The canals of Venice glimmered under the fading light of the setting sun, turning the water to molten gold as Amelia and Ezio made their way toward Antonio's hideout. The air was thick with the briny scent of the lagoon, and the distant clamor of the city mingled with the creak of the wooden bridge beneath their feet. Amelia's gaze swept over the winding alleys and narrow waterways, her senses alert despite the momentary lull. She knew that every step they took was closer to their next confrontation, and the city that had once felt like home now seemed full of shadows.

As they crossed the last bridge, one of Antonio's men came rushing toward them, his breath coming in labored gasps. "Ezio! Ezio! Ser Antonio wishes to speak with you."

Ezio offered a nod, thanking the man. "Grazie for the message."

Amelia glanced at him, a question in her eyes. "You think it's about Silvio?"

"Could be. We'll find out soon enough," Ezio replied, a hint of tension in his voice. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, the gesture gentle despite the urgency in their steps. "Stay close."

Amelia nodded, feeling a warmth settle in her chest at his touch. It was the small gestures that made her realize how much their dynamic had shifted over the years—how they had gone from reluctant allies to something closer, deeper. The thought made her heart ache with both hope and uncertainty.

They soon arrived at Antonio's hideout, slipping through the familiar doors and into the dimly lit interior. Antonio was already waiting for them, leaning against a table with an easy, if weary, smile. But it was the sight of the man beside him that made Amelia pause—a man with the same sharp nose and angular features as Marco Barbarigo, though there was a solemn weight in his eyes that his brother had lacked.

"Ah! There you are!" Antonio greeted, straightening up as they approached. "Come, Ezio. I'd like to introduce you to an… associate. This is Agostino Barbarigo—soon to be Doge of Venezia—thanks to you."

Ezio offered a respectful nod, his expression guarded but polite. "E un onore fare la vostra conoscenza, illustrissimo. I am sorry for the loss of your brother."

Agostino let out a dry laugh, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "He had it coming. He was bought and paid for by the Borgia, a mistake I have no intention of making."

Amelia observed him carefully, noting the way he held himself, the way his words carried a mixture of bitterness and determination. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be any different from the rulers that had come before him—or if Venice would suffer under yet another false promise.

Antonio wasted no time, motioning for them to join him at the map spread across the table. "Come, Ezio! We have much to discuss. We've located Silvio Barbarigo for you. He's fled into L'Arsenale."

Agostino scoffed, crossing his arms. "Hah! Fled? You mean occupied—and joined by two hundred mercenari, no less."

Ezio's brows furrowed. "You're Doge now. Can't you command them to stand down?"

Agostino's expression tightened. "The committee of forty-one has yet to confirm my ascension. And this little stunt of Silvio's has only made things worse. He has an entire army at his command!"

Ezio exchanged a look with Amelia, a silent understanding passing between them. She could see the resolve hardening in his eyes—the same look he always had before diving headfirst into danger. It stirred a mix of admiration and worry within her. He could be reckless, but he always faced the impossible with that same unyielding spirit.

"Then help me to raise my own," Ezio declared, his voice firm.

Antonio smiled wryly, as if he'd been expecting this. "I figured you'd say as much. Bartolomeo D'Alviano is the man you seek. He and his men have little love for Silvio. He resides within the military district—southwest of L'Arsenale."

Ezio nodded. "Va bene. I'll go and see him."

Amelia placed a hand on his arm, her grip gentle but firm. "I'm coming with you, Ezio."

He glanced at her, his expression softening. For a moment, it seemed like he might argue, but then he gave her a small, appreciative nod. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

The chill of the Venetian night wrapped around Amelia as she and Ezio made their way through the narrow alleys toward the district where Bartolomeo was held. The shadows clung to the corners, deep and treacherous, hiding whatever threats might lie in wait. Her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her dagger, fingers brushing the worn leather grip in a habit born of years of caution. The urgency of their mission thrummed in the air between them—Silvio needed to be stopped, and Bartolomeo's safety was the key to rallying the city's resistance. She stole a glance at Ezio, catching the determined set of his jaw and the way his eyes, usually so full of humor, were hard with focus.

Venice's rooftops loomed above them, casting long shadows that mingled with the faint glow of lanterns lining the canals. The distant sound of water lapping against stone reached her ears, mingling with the occasional drunken shout from revelers still awake at this late hour. Amelia's thoughts were sharp, focused, but underneath there was a restless energy—a thrumming unease that came from knowing they were deep in enemy territory, with so many lives hanging in the balance.

As they neared their destination, a faint voice drifted down from above, barely audible over the night sounds of the city. Amelia paused, straining to catch the words. "Please... help..." The voice wavered, thin and desperate.

Ezio's head snapped up, his instincts flaring. He scanned the rooftops, quickly identifying the source of the plea—a soldier, barely clinging to life, slumped against a ledge. "Stay close," he murmured to Amelia, his tone tight with concern. Without waiting for a reply, he began scaling the wall, his movements smooth and quick. Amelia followed, her boots finding purchase against the worn stone, each step precise.

When they reached the rooftop, the soldier's condition was immediately apparent. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and sticky, staining the tiles. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one rattling in his chest. Ezio knelt beside him, his expression grim but gentle as he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "You must be one of Bartolomeo's men. What's happened here? Where is he?"

The soldier coughed, blood flecking his lips, his voice a pained rasp. "Silvio's thugs... attacked... Took him... Deeper into the district... north of here…" His voice broke, the effort draining what little strength he had left. Amelia watched as the light faded from his eyes, the final breath slipping from his body. She pressed her lips together, feeling the weight of his sacrifice settle like a stone in her chest.

Ezio closed his eyes for a moment, his features taut with unspoken emotion. "Requiescat in pace," he intoned softly, a prayer carried away on the night breeze.

Amelia nodded, the words a quiet echo on her own lips. "He won't be the last to die tonight if we don't hurry." Her voice was steadier than she felt, but she met Ezio's gaze with determination. "We need to find Bartolomeo before it's too late."

Ezio's expression hardened, and he rose swiftly, offering her a brief, grim smile. "Then let's make sure we get to him in time."

They moved quickly, keeping to the shadows as they wound through the labyrinthine streets. The district was crawling with guards, their torches casting flickering circles of light across the cobblestones. From their perch on the rooftops, Amelia could see clusters of mercenaries patrolling the alleys, their armor gleaming dully in the moonlight.

Her fingers tightened around her dagger, and she exchanged a glance with Ezio. "We'll have to take them out quietly," she whispered. "If they raise an alarm, we'll have the entire city on us."

Ezio nodded, his eyes scanning the courtyard below, where a makeshift cage held a familiar figure—Bartolomeo, pacing like a caged animal. He hurled insults at the guards with a voice that carried through the night air. "Luridi codardi! I'll take you all on. At the same time! With one arm—no, BOTH arms—tied behind my back!"

Amelia couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at her lips despite the danger of their situation. "He's certainly not lacking in confidence."

Ezio's expression softened with a hint of amusement. "He'll need it. Come on—let's give him a hand."

Ezio leapt down first, moving like a shadow through the darkness. Amelia followed, her heart pounding as they closed the distance to the guards surrounding Bartolomeo's cage. They struck with swift precision—Ezio's blades flashed, taking down two guards before they could shout a warning. Amelia followed up, her dagger slipping between the armor plates of a guard's neck. She felt the jolt of resistance as her blade found flesh, then warm blood on her fingers as he crumpled at her feet.

She barely had time to catch her breath before another guard lunged at her, his sword swinging wide. Amelia ducked beneath the blade, her body moving on instinct, and retaliated with a slash across his thigh. The man stumbled, clutching at the wound, and she finished him with a swift, upward thrust. Her breathing was ragged, but adrenaline surged through her veins, keeping her focused.

Ezio, meanwhile, was locked in a struggle with a burly guard, the man's brute strength forcing Ezio back a step. Amelia saw the strain in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed with the effort. Her heart lurched as she noticed a cut on his arm, blood seeping through his sleeve. Without thinking, she darted forward, driving her blade into the guard's side to give Ezio a moment to recover.

"Thanks," he grunted, managing a tight smile as he straightened.

"Try not to get yourself killed, Ezio," she shot back, her tone light despite the fear that twisted inside her. "I'm not carrying you back to Leonardo."

He chuckled, a sound that was more breath than mirth. "I'll keep that in mind."

With the last of the guards down, Ezio rushed to the cage, wrenching the lock open. Bartolomeo stumbled out, his disheveled appearance doing little to dim the fierce grin on his face. "About goddamned time! I don't know if I should kiss you or slap you. Maybe both, just to be safe!"

Amelia crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. "You could just say thank you."

Bartolomeo's grin widened, though he offered a mock bow. "Ah, bella mia, you've always known how to wound me deeply. But fine, I'll save the dramatics for later."

She shook her head, exasperation warring with a reluctant smile. Despite his theatrics, she was glad they'd reached him in time. "Let's just focus on getting out of here."

They didn't get far before more guards appeared, their blades glinting in the moonlight. Bartolomeo's expression brightened with anticipation, his hands twitching as he eyed the approaching enemies. "Ah, more to play with! What fun!"

Ezio placed a hand on his shoulder, steering him toward the shadows. "Not now, Bartolomeo. We need to move."

Amelia took the lead, scanning the alleyways for a path through the patrols. But the streets were a maze, and Bartolomeo's tendency to pick fights with every guard they encountered made stealth nearly impossible. Her dagger found its mark again and again, dispatching soldiers as quickly as they appeared, but exhaustion was creeping into her limbs, slowing her strikes.

Ezio fought beside her, his movements precise but growing more labored. Blood stained his sleeve where the cut from earlier continued to bleed, and she caught the wince that crossed his face with every swing of his sword. "You're hurt," she said, a note of concern slipping through her usual bravado.

"I'll live," he replied through gritted teeth, managing a strained smile. "But we need to move faster."

Finally, they reached the entrance to Antonio's hideout, the stone archway offering a welcome refuge from the chaos of the streets. But as they approached, a group of soldiers emerged from the shadows, blocking their path. Bartolomeo growled, his grip tightening on his weapon. "If you value your life, you'll stand down!"

The lead soldier sneered, drawing his sword. "Never! What good is a man's life if it's not lived free, eh? I'll not go back into a cage!"

Amelia stepped forward, her voice low and dangerous. "Then you'll go into the ground."

With that, the fight was on once more. She and Ezio moved in tandem, their blades flashing as they carved a path through the enemy. Blood splattered the cobblestones, mingling with the rain that began to fall, washing away the evidence of their struggle. When the last guard fell, Amelia's breath came in gasps, her chest heaving with the exertion.

The rain began to pour in earnest, turning the narrow alley into a treacherous path of slick cobblestones and shadowed corners. The chill seeped into Amelia's bones, but she kept her grip firm on her dagger, her breaths coming fast as she scanned the darkness for any sign of movement. Ezio was beside her, his blade dripping with rain and blood, eyes scanning the street with a fierce intensity.

Bartolomeo, never one to shy away from a fight, grinned fiercely despite the exhaustion that lined his features. "There's more where that came from!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the drumming of the rain. He brandished his weapon—a rusty sword he had scavenged from one of the fallen guards—as if daring the remaining soldiers to come closer.

Amelia shot him a sideways look, her lips curving into a wry smirk despite the tension crackling in the air. "You know, Bartolomeo, I'd appreciate a bit less shouting and a bit more stealth."

He let out a bark of laughter, barely audible over the downpour. "Stealth? What's the fun in that, bella mia?"

Before she could retort, another wave of guards emerged from the shadows, their swords glinting menacingly in the dim light of the streetlamps. There were at least six of them, each one more eager than the last to spill blood in the name of their Templar masters. Amelia's grip tightened on her dagger, and she felt Ezio's shoulder brush against hers, a wordless promise that they would face whatever came next together.

The first soldier lunged at Amelia, his blade slicing through the air with a deadly whistle. She sidestepped quickly, her boots slipping slightly on the rain-slicked stones, and drove her dagger upward into his side. He gasped, his sword falling from nerveless fingers as he crumpled to the ground. But there was no time to savor the victory—another soldier was already closing in, his sword swinging in a vicious arc aimed at her head.

She ducked, feeling the blade pass just inches above her, and lashed out with a kick to his knee. The guard stumbled, and Amelia pressed her advantage, ramming her dagger into his throat. Warm blood splattered across her arm, mingling with the rain that streamed down her face. She gritted her teeth, shoving the man aside as he fell, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Ezio was a whirlwind beside her, his movements fluid despite the exhaustion that was beginning to show in the tight lines of his mouth. He parried a blow aimed at his chest, then spun, slicing his hidden blade across the throat of another guard. But his left arm was slower, the injury from earlier clearly taking its toll. Amelia saw a flash of steel as a sword slipped past his guard, slicing across his forearm. Ezio grunted, the pain flashing across his features, but he didn't falter, driving his blade into his attacker's gut with grim determination.

"Ezio!" Amelia's voice was sharp with concern as she took down another soldier, but he flashed her a quick, reassuring smile, his breath coming hard.

"I'm fine, Amelia," he managed, though she could see the strain in his eyes. "Just a scratch."

She rolled her eyes, ducking under another swing and slashing at the guard's leg. "You always say that."

Bartolomeo, wielding his stolen sword with surprising dexterity, took advantage of the distraction they'd created. He bellowed a war cry, charging the remaining guards with all the force of a battering ram. His sword cut through the air, clashing against the steel of the enemy blades, and he laughed wildly as he fought. Amelia could hear the desperation beneath the bravado—Bartolomeo fought like a man with nothing left to lose.

A guard broke past Bartolomeo's defense and lunged toward her, his face twisted with fury. Amelia met his attack head-on, blocking his strike with her forearm and twisting her body to bring her dagger up into his ribs. She felt the blade sink in, felt the jolt as it scraped against bone, and the man's eyes went wide with shock. He crumpled against her, his weight dragging her down to one knee before she managed to shove him off, gasping for breath.

Blood dripped from her dagger, mixing with the rain that soaked through her clothes. Her muscles burned, but she forced herself to keep moving, to keep fighting. Beside her, Ezio felled another guard, but the effort left him staggering, clutching his injured arm. Bartolomeo, still battling fiercely, barely held off the last of the attackers.

Amelia saw her opening and surged forward, using the last of her strength to tackle the final guard to the ground. She straddled him, her dagger pressed to his throat, rain pelting down around them as she met his wide, panicked eyes. She only hesitated for a moment before she drove the blade home, silencing him with a final, gurgling breath.

She pushed herself to her feet, her chest heaving with exertion, and staggered back to Ezio's side. Blood stained her hands, her arms, but she forced herself to focus, to check the street for any more threats. "That's the last of them. Let's get moving."