Amelia stood in the shadows of the courtyard, hidden among the marble columns as she watched the scene unfold below. Her heart beat like a drum against her ribcage, the tension in the air so thick she could almost taste it. Two years had passed since Ezio had left Venice, and not a day had gone by without her wondering where he was, if he was safe—or if he ever thought of her at all. She had imagined this moment a thousand times, but she had never expected it to unfold like this, amidst the clash of swords and the sharp cries of battle.
Leonardo had brought word earlier that day, his voice tinged with excitement and urgency. "Ezio has returned," he had told her, his hands shaking as he relayed the news. "He's back, Amelia. And he's not alone. The others are gathering—they're going after the Borgia."
Amelia's world had shifted in that instant, a maelstrom of emotions tearing through her. Relief, anger, fear, hope—they twisted together inside her, leaving her unsteady. She'd barely managed to listen to Leonardo's instructions, her mind too consumed with the knowledge that Ezio was here, in Venice, and that she might finally see him again.
Now, hidden in the shadows, she watched as he fought alongside Mario, La Volpe, Bartolomeo, Antonio, and the others—men she had come to know well over the years, who had become allies, friends. But the sight of Ezio, moving with that familiar grace and determination, made her breath catch in her throat. He was still the man she remembered, yet there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, a shadow that spoke of the battles he had fought, the losses he had endured.
Rodrigo Borgia's voice rang out, sharp and mocking, cutting through the clamor of swords. "Is this all you have? Where's the rest of your people?"
Ezio's reply was cold, filled with the weight of his journey. "What people?"
"You really have no idea, do you?" Borgia's laughter was cruel, and he snapped his fingers. "Guards!"
Amelia's hand tightened around the hilt of her dagger as more of Borgia's men swarmed into the courtyard, surrounding Ezio. But then, in a blur of motion, Mario stepped forward, cutting down a guard with a swift strike.
"Uncle!?" Ezio's voice cracked with surprise, and Amelia felt a pang in her chest. He had thought he was alone.
"Don't worry, nipote," Mario called back, his grin wide and fierce. "You are not alone."
La Volpe appeared next, driving his blade into another guard. "We could very well ask you the same thing, Ezio!" He glanced over his shoulder, a sly smile playing at his lips. "We?"
Antonio and Bartolomeo emerged from the shadows, their weapons gleaming in the low light. "Save your questions, brother," Antonio said, his voice steady and firm. "Don't let Borgia leave with that box! Avanti!"
Amelia's chest tightened as she watched the reunion, her fingers trembling against the cool stone. She wanted to step out, to join the fight beside him, but something held her back. She could see the tension in Ezio's shoulders, the weariness that weighed on him, and she knew that this was his moment—his battle to face. She stayed hidden, her breath shallow as she took in every movement, every word exchanged between the Assassins and the man they had hunted for so long.
"Take him down, Ezio!" Antonio's voice rang out, filled with a confidence that Amelia wished she could share. "We're right behind you!"
But Borgia fought back with a venomous determination, his taunts cutting through the air like a knife. "This is a losing battle for you, hombrecito. You will die by my hand, just like your brother…"
Amelia's heart lurched at the mention of Federico, the memory of Ezio's grief and rage surfacing like a wound that had never fully healed. She watched as Ezio's face twisted with anger, his fists tightening around his weapons, and she wanted to run to his side, to remind him that he was not alone. But still, she held herself back, knowing that this was not her moment to intervene.
The fight raged on, a chaotic dance of blades and blood, until finally, Borgia broke away, running for the shadows. Ezio lunged after him, but Paola's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"He's gone. But we have what we came for..."
"No!" Ezio's frustration was palpable, his chest heaving as he turned to face Paola, his eyes wild with anger and confusion. "I need to go after him—"
"Do you really, now?" Sister Teodora's voice cut through the tension, her tone both gentle and firm. She stepped forward, her gaze steady on Ezio's. "Or are you here for another reason, my son?"
Ezio's confusion deepened, his brows drawing together. "Teodora—? What—!? What are you all doing here?"
A man stepped forward from the shadows, his expression calm and knowing. "Perhaps the same thing you are, Ezio. Hoping to see the Prophet appear."
Ezio turned sharply, his voice edged with disbelief. "I came here to kill the Spaniard. I couldn't care less about your prophet. - He never showed up!"
"No...? But, you did."
Ezio's breath caught, and he turned to face the man, his confusion shifting into a wary suspicion. "What?"
"A prophet's arrival was foretold... And, unbeknownst to us - here you are. Perhaps all along, you were the one we sought."
Amelia took a breath, knowing that this was the moment. She stepped forward from her hiding place, her boots quiet against the stone, and watched as Ezio's gaze shifted to her, his eyes widening with shock. She saw the emotions flash across his face—relief, anger, something deeper that she couldn't quite name. And then she spoke, her voice low but steady, her eyes never leaving his.
"Ezio," she said softly, the weight of his name filling the space between them. "You aren't alone. You never have been."
For a moment, there was only silence, the world narrowing to just the two of them. Ezio took a step toward her, his expression torn between anger and something more fragile. "Amelia... I thought..." His voice cracked, and he shook his head, his hand clenching into a fist. "I thought I lost you. I thought you hated me."
Her breath hitched, and she closed the distance between them, her heart pounding in her chest. "I was angry. I said things I didn't mean. But I never hated you, Ezio. I could never..." Her voice broke, and she reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. "I missed you. I missed you every day you were gone."
Ezio's expression softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he let out a shaky breath. "I missed you too, Amelia. More than you'll ever know."
He reached for her, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as he pulled her into a tight embrace. She buried her face against his chest, the familiar scent of him grounding her, and for the first time in two years, she felt like she could breathe again.
The others gave them space, their voices fading into the background as Amelia clung to Ezio, her fingers digging into the fabric of his cloak. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry for everything."
Ezio's hand tangled in her hair, his grip gentle yet firm. "It's alright, Amelia. It's alright. We're here now. That's what matters."
Amelia clung to Ezio for a moment longer, savoring the solid warmth of his embrace, the heartbeat against her ear that reminded her he was real, that he was here. She drew back slightly, her hands still resting against his chest, searching his face as if trying to commit every detail to memory. His breath mingled with hers, their shared silence heavy with unspoken words.
Just as she was about to speak, a voice cut through the moment, pulling their attention back to the figures that had gathered around them. A man stepped forward, his presence commanding even amidst the chaos of the aftermath. He moved with a quiet confidence, his sharp eyes assessing Ezio with an unreadable expression.
Ezio shifted, his arms loosening from around Amelia as he turned to face the man, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Cosa?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion. "Who are you?"
The man inclined his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli," he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a weight of authority. "I am an Assassin—trained in the ancient ways to safeguard mankind's evolution. Just like you, and each one of us here."
Amelia watched as the realization dawned on Ezio's face, his eyes widening as he glanced around at the familiar figures surrounding them. Paola, La Volpe, Bartolomeo, Antonio, Mario—they all stood with a quiet strength, their expressions serious yet tinged with pride.
Ezio took a step back, his gaze shifting between them, his breath catching in his throat. "You are all Assassins?" he asked, disbelief coloring his voice. He looked to Paola, then to La Volpe, as if seeking some kind of confirmation. "Paola...? Volpe...?"
Mario stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Ezio's shoulder, his voice warm with the pride of a mentor. "It's true, nipote," he said, his tone gentle yet firm. "We have all been guiding you for years, teaching you the skills you would need to join our ranks... I think it's time…"
Ezio blinked, his mind clearly racing to catch up with the sudden shift in his understanding of the world he had been navigating for so long. Amelia could see the questions burning in his eyes, the way his hand tightened reflexively around the hilt of his hidden blade as if seeking reassurance. But she also saw the flicker of determination, the same fire that had carried him through every trial, every loss.
Antonio stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his characteristic directness. "We have our prize," he said, gesturing toward the box that had been the center of so much bloodshed. "But there is much to be done. Come meet us here at sunset."
Ezio glanced at the box, then back at his uncle and their gathered allies. He nodded slowly, his expression hardening with resolve. "I will be there," he said quietly, his voice steadying as he accepted the weight of what lay ahead.
As the others began to disperse, slipping back into the shadows as naturally as they had emerged, Amelia lingered beside Ezio. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand, a silent reminder that she was with him in this, that she would stand by his side no matter what came next. He looked down at her, a small, weary smile tugging at his lips, and she felt a spark of hope flare to life in her chest.
The air was cool at the top of the tower, a sharp breeze cutting through the night as it swept across the gathered figures. Amelia stood near the edge, the shadows of Venice stretching out beneath her, and her cloak fluttered around her like the wings of a raven. The flames in the center of the gathering crackled softly, casting a warm glow that flickered across the faces of those assembled—Mario, Machiavelli, Bartolomeo, Antonio, La Volpe, and Sister Teodora. Each of them stood with a quiet gravity, their expressions a blend of solemn pride and the understanding that they were about to initiate another into their ancient order.
Ezio stood beside Amelia, his gaze fixed on the fire, and she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders held a hint of unease beneath the surface of his confidence. It had been years since they had all come together like this, and now, they were welcoming Ezio into the Brotherhood—formally. Amelia's chest tightened with emotion, pride swelling within her. This was the moment he had been unknowingly preparing for, the culmination of years of struggle, loss, and a burning desire for justice.
Mario stepped forward, his voice steady and sure as it rang out into the night. "Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine. These are the words spoken by our ancestors—that lay at the heart of our creed."
Amelia listened, her heart pounding in time with the cadence of Mario's words. She had heard them before—when she was first brought into the fold, standing alone on a rooftop much like this one. But now, hearing them again with Ezio at her side, they held a deeper resonance, an echo of shared history and purpose.
Machiavelli's voice followed, low and thoughtful, his tone carrying the weight of the creed. "Where other men blindly follow the truth, remember..."
Ezio, standing tall, responded with conviction. "...Nothing is true."
"Where other men are limited, by morality or law, remember..." Machiavelli continued.
"...Everything is permitted," Ezio replied, his voice unwavering, as if the words were finally sinking into his soul, as if he had known them all his life.
Machiavelli nodded, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the gathered Assassins. "We work in the dark, to serve the light. We are Assassins."
As one, they all echoed the words that bound them together, their voices rising like a promise to the stars. "Nothing is true, everything is permitted."
Amelia felt the power of those words thrumming through her, the truth of them vibrating in her bones. She looked at Ezio, and their eyes met—sharing a moment that was theirs alone amidst the presence of others. Her lips curved into a small, encouraging smile, and he returned it, a flicker of warmth in the shadows.
Mario stepped forward again, his expression softening as he addressed his nephew. "It is time, Ezio… In this modern age, we are not so literal as our ancestors. But our seal is no less permanent. - Are you ready to join us?"
Ezio took a deep breath, nodding, his voice clear in the cold night air. "I am."
Amelia watched as Antonio stepped forward, pulling a red-hot branding iron from the fire. The glow of the metal cast an eerie light on his face, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Ezio, knowing the pain that awaited him. But she also knew that this moment was about more than the searing heat—it was about accepting the burden of their creed, embracing the legacy of those who came before.
"This only hurts for a while, brother," Antonio said, his tone softened with a rare gentleness. "Like so many things."
Ezio clenched his jaw but held his arm steady as Antonio pressed the brand against his right hand. The hiss of flesh meeting hot iron filled the air, and Amelia's breath caught in her throat as she watched Ezio's face twist with the brief, sharp pain. But he didn't flinch, not truly. He bore it with the quiet strength she had come to know so well, the determination that had always defined him.
Machiavelli stepped forward, placing a hand on Ezio's uninjured shoulder as he offered him a solemn nod. "Benvenuto, Ezio. You are one of us now. Come! We have much to do."
The ceremony was nearly complete, but Amelia could feel the tension still buzzing beneath her skin. She took a step back, her heart racing as she realized what she needed to do. She had been holding onto her feelings for so long, burying them beneath the weight of her duty and the distance that had separated them. But now, with Ezio standing there, surrounded by the firelight and the bonds of the Brotherhood, she knew she couldn't keep silent any longer.
One by one, the Assassins turned toward the edge of the tower, preparing for the final leap of faith that would seal their commitment to each other. Amelia moved to join them, positioning herself at the edge, the drop yawning open beneath her. She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder to where Ezio stood, watching her with a curious, puzzled expression.
"Now is probably as good a time as any, I suppose," she called back, her voice carrying over the crackling of the flames.
Ezio's brows furrowed in confusion, taking a step closer. "For what?"
A slow smile tugged at her lips, a mixture of mischief and sincerity. "To tell you that I love you, that I have always loved you." she replied, the words leaving her lips before she could second-guess them.
She saw the shock that flashed across his features, the way his breath caught, and she held his gaze for a moment longer before she turned, her heart hammering in her chest. And then, without waiting for his response, she stepped off the edge, letting the wind catch her as she plummeted toward the hay below.
The air rushed past her, the city of Venice stretching out in every direction, and for a moment, all she could feel was the exhilaration of freedom, the weight of her confession lifting from her shoulders. She hit the hay with a soft thud, rolling to absorb the impact, and when she looked up, she saw Ezio following after her, his form cutting through the night as he descended.
He landed beside her with a controlled grace, and before she could catch her breath, he was pulling her up, his hands rough yet gentle against her arms. "Amelia—"
She barely had time to process the urgency in his voice before he kissed her, his lips crashing against hers with a fervor that stole the air from her lungs. His hands cradled her face, pulling her closer as if he were afraid she might vanish if he let go. She melted into the kiss, her hands fisting in the fabric of his cloak, pouring all the emotion she had held back for so long into that single, breathless moment.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting, their foreheads resting together as they tried to steady themselves. Ezio's eyes shone with something she had never seen before, a vulnerability that made her heart ache. "I love you, Amelia. I never stopped."
The words sent a rush of warmth through her, and she laughed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw. "You'd better mean that, Ezio. Because I'm not going anywhere."
He chuckled, a sound that rumbled through his chest, and pressed another kiss to her forehead, a gesture that felt more intimate than anything else. "I mean it. I promise."
Around them, the others broke into a chorus of approval, voices carrying through the night air.
"About time!" Bartolomeo bellowed, clapping a heavy hand on Antonio's shoulder with a laugh.
La Volpe smirked, leaning casually against a barrel. "I was beginning to think you'd never get around to it."
Mario simply shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Notevole, nipote. (Impressive, nephew.) You've always known how to make an entrance."
Amelia felt her cheeks flush with warmth, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was surrounded by her family, by the people who had fought beside her, who had become a part of her life in ways she had never imagined. And now, she had Ezio back by her side, the distance between them finally bridged.
The voices of their friends and allies filled the night air as they celebrated more than Ezio's inauguration into the Brotherhood. All their friends were ecstatic that they had finally admitted their feelings. A familiar figure stepped forward from the shadowed edge of the gathering. Giovanni Auditore, Ezio's father, approached them with a gentle, knowing smile. He looked older than Amelia remembered, the lines on his face carved deeper by years of loss and struggle, but there was a warmth in his eyes that she had only glimpsed in fleeting moments.
Giovanni's gaze shifted between his son and Amelia, his smile deepening as he took in the sight of them together. "You know," he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion, "it's rare to find someone who understands you, who stands by you through everything, even when the road is darkest. I learned that lesson late in life, Ezio. I'm glad to see that you've found it now."
Ezio glanced at his father, his expression softening, and Amelia could feel the tension in him ease just a little. She met Giovanni's gaze, finding an unexpected comfort in the quiet strength he exuded. There was a wisdom in his words that resonated deeply with her, and she realized how much she had craved the acceptance of this man—of all those gathered here.
Giovanni reached out, placing a hand on Ezio's shoulder, and then another on Amelia's. "The two of you... you've faced trials most would not survive. But you did, because you had each other, even when you were apart. Remember that, as you walk this path."
Amelia felt her throat tighten with emotion, and she offered Giovanni a small, grateful smile. "Grazie, Giovanni," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the crackle of the fire. "I... I promise to always be there for him."
Giovanni nodded, his expression softening further. "And I believe you will, Amelia. Just as he will be there for you." He gave Ezio's shoulder a gentle squeeze before stepping back, offering them a quiet nod of approval.
As Giovanni turned to rejoin the others, Ezio's arms wrapped around her, drawing her into a tender embrace. She leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against her ear. She closed her eyes, letting the moment wash over her, letting herself believe—truly believe—that they could start again, that they could build something new together.
Ezio pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering there as if to seal a silent promise between them. "Ti amo, Amelia," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I will never let us drift apart again."
She clung to him, her arms tightening around his waist, and she let herself smile—a real, unguarded smile that she hadn't allowed herself in years. "I love you too, Ezio."