It was some time before the blonde-haired brat crossed Ezio's mind again.

In truth, the ill-mannered child only occupied the assassin's attention for a day or so following their first encounter. When the kid didn't show up weeping and apologetic on his doorstep, Ezio decided to let his focus drift from the little warrior. It's not that he didn't care for the stranger or the situation he was in, he just had so many more pressing issues to deal with, issues that determined the lives or deaths of many. Despite knowing that becoming a disciple of the brotherhood was undoubtedly the best choice for the orphan boy, Ezio lacked the desire and the time to chase after him and drill it into the youth's thick skull. If the boy truly wanted revenge and truly wanted to survive, he would turn up eventually. Until that time, Ezio had more important things to worry about.

Over the lapse of a few busy weeks, the man had put the boy into the back of his mind. It was safe to say he'd temporarily forgotten him, too preoccupied with the demanding life of Il Mentore da Assassini. After all, the man didn't even have a real name to put to the face. All he had was a family name that he could only just remember as something to do with sparrows.

"Intel should be on the top of our list. To put it simply, we do not know enough about the enemy we fight. I've tracked the location of an important courier for the Borgia. I know where he will be and when. The information he carries could greatly aid our forces. Obtaining his knowledge should be a top priority, Ezio."

"But of course. Though it is only a courier. It may be worth the experience to have one of the novices chase him down."

Niccolo frowned pointedly at the experienced assassin.

"And if they fail?"

"They will not fail. Trust in our brothers and sisters, friend."

The informant opened his mouth as if he intended to say something, only to pause in consideration for a moment and shut it. He let out a pointed sigh and nodded, sitting back in his chair in surrender.

"Just ensure that whoever you send is a little more than just a novice."

"Very well, if it makes you feel better."

Ezio returned the unamused look he received with a charming smile, only to have their exchange interrupted when La Volpe swept through the door.

"Ezio," he called, commanding the man's attention even before he asked for it. "We've caught a thief."

There was a moment of stunned silence in which Ezio and Niccolo exchanged a puzzled look. The master of thieves was reporting a captured thief? Almost simultaneously, both males turned thier quizzical looks to the fox.

"Not one of mine," he elaborated in a smooth tone.

"Ah," Ezio rose from his chair and approached La Volpe in a leisurely fashion. "So what has our thief friend attempted to steal?"

"A weapon from your blacksmith."

"Not the smartest thief if he is attempting to steal from the brotherhood," remarked Niccolo from where he sat, rapping his fingers against the desk. "And it's not exactly in our nature to take prisoners..."

"Perhaps the theft was a dare," joked the dark-clad assassin with a dry laugh, "where are you keeping him, and why spare his life? "

The fox shifted as if in thought, turning to accompany Ezio as the pair excited the drafting room and headed down the hall, towards the tunnel entrance.

"Well, he is not our usual brand of thief. We were...unsure how to handle him. We thought it best to seek your advice."

"My advice?" echoed the Florentini, "whyever would you-"

The man stopped himself when they turned the corner, his dark eyes zeroing in on the small shape sitting slouched in a chair just by the tunnel entrance. Two, gray-hooded novices stood over him, gossiping idly to one another as if their prisoner wasn't even there.

La Volpe noticed his comrade's hesitation and turned.

"Is he familiar to you?"

Ezio grunted.

"Perhaps."

When the high-ranking assassins approached, the novices turned and bowed, clearing their path just as swiftly to stand off to one side of the hall in silence.

"My," remarked the armored assassin in a thoughtful tone, though not without a sly smile, "at first, I thought I recognized this little thief, but..."

The aforementioned 'thief' lifted his head, his olive eyes widening at the sight of a familiar face under that hood. The surprise lingered on the youth's face for a few short lived seconds before it melted away to annoyance and defiance. La Volpe made a curious noise behind him.

"...the little one I remember did not have quite such dark hair."

True enough, the boy's hair was a thick, oily black, and upon placing his hand on the kid's head, Ezio realized it was as he assumed: a very poor dying job.

"Vaffanculo," muttered the boy, jerking his head away as his stare hit the floor. The novices exchanged a glance of bewilderment, while the fox nearby let out a dry laugh that almost sounded like a series of coughs.

"You know this poor-mouthed urchin?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"I'm not sure," Ezio returned slyly, "he looks familiar, but I feel as if the child I know would be a little more creative with his choice in insults."

The fox chuckled as the assassin circled around the boy, catching his defiant, challenging stare and only able to look upon it with amusement. His hands were bound loosely behind his back.

"Did he put up a struggle?" Ezio asked, eying the ropes.

"He did," one of the novices spoke, stepping forward, "but nothing we couldn't handle. He is not a threat, Mentore."

"I did not think he was."

The boy muttered what could have been another curse, but he did not speak clearly enough to be heard.

"Well then, passero-"

"Passerini," the youth corrected curtly.

"-What brings you to Tiber Island?"

"Not you," the thief scoffed, as if reading the man's mind. "I came to get a weapon. I was told by a merchant I know that the finest weapons are crafted here."

"For the highest prices, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"The price they charge is nothing," said the boy stubbornly.

"Which explains why you were stealing it."

The dark-haired youth bit his lip, a nervous habit that accompanied a glare directed at the floor. Ezio chuckled at the familiarity of the boy's defiance and attitude. While most others would quickly get annoyed with the abrasive behaviour and rude disposition, the assassin only found it as a source of entertainment. Besides, it was hard to accept this outer facade as reality when he'd already met the true child within – the child who had mourned so desperately for his family.

"Do you know why the weapons are of high quality here?"

The boy managed to lift his stare, giving Ezio a quizzical look. Something about that look said the boy had an idea, but did not want to be wrong and therefore chose silence over guessing. Instead of answering, Ezio braced one hand against the back of the boy's chair and with the hidden blade of his other, cut the youth free.

The boy brought his hands around to his front, tense as if he was entertaining the idea of running, but confused at the sheer lack of a reaction for the people around him. None of them seemed all too surprised at the man's actions, though all eyes were on him.

Deciding to take the chance, the boy bolted down the hall for the door.

He didn't make it three steps before one of the novices closed the distance and slammed the boy into the floor after catching his arm.

"You won't escape without my consent, boy. You may be unbound, but in no way are you free."

"Andate tutti a 'fanculo!"

"Ezio, I do not like this boy. He is poor mannered and disrespectful. Throw him to the Borgia and let him fend for himself. What reason does he have to insult us so?"

The dark-armoured assassin chuckled, but more so at the surprise on the boy's face, visible when he rolled over and regarded the only familiar assassin with a look of astonishment. La Volpe had said his name, and this would have been the first time the youth heard it.

"Ezio?" the child echoed, scrambling warily to his feet but choosing not to try running this time.

Ezio nodded, smiling slyly.

The boy's face twisted into something that could be called fear, but it was muddled with an attempted look of disgust.

"This is the Assassin's Headquarters, passero. The weapons are of quality because they fall into our hands. They protect the lives of those who make them and serve the city of their craft. You could not have picked a poorer place to attempt to rob."

As if by some divine timing, an attractive woman stepped through door down the hall, pausing upon entering to cast a puzzled look to the commotion off to her left. A boy stood with his back to her, flanked by a pair of novices nearby. La Volpe and her elder brother stood farthest from Claudia Auditore, whose observant eyes flicked from the men to the novices to the boy at the heart of it all.

"What on earth is going on here?"

"Claudia, excellent timing." Ezio nodded his head in a quick greeting. "We seem to have found a little bird in our territory, trying to liberate us of our wares."

"A little bird?" echoed the woman, her eyes settling on the child. "This greasy-haired boy? What trouble is he?"

"None beyond an earsore, I assure you."

The Auditore female gave her brother an abashed look.

"Then why is he here? Let the poor ragazzo go, Ezio!"

"Wait." The boy's voice was unusually bold, given the situation he was in, and had the attention of all who mattered as soon as he'd spoken. He turned from staring at the female stranger to giving the man who'd been repeatedly called 'Ezio' a hard look.

Ezio's sly smile widened just a fraction.

"This is the assassin's headquarters. You're assassins."

"That is correct, monello," it was not Ezio to speak, but La Volpe, who now stared down upon the boy with an unreadable look under his earth-toned hood. The boy did not return the attention, his green-eyed stare fixed only upon the dark-clad assassin, looking suspicious.

"So then you must be Ezio Auditore, the assassin everyone is looking for. The...leader?" The boy spoke as if he wasn't entirely sure of the rank he was labeling the subject with.

"Something like that."

"You are the Ezio Auditore?"

"I am."

The boy's mouth opened again, then shut – quickly swallowing whatever remark had almost spilled from the tip of his tongue. He now looked far more wary and cautious of the situation.

A little more afraid.

"I could easily turn this location in. I could turn you all in to the Borgia."

"Could you? You've already tried running once, and that worked so well. Not to mention we are assassins, boy. You wouldn't get far even if you managed an escape."

"Besides," said Claudia, approaching the child with a smile that resembled her elder brother's, "it's likely the Borgia know where we are, or at least have an idea. They choose not to attack us because that would be unwise. They cannot risk a civil war now. They are trying to unite Italia, not destroy it."

"Even if the methods they use to "unite" are violent and hypocritical," observed La Volpe, casting his cape over his shoulder.

"What's your name, boy?" asked Ezio, bringing his focus back on the dyed child.

"Passerini," was the flat response.

"Not the name of your family, but yours."

The boy pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, when he spoke, it was only to utter another curse. Ezio was suddenly overcome by an urge to biff the stubborn brat upside the head. All he asked for was a name. The boy's entertainment value was officially wearing out.

"Fine," Ezio waved a dismissive hand. "Assuming I let you leave, you're going to go straight to the Borgia?"

The boy said nothing and only continued to stare stubbornly.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, boy," Ezio took a step towards the child, who instantly tensed. The Florentini's smile was gone, but not the apprehensive air that seemed to surround him. He feared not this child's glares or sharp tongue and he would not allow himself to be treated so poorly by someone so naive. With every word he spoke, the man got closer and closer to the tense boy in the middle of the hall, whose fists clenched tightly at his sides. "...But was it not the Borgia I saved you from? Was it not the Borgia who stabbed your dear madre?"

"Ezio..." hissed Claudia, her maternal instincts already coming to the defense of the child, but Ezio held up a hand to still her tongue. The man stopped no more than a foot away from the ink-haired youth, his expression now carefully maintained as something stoic as he looked down to the shorter Italian.

"Was it not your father the Borgia suspended from the gallows? If my memory serves me correctly, were it not for me, that man would still be there, that woman dumped somewhere in the river and you with far less attitude and a lot more blood outside your body."

"Ezio!"

Over Claudia's reprimanding scold, the boy suddenly punched forward with a clenched fist, aiming to deck the taller man solidly across the face. Ezio was more than prepared, moving his head out of the way and lifting his hands to guide the fist away from his body, seize the momentum of the strike to grab the boy's arm, whirl him about and push the limb up into his back, only stopping when the child cried out in pain.

The hall was still and silent, almost as if everyone was holding their breaths – only to release it when Ezio shoved the boy away. He stumbled, only just managing to keep his balance and stay on his feet.

"If you so wish to return to the Borgia, be my guest."

The child turned, his expression grim and somehow – somehow! – still defiant.

"If you have nothing better to do then stand about and insult myself or my colleagues, I suggest you take your leave."

The tension in the air was heavy, even as the boy slowly backed away, bumping into Claudia and successfully surprising Ezio when he muttered a quick apology. Without another word, the ink-haired youth dashed for the door the woman had entered through, throwing it open and vanishing through it as if hell were at his heels.

When the door slammed behind him, Claudia whipped her unimpressed glare around to fix upon him.

"What?" Ezio chirped.

"You know very well, 'what,' Ezio!" In a matter of moments, the younger Auditore had crossed the space between them with brisk steps and smacked her brother on the arm. "He's just a kid!"

"An ill mannered kid with no sense of gratitude or respect."

"By what you just so kindly shared with the rest of us, he's been having a rough time!"

The man held up his hands in defense, the novices wisely making themselves scarce.

"I offered my help to him once before, Claudia, and he responded then by thinking himself above me. After arriving here, attempting to steal from me, insulting our novices and my comrades with such utter disregard for his superiors, he's lucky I didn't kick him around the headquarters in a game of sport!"

The Auditore woman looked cross for a moment, mirroring the stubborn and unamused look she was getting from her brother. Eventually, her expression eased and she sighed, shaking her head.

"You sounded a lot like our padre, Ezio," something like to a smile momentarily graced the woman's face. "I'm pretty sure I recall him saying something similar to you once."

"Davvero? I thought it sounded familiar."

The woman nodded and let out another sigh, nostalgic at the thought of a happier time.

Then the moment was up and she smacked her elder brother on the arm once more.

"It was still harsh!"


The rest of the day had been rather uneventful. Ezio had returned to Niccolo to convince him that sending a novice to catch a courier would not cripple the brotherhood. In exchange for allowing Machiavelli to choose which novice they sent, Ezio was able to ask if he had any information about a family that went by the name of Passerini.

"Passerini?" Niccolo had echoed, looking surprised to hear the name. "Why? What have they done?"

Ezio, equally surprised by Niccolo's response, returned the puzzled look.

"Are they the type of family to have 'done something'?"

"No, no. That's not it. They're the last family I would expect you to ask me about."

"Why?"

"They would never associate with the Borgia unless it was to see them fall. When you ask me about families, it's usually because you're looking into their untimely deaths."

"Well, preferably I won't be killing any Passerini's"

Niccolo snorted, as if in laughter.

"It's not like you could if you wanted to, Ezio. To my understanding, the last of the family was wiped out a few weeks ago."

This had the assassin's attention. He settled in the chair across from the man's desk and leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

"Oh?"

"The Passerini originates from one man who made money doing as we are in Roma. Before the Borgia, the Passerini family supported many of Roma's independent trades shops. When the Borgia moved in, the head of the family, Angelo Passerini fell ill and died shortly after. His eldest son was sentenced to death for the supposed sexual assault of a Borgian noblewoman. The next son was killed in a battle against the french," Niccolo paused to absently brush at some dust on his desk, "by a knife to the back."

"I see."

"Angelo's youngest son wisely went into hiding in the countryside shortly after the death of his elder brother. For a while, there were rumors that he turned to thievery and was working as an informant to the french. These rumors were enough to warrant for his execution on the grounds of treason to Roma. He was hanged on the very same day he was found."

This, Ezio noted, sounded more familiar and recent.

"Ah, was that the public hanging that occurred a few weeks ago?"

"Yes. The man was hanged and his wife and child listed as dead. There are whispers that the daughter of Angelo is still alive, outside of Roma, but those are mere whispers. As far as the public is concerned, the Passerini are dead."

"All of them?"

"Indeed."

Ezio cupped his hands together and pressed them against his lips in thought, directing a dissecting stare down into the hardwood desk.

"Why do you ask?"

Instead of directly answering Niccolo's question, Ezio flicked his stare up to the man and spoke slowly.

"What of the fortune?"

"Che?"

"Surely the money on which the Passerini flourished did not simply vanish, vero?"

"Si. To my knowledge, most of it is still contained within a vault in the Passerini estate. The Borgia cannot solve the mechanics designed to keep the vault impenetrable to non-Passerini members, so it is simply guarded."

"Until Leonardo can open it for them," muttered the assassin.

"Who?"

"Nevermind it, thank you for sharing this information with me, friend."

Niccolo leaned back, understanding that the seriousness of the conversation had worn off but still none the wiser as to why it had started at all.

"Anytime, Ezio. I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you wanted to know?"

"In due time, Machiavelli."

As Ezio turned to leave, he heard Niccolo muttering something irritably behind him, then the rustling of papers as he returned to whatever research the man had interrupted him from.


The evening was miserable. Upon exiting the headquarters, Ezio was instantly buffeted by a cold wind. The morning sun had vanished behind dark, heavy clouds. The city looked positively gray and the stone was damp. It had rained in the time Ezio had been indoors.

The man advanced to the wooden ledge that served as a jumping point for the assassins. Instead of leaping straight off, he was stopped by the sight of something unfamiliar off to his right.

Against the gray sky was the familiar, smallish figure of the boy. He was sitting on the edge of the roof, his hands in his lap and his feet dangling over the side. His shoulders were hunched as if they were burdened by a weight and whatever rain Ezio had missed had caught the boy, for his hair was a dark, muddy colour with blonde beginning to peek through. His thin, gray shirt was damp and stained by black dye.

He looked positively miserable.

Silently, Ezio dropped from his vantage point to land on the roof with the boy. Without a word, he crossed the surface and sat beside him. If his sudden appearance had surprised the child, it didn't show. The youth didn't react, he simply kept staring downwards through half-lidded eyes. Being closer, the man realized that 'damp' didn't do the boy's condition justice. He was soaked through to the bone.

Despite this, neither Italian spoke. Ezio was content to sit in the silence and stare towards the city, while the boy didn't seem too eager to break the silence either.

Eventually, however, he did.

"Luca," said the boy.

"Perdono?"

"You asked my name."

"Indeed I did."

"It's Luca. Luca Passerini Da Roma."

"E 'un onore incontrarvi. I am Ezio Auditore."

The boy – Luca – nodded and braced his hands against the roof ledge. It was then that the man noticed how pale the youth was, though did not point it out.

"Why the change in hair colour?" he asked instead.

"The guards were suspicious of any street-wandering kid with blonde hair. Much more of one exploring the rooftops."

"Ah."

"It may be a poor job," he said, rubbing absently at his dye-leaking hair, and grimacing at the dark colour that came off on his fingers "but from a distance, it's convincing enough. I am left alone."

"We'll have to wash that out."

The boy gave him a sideways look, an annoyed frown in place.

"Why?"

"Because as an assassin, you hide in plain sight. You have no need to disguise yourself so."

"I'm not an assassin," Luca pointed out bluntly, returning his gaze to the city with a huff.

"No. You are not. But my offer still stands."

The boy was quiet, but Ezio knew he had his attention.

"If you are willing to learn, I am willing to teach you. You have the talent and the instinct."

"But I am young and foolish and in need of an attitude adjustment," Luca's change in pitch reminded Ezio that those were his own words coming from the boy's mouth.

"Yes you are, and I stand by all of those. But like you said, your youth can be your weapon."

This time, the boy turned his head to look at his elder, though he was careful to maintain his expression and give away very little of what he was thinking.

"If I accept," said the boy, "does that mean you will become my mentor?"

"I mentor all the assassins, so yes."

"Ah, that may very well be a reason to not join, then."

Ezio chuckled, refusing to allow the boy to irritate him.

"Then don't. I offer it to you because you are alone and your talents could be used for your own good and for the good others. I'm not going to force you into it, as it is your choice to make."

Slowly, Ezio let out a long breath and went to stand on the roof edge. He hesitated there, his eyes still on the buildings of Roma across the river.

"You know, when I was barely an adult, I lost my brothers and my father to the rope."

Luca said nothing.

"I was angry and hurt. I only wanted to take what I still had and live free. My uncle found me, took us in and taught me how to defend myself. He then gave me a choice."

Ezio deliberately waited until the boy looked up before continuing.

"I could continue my plans to run away from the problem, or I could accept what had happened and face it directly."

"What did you...?"

"I chose the latter."

There was a long pause before Luca spoke, still looking up to the assassin and sounding curious.

"...And was it the right choice?"

"It was the only choice suited for me. I could never keep running and hiding. I would shame my brothers, my father and our name as the Auditore."

Another silence settled over the rooftop, and Ezio stood still to listen contently to it for a few long moments. Eventually, he moved, dashing up the wall to grab the next roof and pull himself up. As he clambered onto the top, he heard the boy shift behind him. He turned.

Luca was standing, his hands in his pockets and his head low. Dark dye from his hair slid down his face and dripped to his shirt, staining the formerly bright fabric. When he lifted his head, he was frowning again, but the look in his green eyes hardly reflected his miserable appearance. His eyes held that defiant spark, the determined look that defined him as the stubborn, relentless ruffian he was.

"I will not make this easy for you," he said simply.

"Then you will not be making it easy for yourself."

"I can live with that."

"In that case, I will take extra care to ensure nothing is easy for you."

Something that might've been a smile fit into place on the boy's jaw.

"It's a promise."

"Welcome to the brotherhood, passero."


Guys.
Guys.
Friends
Readers
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Companions
Amigo-ses.
Guess what?

REVELATIONS ON TUESDAY!

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