Chapter Text
Amelia’s gaze immediately fixed on Ezio’s arm, her stomach tightening at the sight of blood soaking through his sleeve. The sight sent a jolt of concern through her, and without thinking, her hand shot out, catching his arm to stop him from moving further.
“Ezio, let me see that,” she said, her voice firm, though her touch was gentle as she forced him to pause. His blood-soaked sleeve made her heart race, but her focus sharpened, assessing the wound with practiced precision.
Ezio tried to wave her off, offering a strained smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s nothing, Amelia. We have more pressing matters—”
“Stop being stubborn,” she cut him off, her voice low but commanding. “You’re no good to Bartolomeo or to me if you bleed out.”
Ignoring his protests, she reached into the pouch at her waist, pulling out a roll of linen bandages. The fabric was cool, slightly damp from the rain, but it would do. Without waiting for his consent, she began wrapping the bandage around his arm.
Ezio sighed, the resistance slipping from him as he reluctantly extended his arm toward her. “You’re as relentless as ever, I see,” he muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. But Amelia could see the strain in his voice, the way his body was wound tight against the pain. It twisted something in her chest, a protective instinct flaring up.
Amelia worked quickly, her hands steady despite the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. As she tied off the bandage, her gaze met his, and for a brief moment, she saw the gratitude in his eyes. It was a quiet moment in the chaos, a grounding connection that made her feel tethered to something solid.
“There,” she said, finishing with a firm knot. “It won’t hold forever, but it’ll keep you from dripping blood all over the streets.”
Ezio glanced down at her work, a rueful smile curving his lips. “Grazie, Amelia,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Amelia rolled her eyes, trying to hide the warmth spreading through her chest at his words. “Probably bleed to death in a gutter somewhere,” she teased, though the truth lingered in her tone. “Now come on, we’ve got more men to free—and a madman to deal with.”
Ezio chuckled softly, the sound warm despite the blood, the rain, and the danger around them. He gave her a nod, and together, they moved onward, side by side. Amelia’s eyes stayed sharp, always scanning the shadows, her hand never straying far from the hilt of her dagger. The city was a minefield now—every corner a threat, every step a potential danger. But with Ezio beside her, she knew they could face anything.
They approached a cluster of buildings, and Amelia signaled for Ezio to stop, crouching low as she assessed the scene below. Three guards stood watch outside a gate, beyond which a handful of Bartolomeo’s men were imprisoned. Amelia met Ezio’s gaze, a determined fire in her eyes. “I’ll take the two on the left. You handle the one by the door.”
Ezio’s gaze turned serious as he readied his hidden blade, the old intensity returning. “On my mark,” he whispered, and Amelia saw the familiar, lethal focus settle over him like a cloak.
She moved first, her movements fluid and precise, blending seamlessly into the night. When Ezio gave the signal, she dropped down behind her targets, landing with a soft thud that barely made a sound over the rain. In one smooth motion, her dagger flashed through the air, and the first guard was silenced before he even had a chance to cry out. Amelia spun, her blade sinking into the second guard’s side, twisting sharply before he collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.
Ezio was already at the gate, handling the last guard with swift, brutal efficiency. He glanced at her, offering a quick nod of approval. Amelia couldn’t suppress the faint smile that tugged at her lips, her heart pounding with the rush of their teamwork.
“Nice work,” he said, his voice low as she joined him by the gate.
She wiped her dagger clean with a flick of her wrist, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than necessary. There was something warm, something unspoken between them, but before she could dwell on it, the gate swung open, and Bartolomeo’s men stumbled out, their faces a mix of exhaustion and relief.
“Grazie, grazie,” one of them muttered, clapping Ezio on the shoulder with genuine gratitude. Another turned to Amelia, offering a nod filled with respect. “You saved our lives, signora.”
Amelia waved him off, her face flushing with a mix of modesty and the tension of the moment. “Save your thanks for when we’re all out of this mess,” she replied, her voice gruffer than she intended, her sharp eyes scanning the area. “We’ve still got more of you to free.”
The men nodded in acknowledgment, their expressions a silent promise of gratitude as they rallied behind Ezio and Amelia, falling into formation for the next part of their mission. This time, there was no need for stealth. They moved with urgency, charging at the next group of guards with a precision born of years of fighting side by side. The city streets became a battlefield—raucous, loud, and unforgiving.
Amelia threw herself into the fray, her dagger flashing in the dim light as she cut down any soldier foolish enough to stand in her way. There was a rawness to her movements, a fierce, almost reckless energy that radiated from her with every strike. The years of struggle, loss, and survival coursed through her, propelling her forward with a relentless, fiery drive.
Ezio was a whirlwind beside her, moving with the same intensity, but even he couldn’t avoid all the blows. A guard’s sword found its mark, slicing across his side before Amelia, ever watchful, dispatched him with a swift, well-aimed throw of her dagger. The blade sank deep, and the guard crumpled to the ground before he could make a sound.
Amelia’s heart skipped a beat as she caught the sharp wince in Ezio’s eyes, the way his muscles tensed with the pain. She moved instinctively toward him, her voice low and filled with concern. “You’re not invincible, Ezio,” she chided, her words slipping out before she could stop them. “Try not to prove me right.”
Ezio flashed her a tight-lipped smile, pressing a hand to the wound. “I’ll keep that in mind, amica mia.” His voice was strained, but there was no mistaking the gratitude there, the unspoken bond that held them together.
Together, they moved as a seamless force, making quick work of the remaining guards. The last of Bartolomeo’s men were freed, and as the final gate swung open, the prisoners spilled out, their faces a mixture of relief and renewed hope. Amelia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. They had done it—one more step toward turning the tide in their favor.
Bartolomeo’s men rallied around them, their eyes alight with fierce determination. One of them clapped Ezio on the back, his voice thick with emotion. “Let us join you. Together, we will crush the Barbarigo!”
Ezio met their gaze, his expression serious but resolute. “Your fight is our fight,” he said, his voice strong and unwavering.
Having taken back Bartolomeo’s headquarters they convene in a room where maps are spread out over the table. Ezio’s expression was focused, the usual lightheartedness that occasionally danced in his eyes now gone, replaced with the gravity of the situation. His finger traced the lines of the map Bartolomeo had spread out over the table, committing every route and strategy to memory. Amelia watched him, her gaze soft but heavy with the understanding of just how much weight rested on his shoulders. She noticed the subtle tension in his posture, the tightness of his jaw, as he absorbed every detail and made plans for their next move.
Bartolomeo, ever the brash warrior, clapped a heavy hand on Ezio’s shoulder, breaking the silence. “Salute, Ezio! Welcome back, and well done! My host is restored to its former glory! Now, Silvio will see just how grave a mistake he’s made.”
Amelia couldn’t help but smirk at the enthusiasm in Bartolomeo’s voice, but a knot of apprehension settled in her chest. She knew Bartolomeo’s bravado well, but beneath it lay the truth: the upcoming battle would be fierce, and one misstep could be catastrophic. Her eyes shifted to Ezio, catching his, and she raised an eyebrow with a small, wry smile. “Seems like you’ve made quite the impression, Ezio. Not every day a man gets handed an army like that.”
Ezio returned the smile, but there was a shadow in his eyes that quickly clouded his expression. “Let’s hope they’re up for the task, Amelia,” he said, his voice low, the weariness of the past hours creeping into his tone. His gaze returned to the map with renewed focus. “How should we proceed? A direct assault on the Arsenale?”
Bartolomeo shook his head, his demeanor shifting from exuberant to serious. “No, we’d be massacred at the gates. I have something else in mind. Take my men and plant them throughout the district. The trouble they cause will force Silvio to send most of his guards to deal with it.”
Ezio’s expression sharpened with understanding, his fingers still resting lightly on the map. “And with the Arsenale drained of mercenaries, I can move in for the kill.”
“Esatto!” Bartolomeo slapped his chest with a broad grin, his exuberance undeterred by the deadly stakes. “You’ll be virtually unopposed.”
Amelia leaned against the table, her arms crossed, considering the plan. Her brow furrowed as she spoke, her voice steady but laced with caution. “Let’s hope Silvio takes the bait. If not, we’ll have a lot more blood to clean off these streets.”
Bartolomeo flashed her a wink, unshaken. “Oh, don’t worry, bella. He will.”
Ezio turned to the assembled men, his voice taking on the commanding edge he was so used to. “Spread out and cause as much chaos as you can. We want Silvio’s men running in circles by the time we reach the gates. Stay sharp, and don’t do anything reckless.”
They moved through the narrow streets of Venice, the soldiers following closely behind like shadows. Amelia kept her senses sharp, scanning every corner, every shadow for signs of trouble. She could feel the tension coiling tighter in her chest with each step, a familiar anxiety that always accompanied the moments before a battle.
At the first location, they spotted a small yard guarded by three soldiers. Amelia and Ezio exchanged a glance, wordlessly deciding on their approach. She reached for her dagger, feeling the cool weight settle into her palm, while Ezio’s hand hovered near his hidden blade.
“Let’s make this quick,” she murmured, her voice low. “We don’t want to draw any more attention than necessary.”
Ezio nodded, his gaze fixed on their targets.
As the signal came, Amelia slipped from the shadows, her movements quick and precise. She brought her dagger up, silencing the first guard with a swift strike to the throat, while Ezio dispatched the second in a blur of motion. The third guard turned, barely managing a shout before Amelia drove her blade into his chest, cutting off his cry.
The soldiers behind them murmured in appreciation, clearly impressed by their speed and precision. Amelia spared them a glance, wiping the blood from her dagger with a practiced flick. They pressed onward, guiding the soldiers through the winding alleys toward the next location. Amelia kept a watchful eye on Ezio, noting the way he moved with a familiar grace. They were in sync, their steps a reflection of the bond they had built over years of fighting side by side. Even as fatigue etched lines around his eyes, there was a comfort in the way they worked together, their movements so naturally coordinated it was like they were reading each other’s minds. It reminded her of why she had stayed by his side, why she had fought so fiercely during his absence.
At the second target, a larger group of guards awaited them, their swords drawn and ready. Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest as she assessed the situation, her mind calculating the angles and distances. She caught Ezio’s eye, offering him a determined nod before they sprang into action. The fight was brutal and close, the air filled with the clash of steel and the grunts of effort. Amelia found herself caught in a fierce duel with one of the guards, her sword and dagger flashing as she parried his strikes, slipping beneath his defenses.
She could hear Ezio fighting nearby, his movements fluid and precise as he dealt with two guards at once. Each of their actions seemed to complement the other’s—where one was, the other was never far behind, always watching, always ready to help. They were a perfect team.
Amelia twisted her blade, taking down her opponent with a clean strike. She glanced over to Ezio, watching him dispatch another guard with practiced ease. She was about to move forward when she saw him glance her way, catching her eye with a silent acknowledgment of their success.
“Good work,” she murmured as she wiped the blood from her blade, her pulse still racing from the fight.
Ezio gave her a small nod, his expression softening. “Same to you,” he said, his voice steady but with a quiet pride in it. Together, they turned their attention to the remaining guards, swiftly finishing the battle.
With the last of the guards dispatched, the final gate swung open, and Bartolomeo’s men surged forward, their shouts of victory filling the air.
As they regrouped, Bartolomeo’s men clapped them on the shoulders, their faces alight with gratitude. “Let us join you,” one of them said, his voice ringing with determination. “Together, we will crush the Barbarigo!”