Disclaimer: I don't own Assassin's Creed or any of its characters

A/N: Writing this chapter drove me insane

Any mistakes are mine!

Enjoy

He was swallowed by gloom of darkness as Ezio entered the catacombs. As he eyes adjusted he became aware of certain things. Water rushed somewhere in the distance. Rats scurried past his feet. There was a steady breathing before him. Slowly the form of a ghost became clear in the dark. Its body a solid statue of marble imposing its presences in dark area, its face was a void of black however. Ezio blinked and the statue moved, it breathed.

"Ezio." It was a hushed whisper, the Italian name sounded rough as statue spoke. "Have your eyes adjusted yet?" The statue asked and Ezio blinked again and suddenly it wasn't ghostly statue standing before him but a man. His mentor.

"S-si Maestro." Ezio felt his face burn and was very glad for the darkness. His mentor nodded and turned away. "Follow me, quietly."

Altair led the way, slowly, holding a hand out of either side of the corridor for they were small enough for the elder assassin to do so. Every so often they came across another way branching off. Ezio would see his master's hand dip away into nothing, feel damp air come breezing in, and Altair's hand retreat from the black. Completely intact and they would continue to move forward.

In the niches carved in the walls, he caught glimpses of corpses from a time long ago. Just skeletons in rags now, covered in cobwebs they seemed to grin at him sinisterly with their big black holes of eyes and Ezio had to bite back a rising sense of panic.

At last they saw a dim light ahead, an moving more slowly now, they advanced towards it. Altair grabbed his arm and pulled him into a shadow. Gripping him tighter when Ezio startled in fright. "Hush." It was a command as Altair pushed him further into the dark.

They watched as five men came within earshot, silhouetted in the lamplight of a cramped and very ancient, chapel.

Immediately he recognized Francesco. Bowed before two tonsured priests, giving a blessing. Through Ezio could not make out what the blessing was from how Altair had squished his head against the wall. "Quite, marmocchio." Altair growled at him as he fussed in discomfort. There was only so much room for the both of them to remain hidden.

The light caught of the five's faces and saw Stefano da Bagnone, secretary to Francesco's uncle Jacopo. Jacopo stood the closet to them.

"Thank you, Padre." Said Francesco when the blessing concluded. He straightened himself and addressed the fourth man, who was standing beside the priests. "Bernardo, give us your report."

"Everything is in the readiness. We have a full armory of swords, staves, axes, bows, and crossbows."

"A simple dagger would be best for the job," said the younger of the priest.

"It depends on the circumstances, Antonio," countered Francesco. "Or poison," continued the younger priest. "But it doesn't matter, as long as he dies. I will not easily forgive him for binging down Volterra, my birthplace and my only true home."

"Calm yourself." Said the man called Bernardo. "We all have motives enough. Now, thanks to Pope Sixtus, we also have the means."

"Indeed, Messer Baroncelli," replied Antonio. "But do we have his blessing?"

A voice came from beyond the reach of the lamplight at the rear of the chapel. "He gives his blessing to our operations, 'provided that nobody is killed.'"

The owner of the vice emerged into the lamplight and Ezio drew in his breathed and had Altair been not holding steel like grip on him, he would charge forward. The figure cloaked in crimson, though all of his face but the sneer on his lips was covered by the shadow of his hood but he knew it was Rodrigo Borgia, il Spagnolo, regardless.

The conspirators all shared his knowing smile. They all knew where the Pope's loyalty lay, and that it was the cardinal who stood before them who controlled him. But naturally, the Supreme Pontiff could not openly condone the spilling of blood.

"It's good that the job can be done at last." said Francesco. "We've had enough setbacks. As it is, killing them in the cathedral will draw heavy criticism on us."

"It is our last and only option," said Rodrigo, with authority. "And as we are doing God's work in riding Florence of such scum, the setting is appropriate. Besides, once we control the city, let the people murmur against us—if they dare!"

"Still, they keep changing their plans," said Bernardo Baroncelli. "I'm even going to have to have someone call on his younger brother Giuliano to make sure he's up in time for High Mass."

All the men laughed at that, except for Jacopo and the Spaniard, who had noticed his sober expression. "What is it, Jacopo?" Rodrigo asked the older Pazzi. "Do you think they suspect something?"

Before Jacopo could speak, his nephew waded in impatiently. "It's impossible! The Medici are too arrogant or too stupid even to notice!"

"Do not underestimate our enemies," Jacopo chided him. "Don't you see it was Medici money that funded the campaign against us at San Gimignano?"

"There will be no such problems this time," snarled his nephew, bridling at having been correcting in front of his peers, and with the memory of his son's Vieri's death still fresh in his mind.

In the silence that followed, Bernardo turned to Stefano de Bagnone. "I'll need to borrow a set of your priestly robes for tomorrow morning, Padre. The more they think they're surrounded by clerics, the safer they'll feel."

"Who will strike?" asked Rodrigo.

"I!" said Francesco.

"And I!" chimed in Stenfano, Antpnop, and Bernardo. "Good." Rodrigo paused. "I think on the whole daggers would be best. So much easier to conceal, and very handy when close work is involved. But it's still good to have the Pope's armory as well—I don't doubt but there'll be a few loose ends to clear up once the Medici brothers are no more." He raised his hand and made the sign of the cross over his fellow conspirators. "Domimus vobiscum, gentlemen," he said. "And may the Father of Understanding guide us." He looked around. "Well, I think that concludes our business. You must forgive me if I take my leave of you now. There are several things I need to do before I return to Rome, and I must be on my way before dawn. It wouldn't do at all for me to be seen in Florence on the day the House of Medici crumbled to dust."

The two Assassins waited in the shadows until all six men departed. Altair drew away from him and Ezio let out the deep breath he was holding. Altair produced a lamp and lit it. He gestured for Ezio to follow him and the two of them left at a much faster rate and came out at the Rucellai chapel where the Fox was waiting for them. There Altair relayed what they learned to his friend.

"…To murder Lorenzo and Giuliano de' Medici in the cathedral at High Mass tomorrow?" Said the Fox when Altair finished, and Ezio could see for once the man seemed almost at a loss for words. "It is sacrilege! And it is worse than that—if Florence should fall to the Pazzi, then God help us all."

Ezio was lost in thought but Altair was already a step a head of him. "Can you get me a seat in the cathedral tomorrow?" he asked. "Close to the altar? Near the Medici?"

The Fox looked grave. "Hard. But perhaps not impossible." He looked between them. "I know what you're thinking, Altair, but this is something you cannot possibly pull by yourselves."

Altair smirked under his hood. "We have the element of surprise, and more than one stranger's face among the aristocrazia near the font might arouse the Pazzis' suspicions. But you must get me in there, Gilberto."

La Volpe frowned. "Don't call me that." Altair's smirk only grew wider from teasing his friend. "Meet me in front of the Duomo half an hour before High Mass. La Volpe looked to Ezio then. "I will help if I can, Messer Ezio."

Si-Yes

Maestro-Master

marmocchio-brat

il Spagnolo-The Spaniard

Padre-Father

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