Even as the cart left the Apennine Mountains and rumbled into Florence, Leonardo found no peace.

The familiar sights and smells provided little comfort; they were but memories of his son as a child, leaving their home for the first time, on the artist's vain hope that they would escape his impending fate. The narrow streets that would suddenly give way to wide, open clearings and wider roads did nothing but mock his cherished recollections. They taunted him, reminded him of his failure to protect Fiorentino, and seemed to almost boast of the fact that those same streets would see the boy to his end.

Leonardo felt like he was walking into a tomb.

"What do we do from here, Maestro?" Gian asked, quivering next to him with both excitement and apprehension; "Do we go straight to him?"

Hidden away in the cart's lattice belly were Ezio and Mario – besides them, Claudia, and her stow-away son Angelo. They had discovered the child under one of the tarps some time during their travels but, with Monteriggioni far behind them and time running out, his mother had decided to let him stay, not without a chastising and promised sanctions when they returned home.

They could still hear her; "Onestamente, Angelo; do you think this is a game?! We're here to save your cousin Fee – not to play hide and seek!"

Leonardo saw the prison tower the moment they entered the marketplace. It stretched high in the sky as though to scrape the clouds, taunting him, telling him that it had his son and had no intention of giving him up. The wooden supports and dull tapestries led all the way to three or four tiny, square windows, themselves blocked by the iron restraints, which would lead to the prison cells. His heart ached to think of Fiorentino in there, chains around his ankles, or perhaps pacing a dirty, grey room, confined by bars like a dove in a cage.

It was an afterthought that he was in the same prison his father Federico had been sent to. Shivering at the thought, Leonardo tried to push it away, for if he let his mind wander to the end of that story he knew he would resign himself to his son's fate, and would fight nowhere near as valiantly as he would if he still had hope.

"Leonardo, try to find a stable or a place to put the cart," Mario advised from inside the wagon; "We need to discuss our plan of attack."

In the prison tower, Fiorentino was looking out as he normally did, watching the world below him. His eyes were drawn to a cart rumbling through the crowd of featureless faces, and soon he realised why. He would recognise that red beret anywhere.

Il mio dio – Maestro, what are you doing here?!

He leaned forward so as to follow the artist's movement. The cart disappeared into a small alcove out of his line of sight, and he was forced to wonder why his father insisted on being so reckless, insisted on doing things that put himself at risk. Fee had accepted his fate; why could Leonardo not do the same?

"The plan is this," Ezio said after they had climbed out of the wagon. His limbs felt stiff from being in the same position for so long, and as they stretched and the muscles warmed, he remembered a time when his joints only gave him groans of protest.

Before him stood his team; Leonardo, Salaì, Mario, Claudia and Angelo. They were not the most intimidating to look at. As it was, they were getting odd stares from the people that filed past, wondering how such a mismatched group had come into existence, though without knowing the depth of their cause, moved on without so much as a second glance. Ezio had always relied on the general ignorance of modern civilisation.

"Salaì; you will go to the tower with the excuse that one of the Borgia has sent you. This document will be your proof."

He passed a small envelope over to the boy. It had been stolen by another informant long before, read a dozen times, but still looked to be in new condition. The red wax seal had even been mimicked to give it the air of authenticity. Inside, it was stated that an important prisoner was to be given an inspection, and Ezio thanked whatever deity watched over them that he had chosen to keep it.

"Once inside, check the area for any weaknesses. Anything from loose bricks to empty cells. It can all be used as a way for us to infiltrate and escape again."

Gian nodded. A wave of excitement crashed over him as he imagined taking on the guise, walking through the ranks of the enemy until he was brought to Fiorentino's cell, where he would perhaps relay the plan to him if they had a moment alone.

"Claudia, Uncle; you will be responsible for the distraction. With Angelo, draw the crowd's attention when I give you the signal, either through an argument or claims of adultery. Angelo, this is an important job. I need you to look as confused as possible when Mario starts shouting. Do you understand me?"

The boy, wide-eyed and bewildered, nodded. He understood that Fiorentino was in trouble, but no one had explained the severity of his situation, and no one would dare to unless they failed in their plot.

Finally, Ezio turned to Leonardo. The artist knew his skills were limited to the side-lines of assassin life – researching and deciphering Codex pages was all he had been given to do, plus the few times he was asked to create whatever upgrade his friend had discovered. But as blue eyes met brown, Ezio realised that he was determined to be a part of his son's escape, whether or not that included the areas of work he was most comfortable with.

"Leonardo," he began; "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Fiorentino is my son. I won't stand by and let these cani hurt him."

"Then you and I will be waiting on the roofs that surround the tower. When Salaì comes out of the prison and gives us the signal, we begin to clear out the area of any guards, informants, or anyone else who may work for this Ettore."

They were in agreement. Leonardo felt the claws of apprehension scratching up his spine, and wondered what would happen if they were to fail. They would all be put to death, no doubt. Claudia, Mario and Angelo would perhaps get away, but him, Ezio and Gian would be as good as dead. Executed alongside his son. It was a terrifying thought.

Just as they were about to turn, a shrill voice rang above the gentle hum of conversation around them – a voice the artist recognised; "Leonardo Da Vinci!"

His head snapped sideways to see a familiar if older Magdalena hurrying towards him, clutching the hem of a brown dress as she approached. Her eyes were wrought with concern, but still that brilliant green that had first caused him to notice her, and her hair had lost only some of its natural vibrancy.

"Signora," he greeted, his smile forced; "It's good to see you."

"Your son is in prison!" she ignored his words; "He faces the gallows, and he isn't denying his charge. What do you make of this?"

Leonardo looked to Ezio, who peered at the woman as though she had grown two heads.

"His name was released?" the artist asked. For all he was worth, he could not will away the anxiety in his voice, for if Fiorentino's identity was revealed the boy would never integrate himself back into society.

"No. I only know because my husband is Captain of the Guard. Fillipa's son – Ettore – he accuses him of murder. I never did like that devil!"

Behind him, the team had grown subdued. They did not recognise Magdalena, but thanked the heavens for her appearance, since she seemed so full of information they could use in Fee's rescue.

Leonardo clutched her gloved hands. It was the first time he had done so voluntarily, and with a grimace he realised they still jumped, still reacted to his touch.

"Maggie," he said, appealing to her through a nickname he had never used; "I know how this seems, but we need to know everything about Fee's prison. It's a matter of life and death."

She nodded; "He's guilty, isn't he?"

"Yes. But it was never his choice."

"I thought not. He's too…some men aren't meant for violence."

Leonardo's eyes softened once more. Inside his heart there was a stab of regret; both for the man his son could have been, and the man he had become, beaten and tormented by his own demons as he served some 'greater good.'

Magdalena took a deep breath and continued; "My husband thinks Fee is innocent. If I ask him, he will help you. Leonardo?" she looked him deep in the eyes, her own so soft and light that he was transported back all those years ago; "He refuses to go. Your son. He refuses to fight."

"What?"

"He says he has no will to go on. The gallows; for him, they're liberation. He wants to die."

Back in the tower, Fiorentino was busy. He had hidden on his person a long knife, carelessly left by a guard when he went about his patrol, and in his sleeve he tucked it away for future use.

Si ingannare amabile; he thought; I will stand with you until the end.