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Chapter 43

Teodora took most of her courtesans to mingle with the guests and determine the best way for Ezio to reach Marco Barbarigo. Ezio stood back near the entrance to the party to watch in case Dante or any of the other Templars realized the mask was missing and came to investigate. With him were a few more of Teodora's girls, who kept the eyes of the guards off of him. After no more than ten minutes, Teodora was back with him.

"Marco is on a boat, just off shore," she reported. "He's set to make a speech in a few minutes. Use my girls until then. Move with them to stay out of sight."

"Grazie. What about you?"

"I'll stay here and watch for Dante."

"It may be a bit late for that," Ezio replied as he gestured toward a large man maneuvering toward the entrance to the party. Dante had gathered a few men with him and they were shoving the guards aside. There was no sign of the other Templars, Ezio noted, but Dante was more than enough to cause a problem.

"Merda. Va bene, we'll make our way to the boat. Follow my lead."

Ezio followed Teodora into the crowd of people near the boat as she directed her girls to flirt with any guards who got too close to them. As they got close to the water, Marco and two of his men emerged on the boat. The master of ceremonies from earlier introduced him, and the crowd cheered rather halfheartedly. Ezio smiled to himself, wondering at how long it would take the city to turn on Marco if Ezio failed to kill him that night. He was certainly loathed, but he ruled through fear. The people of Venezia didn't dare oppose him.

Ezio was not afraid. For him, getting rid of Marco was a necessity. There was no other way. He knew what he had to do, but a thought nagged him as he walked with Teodora to the shore.

Perhaps Antonio wasn't completely wrong, he thought. Maybe there was more motivating him than a petty desire for revenge.

Yes, there had to be something more. This man seemed so far removed from the conspiracy that killed his father and brothers. He was connected, of course, but how much of a hand did this one Venetian man really have in the events of that day?

Even if Marco's death wasn't necessary to satisfy his personal thirst for justice, it was necessary nonetheless. Ezio had seen the effects of Barbarigo power over the city. He had to admit to himself that he wanted to end it.

"Benvenuti!" called the bearded Doge to quiet the small cheers that did erupt from the crowd. "Welcome, my friends, to the grandest social event of the season! At peace or at war, in times of prosperity or paucity, Venezia will always have Carnevale!"

As he spoke the last word, some fireworks flashed and boomed behind him. The crowd, including the group attempting to find Ezio by Dante's order, was dazzled. Ezio knew his time was running out, but Marco would not leave the boat. He complained as much to Teodora, hoping she would have a solution.

"Wait!" she stopped him before he had a chance to move toward the boat.

"Tonight, we celebrate what makes us great. How bright our lights shine over the world!" Marco roared over the explosions.

"That's it!" Teodora thought aloud. "Your pistola! The one you stopped the murderer with. It's as loud as those explosions. Time it right, and you'll walk out of here unnoticed."

"Perfetto! I like the way you think, Sister."

"I'll be waiting for you back at the brothel, my son." With that, she disappeared into the crowd.

After a few minutes, the guards around Marco disappeared inside the boat, confident that there was no threat to his safety (or rather, too drunk to notice a threat). The Doge himself watched the festivities (undoubtedly enjoying a break from his schemes, thought Ezio).

Dante and his men were getting close now, so Ezio readied his hidden gun. Perhaps Marco noticed him, and perhaps not. With a quick blast that drowned in the noise around him, Ezio leapt into the water and onto the boat. He had not been caught.

"No. It's too soon," groaned Marco, blood staining his robes at his chest. "I'm not ready."

Ezio knelt down and held him. The mask still covered his face, but he knew that Marco knew who he was.

"We rarely are."

"What will happen to my city when I am gone?" came another groan.

"It will be returned to its people."

Marco chuckled a bit, but his chuckle was interrupted by a fit of coughing, soaking his beard in red. "We shall see what becomes of that," he smiled.

Those were to be his last words.