrageously crowded or anything, but the darkly-fixed, hooded man could feel the pressing presence of lilting bodies and the heat of human occupation. He noted with a shaking head how much the room contrasted around him. Some were singing and engaged in avid conversation with friends and brothers while others slumped in the corners and across tables either sulking in a sad stupor or sobbing over whatever loss they experienced.

He worked his way back to an empty, ratty, oak table in the back, ducking and dodging away from overly-enthusiastic gestures and stumbling bodies. He took a seat in the corner table, sliding a hand up and pushing back his silver hood to run a hand through his dark hair. He felt the stress of his missing student eating at his sanity. He was finding it more and more difficult to restrain his temper and thoughts of revenge were eating at the rapidly thudding muscle in his chest. He was completely open to revenge. In fact, he intended to let loose his intent with wrath. But, for now, he could not allow his anger and fear to stand in the way of his search. He wasn't going to endanger Calendre for his own selfish needs. He continued to wait patiently for someone to meet him and hear his request, for thieves always saw when potential profit entered, and his mind reeled over the jumble of thoughts in his head.

What would he do if he could not find her? No, he would find her. But what if he found her and she was- god no. That wasn't an option. Not yet. What if she was injured beyond repair? Physically or mentally. And she could no longer serve the templar order? Would they shun her? Would she be cast out and away from him for the rest of his existence? He would not allow that either. If need be, he would take her and they would run.

Fuck Cesare. Fuck Fiora.

He didn't care if the courtesan took him off the street and gave him an actual life. He didn't care if he used to admire the woman beyond what was healthy. If she dared take away something that was so important to him, every thought or feeling he'd had towards her would dissolve from his mind. He narrowed his eyes at this resolve.

It was in this moment that Calendre and his' last night together flashed into his mind. If he never got to experience that again, he was sure his sanity wouldn't survive. Not with the knowledge that another human body could feel so wonderful. The knowledge that it was possible for another being to show so much devotion to him, a once steely and unemotional murderer. The wolf was fully certain he would never find this sanctity in another person, even if he searched a lifetime. He hadn't even known before that it was possible for someone to hold his sentiment so strongly. He knew for a fact that his former self would have despised his current self for such weakness.

"Fumare!" Il Lupo's head snapped up and out of his thoughts. No...

"Fratellino!" This was a second voice, not quite as deep than the first. He knew those voices and only two people in the world had ever called him either of those names.

"Vincenzo? Clemente?" The Prowler spoke slowly, carefully. His mind was frantically taking in the two men standing over his table, both exactly alike to the untrained eye. They both had mischievously glinting, hazel eyes, lean, unusually tall frames and long, gently wavy, dark-brown hair that was tied back to rest between their shoulders. He noted that they both wore identical clothing, simple and slightly dingy with dark emerald scarves wrapped securely around their necks, just like they always had. He remembered endless enjoyment from the fact that the outside world was completely unable to tell them apart. They'd gotten away with so many things with their near exact likeness. Both also openly held the endearing excitement that a 10 year old child would over a new plaything as they looked him over.

"You always were the pretty one, eh?" Clemente clapped him on the back with a hearty chuckle as he slid into a chair positioned at Il Lupo's 2 o'clock. Vincenzo sat in the chair opposite his brother, so he could speak directly to both Il Lupo and Clemente.

"I'd expected him to grow out of it," Vincenzo said in a teasing, thoughtful tone that was slightly deeper than his brother's.

"Did you ever get into that woman's skirt? What was her name again?" Clemente leaned in and mused over his thought. Il Lupo rolled his eyes and lounged back into his chair, grinning despite himself.

"Fabia." Vincenzo quipped.

"Fiora," Il Lupo corrected. "And no, but I was close." Both twins chuckled.

"It has been far too long, Fumare," Vincenzo said, growing slightly more sentimental as he used the name, Fumare; the one the twins had given him long ago, when they first met. They'd called him that ever since, explaining whenever he asked why they chose the nickname, that "one's name was nothing to question". The wolf would always mutter under his breath about either their incompetence or the loose validity of their answer. Eventually he figured it out.

"Sono d'accordo." Clemente nodded his agreement. Il Lupo sighed.

"I have missed you as well, i miei fratelli," the wolf nodded back at them both. "But I have something very important I must speak to you about." He paused a moment to loose the small pouch of money from his belt and set it on the table.

The twins glanced at each other an then back at their old friend.

"What have you done, Fumare?" Vincenzo said nervously, chewing at his lip, though there was a bit of amusement in his eyes. Il Lupo blinked and glanced away for a moment, then looked back at the brothers, feeling the lightest of blushes forming over his face.

"I fell in love." Both twins immediately relaxed, slumping back in their chairs and rolling their eyes with light laughs. Il Lupo scowled at their reaction. "What?"

"You're a fool, that's what." Clemente said with a scoff. He'd always been the brasher one. The hardy fighter with a survivor's soul. Vincenzo smirked at his brother, but leaned in to look at Il Lupo.

"Who is she? And why have you come here?" Ah, Vincenzo. Clemente may have been the survivor, the fighter, and they all were, but Vincenzo always seemed to have a deeper intuition than his brother. Not that Clemente was completely incompetent, he was just running low on empathy. Il Lupo decided to turn most of his words onto Vincenzo, but he could tell Clemente was still listening.

"Her name is Calendre Foti. She was assigned to me as an apprentice." He saw Clemente raise his eyebrow at the remark and Vincenzo blinked, the wolf trailing off, thrown by the twins' strange reaction.

"And why would you require our services?" Vincenzo questioned, pulling Il Lupo out of his pondering.

"She has disappeared, and I fear for her safety." Il Lupo swallowed heavily. "I need to get her back."

"I think we may be able to help, fratello." Clemente spoke up, and Vincenzo sent a sharp look his way. The wolf sensed something very off.

"You know something," the wolf breathed.

"Possibly." Vincenzo cut in. Il Lupo looked at the twin sharply.

"If you know something, you will tell me. Now." The Prowler snapped at the man, his voice angry, but also serrated with a yawning desperation. Vincenzo's eyes widened just slightly at the sudden realization of how much fear lay buried in the man's eyes. Clemente looked ready to make some kind of move, looking at his brother with warning eyes.

"That temper." Clemente then clucked at Il Lupo.

Vincenzo looked sincerely at his long lost friend. "You truly love her? Don't you?" The wolf swallowed roughly. Clemente let out a little huff.

"We may be able to help, but..." Clemente leaned forward slightly, looking at Il Lupo pointedly. "I am not going to give you any hope yet. Vincenzo and I will collect more information on the matter but even then, we may not be able to give you anything. It's possible that by doing so we would be endangering both her life and yours." Clemente said it in a business like tone, but there was something strained in his words. Il Lupo slumped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose and briefly closing his tired eyes. Both twins looked on, slightly unsure of what to do with this crumbling mess of a formerly sharp, decisive killer.

"Go home and sleep well, my brother. We will do what we can and find you when we've got something." Clemente sighed as he stood. Vincenzo stood next.

"Maybe grab a drink? Just do not worry yourself," The deeper voiced twin added. "I'm fairly certain she is in no danger at the moment."

"Why can't you just tell me what you know? If she is safe now, why not secure her before she is harmed?" The twins shared that glance again. The glance that seemed to hold some telepathic conversation. The wolf looked between them.

"Goodnight, amico mio." Clemente nodded at Il Lupo as both brothers turned to exit the tavern, leaving the pouch of money behind. The disappeared into the smoke haze and slumped bodies and the wolf let his head fall into his hands atop the table. He sat there a moment, perfectly blending with the intoxicated patrons that made the bar their home. Then, he ran his hands through his hair and sat up, standing and working his way out quickly to fresh air.

When he exited the tavern, he stood for what seemed like forever outside the door, just staring up at the little pinpricks of glorious light that were freckled across navy blue night. He tried to forget the throbbing pain in his leg. The air was slightly cool, and completely still and it seemed as though absolutely nothing was stirring, besides the building behind him where the hum of activity thrummed even through the heavy wooden door. He wanted this to be over. This worrying. He wanted the beautiful templar back by his side and safe. Or, at least as safe as a murderer could be. This entire situation was making him sick to the core, which only made him feel even sicker, for having this much attachment to a person was disgustingly unhealthy. Perhaps it was infatuation...

But it wasn't. It couldn't be, because he felt too much loyalty, too much closeness. Passion was just lust and greed but what he felt was something different altogether. Something that seemed more and more likely to get him killed. And more and more likely to make him not care.