"Since when? I never saw you— hey! where are you going?"
He called after me, as he saw me walking toward the villa's rear entrance, towel slung over my shoulder and coat flapping gently in the breeze.
"To wash up," I said without turning around. "And maybe get some actual food. You may be stronger, Ezio, but you train like a lunatic."
He barked a laugh behind me. "Takes one to know one!"
I grinned to myself as I pushed open the villa's rear doors and stepped inside. The stone corridors were cooler, a welcome break from the sun. I made my way toward the kitchen, Maria's humming grew louder as I approached.
She was at the counter, slicing bread with the kind of care only a mother could manage. Plates of cheese, olives, and roasted vegetables sat on the table, already waiting for whoever wandered in next. The scent of herbs and garlic clung to the air like a comforting shawl.
Maria glanced up. "There's my little hawk," she said warmly, though her eyes narrowed with practiced intuition. "You look like you've been wrestling lions."
"Just Ezio," I said, grabbing an apple off the tray. "Less majestic. Just as noisy."
She chuckled, wiping her hands on her apron. "You boys never change."
Maria gave me a once-over, the kind of look that saw past sweat and smirks into things I didn't want to talk about yet. Her brows knit slightly, but she didn't push.
Instead, she turned and reached into a cupboard. "Here. Giovanni won't be back until late, and Claudia's gone to visit a friend. So, you get extra."
She set down a warm plate—pasta with chunks of cured meat and a drizzle of olive oil that shimmered in the light. My stomach growled like a traitor.
I sat down, barely waiting for the blessing, and dug in like I hadn't just been living on adrenaline and stale bread.
Maria watched me eat for a moment before sitting across from me. "Dante," she said softly. "Is there something I should know?"
I paused. The fork hovered midair. My instincts tensed—Assassin's Focus didn't trigger, but this was the kind of moment that felt just as crucial.
I could lie. Brush it off. Or I could tell her something—not everything, but enough to anchor her in the truth without dragging her into danger.
"No, just heard people bad mouthing our family, and it got under my skin," I said, chewing slowly. "You know how it is. Same old whispers. Same old envy."
Maria's eyes searched mine. She was no fool—Auditore women rarely were. But after a moment, she nodded, her expression softening. "People talk. They always have. Your father walks in powerful circles, while Federico and Ezio are mortal enemy of many young girl's fathers~"
I smiled faintly, grateful for the way she shifted the mood without calling out my deflection.
"They're not wrong," I said, biting into a slice of bread. "Ezio especially. The way he spins that sword around? Practically a mating dance."
Maria chuckled, the laugh lines around her eyes deepening. "You're not exactly invisible either, you know. I've seen the way the tailor's apprentice watches you when you pass."
I nearly choked. "I think she's just trying to figure out how to measure me for a coat without me noticing."
"She'd need magic for that," she said, smirking.
I finished the last bite of pasta and leaned back in the chair, plate empty, but the warmth lingered. There was something grounding about this—about Maria, about this kitchen, about the scent of rosemary in the oven.
But peace never lingered long.
Claudia came running, with tears running down her cheeks, her slippers slapping against the stone floor. Her hair was half-braided, as if she'd abandoned getting ready halfway through.
"Dante!" she cried out, spotting me instantly. "Mamma!"
Maria stood so quickly her chair scraped back against the floor. I was already on my feet.
"What is it?" I asked, meeting her halfway.
"It's Duccio, my friends heard he's 'seeing' other girls while still courting me!" she sobbed, gripping my sleeve like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
I blinked. Of all the emergencies I expected today, this ranked somewhere below ran out of olive oil and someone let Ezio name another horse.
Maria exhaled sharply. "That boy is trouble," she muttered.
"He said he loved me, Dante!" Claudia cried, her voice breaking as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. "And now he's—he's kissing other girls in broad daylight like I don't exist!"
That's it.
"He dies."
Maria gasped. "Dante!"
"Figuratively," I amended, though my voice was a little too flat for comfort.
Claudia sniffled. "You mean it?"
I crouched, wiping a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "Claudia, anyone who treats you like that—who makes you cry like this—they don't get to walk away without consequences."
Maria folded her arms, giving me a warning look. "You're not actually going to hurt him, are you?"
I stood, all innocent charm. "Of course not, Mamma. I'm just going to talk to him. Very calmly. While possibly holding him over a ledge."
Her hand flew to her chest. "Dante!"
"Figuratively."
Claudia looked between us, the beginnings of a smile creeping through the tears. "You're impossible," she muttered.
I tousled her hair. "But you're my sister. That means something."
Maria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "If you're going to defend her honor, at least don't start another family feud with the tailor's son."
I blinked. "Wait—Duccio's father is that tailor?"
Maria gave me a look. "Yes. And you wonder why your coat was 'accidentally' sewn shut last winter."
Claudia sniffed a laugh, dabbing at her eyes. "It was the sleeves," she whispered. "He stitched them closed so he'd have an excuse to see you struggle."
I rolled my eyes. "Wonderful. Petty sabotage in the name of romance. The Florentine way."
Maria's lips twitched, but her voice was stern. "No ledges. No daggers. And for the love of God, Dante—no rooftops."
I raised a hand like I was swearing an oath. "Fine. No rooftops. Just... dramatic lighting and a sharp glare. Maybe a little rope."
Maria started to protest again, but Claudia—now genuinely smiling—cut her off.
"Mamma, let him. Duccio deserves to sweat a little."
Maria gave us both a long look, equal parts fond and exasperated. "You children are going to give me gray hairs."
"Too late," I muttered as I snuck another olive from the table.
"I heard that."
"Where is he now?" I asked as Claudia sniffled again, wiping the last of her tears on her sleeve. "He's by the Piazza della Signoria. At the fountain. Laughing with two girls—Giulia and Renata. My friends saw him and came running to tell me."
I didn't know who those girls were, but I already disliked them on principle.
I nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll handle it."
Claudia's eyes widened. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'll talk to him." I gave her a small, crooked smile. "No blood, no blades, no rooftops. Just words."
Maria looked like she wanted to believe me. "Swear it, Dante."
"I swear." I touched my chest. "I'll be civil."
"Define civil," Claudia muttered, arms crossed.
"Civil is when I only consider throwing him into the fountain."
Maria closed her eyes. "Sweet Jesus."
—
Piazza della Signoria was always alive.
Vendors shouting about their wares. Artists painting the Palazzo Vecchio. The clanging of blacksmiths, the scent of cured meats, the murmur of gossip like a stream winding through the crowd.
And then there was Duccio.
Leaning against the fountain like he owned it, one hand on Giulia's waist, the other gesturing grandly like he was reciting bloody poetry. Renata giggled beside him like he'd just delivered the line of the century.
He looked exactly like the kind of man who thought a doublet was romantic if it had enough lace.
I walked up behind him, calm, hands in my coat pockets. Then I spoke.
"Duccio."
He turned, clearly annoyed at the interruption. Then he saw me.
"Oh," he said, straightening. "Dante. Fancy seeing you he—"
I moved in, just slightly. Close enough that he had to tilt his head back to meet my eyes. "We need to talk."
Giulia blinked. "Wait, isn't this Claudia's brother?"
Renata whispered something I didn't catch, probably about how handsome I looked when I was glaring.
Duccio's smile wavered. "Look, if this is about Claudia—"
"It is about Claudia," I said. "And the fact that you've been playing her like a lute while cavorting with—"
"Cavorting?" he repeated, as if that was the worst part.
"—with Giulia and Renata, as if people wouldn't notice."
The girls stepped away from him slightly.
"Wait, you told us you weren't courting anyone," Giulia said, eyes narrowing.
"Except me," Renata added.
I smiled, sharp and humorless. "Looks like the cat's out of the bag. Or maybe the weasel."
Duccio paled. "This is all a misunderstanding. I was just being friendly. You know how people misinterpret things!"
I took another step forward. "Friendly doesn't include kissing someone in front of a tavern while your girlfriend is sewing you a gift scarf."
He winced.
But as he saw the look of disgust in Giulia's eyes — and the sheer fury in Renata's — his face crumbled.
"Wait, no, I… Claudia and I weren't even exclusive!"
The crowd had quieted. Not entirely, but enough. A few heads turned. A nearby fishmonger muttered something about cowards and slippery eels.
I tilted my head. "You're saying that to me? Or to yourself?"
Duccio looked around, perhaps realizing, far too late, that I wasn't the one he should be pleading with.
Renata scoffed. "You're pathetic."
Giulia shoved his hand off her waist. "And disgusting."
Duccio sputtered as both girls stormed away, brushing past me. Renata muttered, "Nice coat," as she passed, but I wasn't sure if it was praise or sarcasm.
I turned back to him.
"You know," I said, slowly circling the fountain, "when I told my mother I'd be civil, I meant it."
Duccio gave a nervous chuckle. "Then we're good, right? No hard feelings?"
I stopped beside him. "But then I remembered something."
"…What's that?"
"I never promised to be gentle."
And with that, I grabbed him by the collar and plunged him into the fountain.
There was a tremendous splash, followed by shocked gasps and delighted laughter from the nearby vendors and townsfolk. A pigeon took off from the statue of Neptune, as if offended by the sudden ruckus.
Duccio flailed, sputtering. "DANTE!"
I crouched beside the edge, looking down at him as he sat, soaked and coughing, in the shallow basin.
"You humiliated Claudia," I said calmly. "You played her. Lied to her. And worst of all? You wrote that awful love poem about her eyebrows. Eyebrows, Duccio."
"They're symmetrical!" he shrieked.
"They deserve better!" I shouted, standing. "Just like she does."
Then I dusted my coat sleeves, turned on my heel, and walked away as applause broke out behind me. Someone whistled. Someone else shouted, "Bravissimo!"
I didn't look back.
—
By the time I returned home, Claudia was waiting in the courtyard.
She looked at me, saw my slightly damp sleeves, and raised an eyebrow. "What happened to no fountains?"
I sighed. "Technically, I didn't throw him. I guided him."
"Uh-huh." She crossed her arms. "…Is he still alive?"
"Very. Just slightly more… moist."
Claudia tried not to smile. She failed.
"Thanks," she said quietly, stepping forward to hug me. "You didn't have to, you know."
"I always have to," I murmured into her hair. "You're my sister."
"I hope he knows how lucky he was."
"He does now." I pulled back, smiling faintly. "He might be too busy drying off to appreciate it, though."
She snorted. "You're impossible."
"And you're free of a slimy poet with a lace fetish." I paused. "I call that a win."
She nodded, her eyes bright.
From the upper balcony, I spotted Maria watching us. She didn't say anything, just gave me a knowing look before walking back inside.
***
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