The famous meeting with dear auntie :p
I had to admit—my aunt's villa had style. Just as lavish as mine, with its perfectly manicured gardens, a fountain out front, and that façade that screamed "look how filthy rich I am."
Honestly, I kept forgetting I was in Martin's world.
Because let's face it: in the books and films, cities are giant shitholes—overflowing with piss, rats, and the lovely stench of rotting corpses. King's Landing? A cesspit where even the king probably reeked of stale ale and armpit sweat. Myr, Volantis, Qarth? No better.
And me? I lived in a bloody Venetian palace. So did my aunt. And every rich bastard I knew. Braavos was like Renaissance Venice on steroids—paved streets without human waste flying out of windows, clean canals full of gondolas, and locals draped in colour like a walking festival.
Bottom line: the place was gorgeous. But I couldn't help thinking it was all for show. Flashy as hell, but considering who owned the place, I wasn't exactly shocked.
We were greeted by a small army of servants who escorted me straight to the dining hall. I was alone—well, as alone as one can be with four guards and a butler in tow. They stayed outside the hall though, ready to jump in at the slightest "thought," bless 'em.
I let out a sigh of relief when I saw there were no other guests. Just confirmed what I'd suspected: the old hag wanted something from me. Funny how I kept calling her "the old hag" and taking jabs at her when, truth be told, I didn't actually know her. I only had my predecessor's memories.
And he hadn't been a fan. That much had clearly rubbed off on me.
"The mistress will be with you shortly, my lord," one of her little lapdogs announced.
He bowed and buggered off before I could even blink. I took a moment to look at the table and barely kept a grin off my face.
Three ornate decanters, all from my glassworks. The one in the middle was a gift—bit of a family gesture on my part. Blood ties and all that.
Two place settings too, so it was definitely just us. I had to admit, the cutlery was exquisite—engraved silver with carved ivory handles. The plates were porcelain, the tablecloth woven silk straight out of Yi Ti.
With all the deals I'd made lately—and thanks to my handy backlog of memories—I'd gotten pretty decent at spotting where things came from. There were Qohorik candelabras, and if I wasn't mistaken, the chairs were Asshai-made. Don't ask me how, but apparently they're bloody good at woodworking over there.
"So here you are, my dear nephew. Thank you for accepting my invitation to dine."
"Bloody h— Aunt Azalea, what a pleasure. So much beauty, I'm utterly dazzled."
Yeah, I nearly let slip an insult. Her stealth entrance was terrifying—silent as a panther. Or maybe a cougar, considering her age. Ugh.
She was fifty-six, looked sixty-five, but her gaze? Still sharp enough to slice through Valyrian steel. Two piercing blue eyes—gorgeous, if you ignored the rest of the ensemble.
Not sure she caught the sarcasm in my words, but she gave me a polite smile.
"Such compliments warm the heart, Vincenzo. Shall we sit?"
No jab? No snide remark? No passive-aggressive barb? Yeah, if I still had doubts about her motives, they just evaporated faster than piss on a smith's anvil.
Still, I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Big mistake.
She sat down and flashed another smile—dry as her skin.
"I'm delighted to have you here, Vincenzo. We don't see each other often... Perhaps I ought to start knocking on your door instead?"
I took a sip of wine, freshly poured by one of her minions.
"That bad? Did I miss a Guild meeting, or is this just nostalgia creeping in with age? We saw each other, what, two weeks ago?"
Her smile twitched, and she shot me a look that could've curdled milk.
"Oh, dear nephew… Still the same charming insolence. I see your rise has made you bold."
Couldn't help myself.
"My rise? Not quite. But surviving assassins and making them cry like little girls? That might've given me a bit of boldness, sure. And we both know boldness is the mother of success, dear aunt. You should try it sometime—might do wonders for your complexion."
Her fingers tightened on the cutlery, but she didn't bite. I noticed one of the servants stifling a laugh. Poor bastard...
Eventually, the food started rolling in, and she began chatting about... well, everything but the reason I was here. As if I gave a toss about the latest auction she won, or how some Magister from Pentos got even richer off cheese.
Cheese? I paused mid-thought. Wasn't that that twat Mopatis?
Filed it away for later.
The courses kept coming—vegetable soup, braised fish in white wine. All of it delicious, all of it fancy as fuck... and at least three-quarters of it would go to waste.
Unless, of course, she ran things the way I did at my villa.
I'd made it very clear—no waste. Anything I didn't eat went to the servants and guards. Earned me a few extra popularity points, that did. I mean, come on, it's just common sense. Why the hell would you chuck perfectly good food into the bin or the sea?
Eventually, the meal wound down. The old bat was still eyeing me, having barely pecked at her plate like some proud little bird too posh to admit it was starving.
I wasn't fooled. I knew she was waiting for me to bring up the real reason over dinner. But I'd done the opposite—played along, humoured her small talk.
She gently set down her cutlery, shoulders sinking just a little. The act was over.
"No more pretence, Vincenzo," she said, fingers steepled beneath her chin. "We both know why you're here."
"Indeed. I understand you want to negotiate... about my proposal."
She didn't answer right away. Her gaze hardened, and I could almost hear her thoughts grinding like the gears of a machine forced in the wrong direction.
She'd expected me to hand her the reins, to let her lead the conversation. But I had no intention of talking about the bloody Vadremino power squabble until my metric system was locked in.
I hadn't gone through all the trouble of developing it, sending out proposals, laying the groundwork for a complete reform—just so Lady Valera could decide her petty turf war mattered more. I didn't give a toss about her fear of being unseated.
If she wanted to negotiate, it was going to be on my terms.
She crossed her legs slowly, fingers brushing the silk of her robe. A little nervous tick of hers—a rehearsed gesture to make it look like she still held the upper hand.
"I see you've become quite... demanding, Vincenzo."
She sipped her wine, those hawk eyes of hers scanning for a crack in my posture.
I just smiled. She could dig all she wanted—she'd find nothing. She knew Vincenzo Bardatto… but me? I was something else entirely.
"Not demanding, aunt. Realistic."
She raised a brow.
"Realistic, you say?"
She twirled the wine in her glass, pretending to mull things over like some contemplative matriarch.
"A single measuring system… it sounds clever on paper. But you're asking the entire Guild to change their weights, swap out their amphorae, their barrels, and purchase these... tools you've dreamed up."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"These... engraved rulers, those angle-discs, and that…"
She paused, struggling with the words as if merely naming the thing offended her.
"...number bowl?"
I bit back a smirk. Was the word itself that hard to say, or was it the change that chafed her so? One thing hadn't changed between Earth and Essos: old people hate change.
But it wasn't that she didn't understand. No, she got it—she just didn't like it. And I had a feeling she didn't like it because it hadn't come from her. Vain, narcissistic cow.
"Right-angle set square, aunt," I corrected lightly. "Protractor. Measuring cup. Instruments of precision."
She pursed her lips.
"And we're supposed to adopt these… novelties?"
She rested her elbows on the table, fingers still entwined.
"Why should we accept such a disruption? You're asking the merchants of Braavos to throw out their tools, to relearn how to measure like bloody apprentices—all for some... intellectual whim?"
Ah.
There it was.
I slowly leaned my elbow on the table, resting my cheek in my palm like I was already bored to death.
"Really, aunt? You think I haven't thought this through?"
She didn't flinch, so I pressed on, tone dry and edged.
"First off, it's not a whim. It's a reform. One that'll save everyone money."
I took a sip of wine, letting the words sink in.
"No more confusion when a merchant from Qarth sells in amphorae, a Volantene trader deals in bushels, and a spice dealer from Yi Ti uses local ounces. One unit. One method. No scams, no vague deals. Just clarity."
She didn't reply right away, but I saw it—the flicker of interest in her eyes. The old witch knew. She was just waiting to hear me say it. Well, she was going to get an earful.
I kept going, smile widening.
"Secondly, I've already had standardised metal weights produced. Barrels calibrated. Amphorae made to match the new units. And I'm ready to trade them at a preferential rate for the old stock."
Her eyes narrowed at the mention of a preferential rate. Just as I thought—she'd been interested from the start. All that posturing, the smugness, the scepticism? Smoke and mirrors. What she really wanted was to haggle. In the end, we were family.
I leaned back in my chair, arms folded. I wasn't about to make it easy for her.
"As for the new rulers, set squares, and protractors…" I let the silence linger a moment, then added with a hint of amusement, "They'll be just as useful. And where there are merchants, there are artisans. I can promise you—they'll be very interested in these tools."
Her gaze darkened.
Bullseye.
She set down her glass, lips moistening slightly, that look flickering between contemplation and irritation.
"I imagine you've already planned a demonstration for the Guild?"
I nodded.
"Obviously."
She exhaled softly.
"You really are your father's son."
I let out a short laugh. My father? He'd had ideas, sure—but compared to me, he was a bloody amateur. Like comparing some hobbyist tinkerer to Leonardo da Vinci.
"I intend to do better."
Her wrinkled lips stretched into a smile—thin, a little too wide, flashing teeth far too white for someone without access to whitening treatments. How did she manage that? Seriously, where the hell did she get those done?
"You've convinced me."
She placed her hands back on the table, and this time, I could tell she meant it. But I also saw it in her eyes—now came the real discussion: the price.
"However, Vincenzo…"
Her tone softened, even took on a hint of warmth. Yeah, right.
"It would be a poor decision to impose such a sweeping change on the merchants without offering some form of compensation."
I stared at her flatly. For fun, I raised one eyebrow—yep, mastered that little trick from my butler.
"Compensation?"
"A discount. Let's say… 30% off on the new measuring tools and the exchange fees for barrels, amphorae, and weights."
Thirty percent? Bloody cheek. I was all for compromise, but I wasn't about to let her take the piss.
I let silence settle in, slowly turning my gaze toward my glass. No—way too steep a discount.
"Too much."
She looked surprised. You weren't seriously expecting me to just say yes, were you? What do I look like—some doe-eyed charity case?
"Too much?"
"Yes. Too much."
I rolled the glass between my fingers, then looked her dead in the eye.
"But let's say… 25%. In exchange for a small… favour."
Her brow arched, curious now.
"What kind of favour?"
I straightened a little, taking my time. If I played this right, I stood to gain big.
"The Merchant's Guild must officially endorse the metric system as the required standard for all contracts under its authority. My system becomes the system."
She studied me for a few beats, weighing the offer, calculating the fallout.
Then, slowly, she eased off the table and settled more comfortably into her chair.
"Very well. 25% off, in exchange for official Guild endorsement."
My lips betrayed me—couldn't help but smile. At this rate I'd pull a bloody muscle in my face.
"Perfect."
And just like that—bam.
I'd imposed my metric system with the full backing of the Merchant's Guild.
I'd ensured that every major merchant in Braavos and beyond would be forced to adopt it.
Done and dusted.
Now… I could finally turn my attention to what she really wanted to talk about. Judging by the way she straightened her back, it was time for her to offer something in return. She twirled her glass between her fingers, eyes lost in the amber liquid like she was still hesitating. Suspense, suspense…
Then, with a carefully measured smile, she finally said:
"Redrasi Vadremino wants my position."
Ah.
There it was.
So I was right all along.
All that dancing around, the dramatic dinner, the pretense—it had all led to this. What a monumental waste of time. Didn't she know time is money?
Speaking of which, I really needed to finish that electric pulse clock diagram. I'd already sketched the fundamentals and knew how to build a galvanic battery. With my mines and salt flats, I had all the components—I just needed to polish the design and start testing. I wasn't an idiot—I knew it'd take months to get a stable, functional electric clock.
I also had a second clock design in the works—a weight-driven version with optional electric assistance. Something that could run without a battery if needed, though the weights and pendulum meant it would only work well on solid ground. Unlike the first one, which I already pictured mounted in a captain's cabin.
I shook off the thoughts and returned to the present situation.
"I know."
A heavy silence fell.
She pursed her lips, and for the first time since dinner had begun, I saw something almost imperceptible in her eyes.
The anger and irritation were gone.
What remained was… worry.
She hadn't expected me to already know. Now that—that was interesting.
She slowly set down her glass.
"I suppose you're aware of his son as well?"
I just nodded.
Of course I knew, Auntie. My good old Caspar was basically a master spy.
Redrasi Vadremino was eyeing the leadership of the Merchant's Guild, and if his little scheme worked, his son would take over the Guild of Goldsmiths.
A tidy little coup.
And her? Kicked to the side like an old boot.
She let out a soft sigh before continuing, her voice calmer now—almost… humble.
"You know better than most that the Merchant's Guild must be led by someone with influence. I don't fear Vadremino alone. But he's drawn close to several factions within the guild."
She began ticking them off on her fingers.
"He's aligned himself with the Velkhars, the Domvannos, and the Meronos. Three families, three Guilds, all part of the Merchant's Guild."
Ah.
Now I saw the real issue.
No wonder she was starting to shit bricks. Especially with the Meronos involved…
The Velkhars were headed by Volo Velkhar—a walking corpse, basically. The man was on his last legs, and his son was set to take over. Lorano was a dumb bastard, but he was ambitious. More importantly, he currently led the Miners' Guild—his family owned two iron mines and two lead ones.
The Domvannos were a bit different. They controlled the Guild of Weavers and Embroiderers, but Elia Domvanno had appointed her sister-in-law, Elyna Porrimo, as the public face. A proxy. Smart move—Elia spent most of her time flitting between Qarth, Norvos, and Lys, brokering deals and keeping the family name shining. The Domvannos were actually a cadet branch of one of the extinct founding lines of the Iron Bank.
And the Meronos? They ran the Guild of Vintners and Distillers. Saelios Merono was a charming shark—lethal, but with a winning smile. Like us Valeras and Bardattos, he held a Key to the Iron Bank. He owned most of the land stretching from Braavos to the mountains, along the river and its tributaries. Their wine had a reputation strong enough to reach the slave cities—and even the Reach.
Unofficially, of course.
Together, those three could rival me.
With Vadremino in the mix?
I didn't stand a chance.
"And with your growing influence," she added, "I fear he may try to court you as well."
Strange—I hadn't heard anything about that. Unless… if he hadn't come to me yet, maybe he didn't see me as an enemy. Which meant he wasn't aiming at the Valeras after all. No...
"What did you do?" I asked, setting my wine down.
"What do you mean?"
Her fingers tightened slightly. She was hiding something. And I wanted to know exactly what.
I raised an eyebrow—patiently.
Eventually, she sighed.
"He wanted his son to enter the Iron Bank."
"Dorio Vadremino?" I straightened up slightly.
This was going to be juicy. I could feel it. And I loved this sort of twist.
She nodded, took another sip of wine, and continued.
"He'd submitted his application. Everything was in order—solid preparation, trained in commerce, letters of recommendation from internal scribes. On paper, he was the perfect candidate to join the bank as a Scribe-Apprentice."
She shrugged and set her glass down.
"But he belongs to none of the founding families. Not even distantly. A social climber, son of climbers, from a family of bloody climbers. That's what he really is."
Couldn't argue with that. Access to the Iron Bank needed to stay tightly controlled. It was incredibly rare to get in without lineage. Even the Nestoris were descended from one of the extinct founding lines.
I gestured for her to go on, though I already had a hunch. Which she confirmed.
"I used my veto."
She looked me straight in the eye.
"As a Keyholder and Council member, I invoked the Founders' Decree at the session. No new bloodline may be admitted into the Bank without an official sponsorship by a Keyholder of direct Founder descent. And naturally, none of them were willing."
She paused.
"And I made sure no one forgot that."
That must've been before my father died—I didn't recall that meeting. Still, I couldn't help but let out a low whistle.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
She'd basically slammed the Vadreminos into the dirt—and done it cleanly, legally. It was… beautiful.
"I suppose you didn't consider an alternative? A softer option?" I asked, raising my glass again. "You must've known there'd be backlash."
She shot me a glare like I'd just called her a whore.
"Of course not. You think I'd let those vermin—or any upstart bloodline—waltz into the Bank's decision-making circles?"
She tapped the table twice.
"They don't understand what the institution represents. This isn't a wine shop or a brothel. It's the cornerstone of Braavos—and more importantly, it's our legacy."
I was speechless. I'd always known my aunt was a piece of work, but damn.
In terms of cold-blooded bitchcraft, she was right up there with Cersei Lannister.
I clapped my hands together. She jumped slightly.
"I see we share the same principles, Auntie."
She arched an eyebrow.
I took another sip.
"I mean, you could've just tripped him up. A little rumour, a 'failed' test. But no—you showed up, Key in hand, and slammed the doors of the Iron Bank in his face in front of everyone."
I shrugged, grinning.
"Honestly? Magnificent."
She didn't reply immediately, but I saw it—her chin lifted just a touch. She hadn't expected me to get it. And certainly not to approve.
But me? I had no shame. Just interests. And I knew a clean, brutal power play when I saw one.
I set my glass down.
"So now he wants your head on a platter. Makes sense. They say eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth."
She nodded slowly.
"He wants to wipe the insult clean with public humiliation. Topple me inside my own stronghold and make a show of it."
She locked eyes with me.
"And don't think you'll be spared if he succeeds," she said. "If Vadremino takes control of the Guild, he'll place his son over the Goldsmiths and make sure every artisan and merchant tied to that trade follows his rules. You've got interests in glassmaking and mining, haven't you?"
I gave a slow nod.
"Now imagine a world where every master goldsmith in Braavos is forced to source their gold, silver, and gemstones from the Vadremino family alone. As head of the Merchant's Guild, with his son leading the Goldsmiths, he could make it happen. And knowing him, he absolutely would. You're a Valera too—and he knows it. He might try to rope you into backing him to oust me, but once I'm gone… you're next."
Ah.
Now that was interesting. And she wasn't wrong.
She knew exactly where to push to make me think. Crafty old witch.
I took my time, then replied with a slow smile.
"I might help you… But…"
Her expression darkened.
"But?"
I drew in a deliberately theatrical breath and raised a finger.
"One. I want the Merchant's Guild to back me on my upcoming projects."
A small twitch crossed her face.
"You want the Guild to back you? And what kind of projects are we talking about?"
"Oh, you'll see. Let's just say the metric system was only the teaser. And besides, when you eventually kick the bucket—no offence—you're not exactly springtime fresh… I'll most likely end up leading the Guild. Might as well save time."
Her lips tightened.
"Go on."
I raised a second finger.
"Two. I want the Merchant's Guild to enforce my measurement system not just in Braavos, but in every trading post it controls across Essos. Lys, Pentos, Volantis… anywhere the Guild has influence."
This time, I saw her fingers tighten slightly on the table.
Bingo.
The idea of forcing every merchant under Braavosi influence to adopt my metric system clearly grated on her.
But she knew I wouldn't budge.
She took a breath and set her glass down.
"Very well. We'll support your future projects. And we'll impose your metric system in our trading posts."
A satisfied grin spread across my face.
Done deal.
"Glad to see we understand each other."
She shot me a brief glare before sighing.
"Now that that's sorted… how do you plan to handle Vadremino?"
I set down my glass, smoothed an imaginary crease on my sleeve, then looked her square in the eye, calm as anything.
"I don't need to handle him. He's digging his own grave."
Her eyes narrowed. She was torn between irritation and curiosity. I beat her to it, as usual.
"Redrasi already leads the Goldsmiths' Guild, right? And now he wants the Merchants' as payback."
She nodded slowly.
"He plans to hand the first over to his son so he can seize the second. With those three families backing him and all his political manoeuvring, I've lost ground."
I gave her a slow, deliberate smile. Calculated. Not mocking—but close.
"And that's where I come in."
I sat back, spine touching the chair, voice calm—almost administrative.
"You see, I may not officially lead the Miners' Guild yet, but we both know that's just a matter of time. I already own three operations, and a fourth is in development. The votes are lined up. All it'll take is a trip or two, a signature in the right place…"
I rolled the empty glass between my fingers.
"Two, three weeks tops, and the Velkhars will be out. The Bardattos will run the Miners' Guild."
I caught the way her eyes widened just a fraction. She understood. She saw it.
Vadremino was about to lose one of his three key allies.
And I wasn't stopping there.
Her little speech about exclusive suppliers had just sparked another idea.
"Vadremino's son hasn't officially been named Guildmaster of the Goldsmiths yet, has he? Still up for debate?"
She nodded slowly.
Of course. I only had one goldsmith under my banner—wasn't exactly invested in their meetings. Honestly? Couldn't care less.
"Now picture this… a young Guildmaster with no regular access to gold, silver, or gems. How long do you think he'll last against the independents? Or even against workshops backed by my Glassmakers' Guild, where I'm the sole supplier?"
She gave me a questioning look, but she didn't need to speak.
"As head of the Miners' Guild, I can impose quotas. I can implement safety checks, enforce compliance. I'll regulate contracts—just like I've done with every single one of my ventures. And by the time they adjust to the new system? Months will have passed. And Vadremino will be left standing there with his cock out."
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on the table.
"You know what happens to a goldsmith with no precious metal, dear aunt?"
She didn't reply.
"We forget him."
A long silence followed.
She picked up her glass again, took a slow sip. I saw her shoulders relax.
When she set it down, she wasn't looking at me with concern anymore.
She was looking at me with a cold, distant respect.
Earned respect.
I stood, slowly, reaching for the cloak draped over the back of my chair.
"You wanted my support, Aunt. You have it. But don't forget one thing."
She looked up.
"Redrasi isn't the dangerous one. It's what I'm willing to do to make him lose."
I gave her a curt nod.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a meeting at the Palace tomorrow. Invitation only, of course. But I'm sure you knew that already, didn't you?"
And with that, I left the room. Didn't look back.
Didn't wait for a reply.
I needed my beauty sleep.
After all, one doesn't maintain a complexion like mine without a proper night's rest.