Chapter Text
Amelia's eyes lit up at La Volpe's suggestion. "Chess? I haven't played in ages."
La Volpe grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Then prepare yourself, cara mia. I won't go easy on you just because you're recovering."
He fetched a beautifully carved wooden chess set from a nearby shelf and set it up on the bed between them. As they began to play, Amelia felt a sense of normalcy wash over her. The familiar strategy of the game engaged her mind, pushing away the darker thoughts that had been plaguing her.
They played for hours, the quiet clink of chess pieces and the low murmur of voices filling the room. Between moves, their conversation ebbed and flowed effortlessly, La Volpe’s voice a rich, warm cadence as he regaled Amelia with tales of the Brotherhood’s exploits during her absence. He spoke with his usual flourish, spinning his stories with a mischievous glint in his eye, carefully steering away from any mention of her captivity. She noticed this but didn’t mind; in fact, she felt a quiet gratitude for his understanding. The tales, full of daring rescues, narrow escapes, and unlikely victories, made her chuckle, her laughter breaking free, surprising her as it chased away the shadows lingering in her mind.
As the game unfolded, Amelia found herself more and more engrossed, her earlier anxieties melting away with each move. La Volpe was an unpredictable player; his strategies were bold, almost audacious, and at first, she thought him reckless. But after several moves, she saw the careful thought behind each decision. What seemed haphazard was, in fact, a web of calculated risks—just like the man himself. It reminded her of how he lived, keeping everyone guessing, never revealing his next move until it was too late. She admired that quality in him, that cleverness masked by casual charm.
“Check,” Amelia declared, her voice filled with a gleam of satisfaction as she slid her bishop into position, claiming an advantage she’d been building toward for several moves. Her gaze lingered on La Volpe, waiting for his reaction.
He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile unfurling on his face, a glint of approval in his eyes. “Impressive, cara mia. But not quite checkmate.” With a swift, elegant motion, he shifted his knight, effortlessly blocking her attack while setting up a fresh threat on her queen. It was a flawless counter, turning the tables in an instant.
Amelia’s breath caught, and her teeth sank into her bottom lip, the skin whitening with pressure as she focused on the board, absorbing his latest move. Her eyes scanned each piece, the tiny soldiers arranged in a delicate dance of strategy and cunning. She could almost hear the clash of metal and feel the weight of impending defeat. Her competitive nature flared to life, pushing her to meet his challenge. She knew he was testing her—not just her skill, but her resilience. With each move, her mind sharpened, cutting through lingering doubts, reminding her that she was more than what had happened to her.
The game became more than just a distraction. It was a battle of wits, a test of her own endurance, a silent way to reclaim a piece of herself. La Volpe must have sensed this, for he held nothing back, and neither did she.
Six months passed in a blur, each day a careful, deliberate step on a path she hadn’t chosen, back to a life she’d barely begun to reclaim. In those months, Amelia had thrown herself into anything that might make her forget, keeping her mind occupied, her body in constant motion, fighting against the hollow feeling that lingered after her release. She trained harder than she had before, pushing herself to exhaustion, her days filled with drills and exercises that left her muscles aching and her mind too weary to think. If she kept herself moving, she didn’t have to sit with the memories that haunted her.
When the doctor finally cleared her to resume her full training regimen, Amelia felt a rush of excitement, her spirit lifting at the thought of reclaiming the life she had once held dear. But as she left the clinic, a strange weight settled over her—a tangle of anticipation and dread. Returning to the rooftops, to the freedom of running and leaping across Rome, was something she had dreamed of while she was trapped, her movements confined, her body broken. But now that the moment had arrived, a part of her hesitated, a flicker of doubt catching in her chest. Would she be the same? Would the city she once loved still feel like her own?
The first night she returned to her quarters, she lay awake, her body buzzing with the familiar tension that accompanied her nightmares. She had hoped, somehow, that they would fade over time, that if she willed them away, they would leave her alone. But they clung to her, visceral and relentless, intruding on her sleep with images and sensations that left her drenched in sweat, her hands clenching the sheets, her breath coming in gasps. Sometimes, in the dark, she could still feel the rough grip of hands, hear the mocking voices, the stinging echo of insults and threats. She would bolt upright, her heart pounding, staring into the shadows until the remnants of the dreams faded, her breaths eventually slowing.
Amelia hadn’t spoken about it with anyone—not with her comrades, not with Ezio. She could feel his eyes on her sometimes, filled with worry, questions lingering on his lips that he never asked. But she could never bring herself to open up, to unravel the things that had happened to her, as if speaking them aloud would make them more real, give them power. So she kept the words locked inside, forcing them down, focusing instead on her training. Physical pain, at least, was a sensation she could control, something tangible she could endure and push past.
As she prepared for her first training session back, Amelia tried to steady herself, her hands trembling slightly as she wrapped them, the familiar sensation a comfort amidst the chaos inside her. She hadn’t set foot on the rooftops since her return, and now, the thought of feeling the wind on her face, the rush of leaping between buildings, was both exhilarating and terrifying. She forced a deep breath, willing herself to embrace the thrill of the unknown, the freedom she had once known.
But the challenges went deeper than she had anticipated. The physical strain was something she was prepared for, but what surprised her was the jarring sensation of feeling so out of place in her own skin. Movements that had once been effortless now felt foreign, her body hesitant, as if it, too, remembered all that had been done to it. Even the gentle touch of her comrades—a supportive hand on her shoulder, an encouraging pat on the back—set her nerves on edge, her muscles tensing involuntarily. She couldn’t bring herself to explain why she flinched, why she sometimes recoiled from the touch of people she trusted. How could she explain something that felt so personal, so deeply embedded in her?
There was also Ezio. When he held her, she tried to let herself relax, to remember the comfort his arms once brought her. But her body resisted, her mind trapped in a loop of fear and longing, his warmth and love juxtaposed against memories of cruelty and violence. Some nights, she would turn away, her back to him, pretending to sleep, afraid that if he touched her too suddenly, too strongly, she might unravel completely. She hadn’t told him about the dreams, the hours she spent awake staring at the ceiling, feeling the darkness press in. The shame of it gnawed at her, a silent reminder of the pieces of herself that had been fractured, the scars that ran deeper than anyone could see.
Yet here she was, standing at the edge of a rooftop, her heart pounding, the city stretching out before her. The sensation of wind on her skin was almost painful, a reminder of all that she had lost and all that she was fighting to reclaim. Petruccio and his friends stood by, their gazes full of silent encouragement, waiting for her to make the first move. She could feel the weight of their trust, their quiet patience, the unspoken understanding that she was not yet whole but that she was trying.
As she raced along the rooftops with Petruccio and his friends, she felt a familiar rush. The city stretched below her, sprawling and alive, the stone buildings and narrow alleyways a chaotic map she had once known by heart. Petruccio kept a watchful eye on her, his pace just a little slower, his gaze flicking back every so often to ensure she was keeping up. His friends moved with the fluidity of seasoned assassins, but they too adjusted their speed, subtly falling back when she lagged, lending a steady hand whenever she needed it.
With each leap, each roll, Amelia felt the old rhythms coming back, muscle memory fighting to reassert itself. The rooftop tiles felt rough beneath her fingertips, the cool wind rushing against her skin, whispering reminders of who she was. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, not from fear, but from the exhilaration of freedom, of reclaiming the agility and strength that had once been second nature. There were stumbles, moments when her body hesitated, not quite remembering the motions, but Petruccio was there, steady and silent, ready to catch her before she fell.
Pettrucio ran alongside her, his youthful energy infectious. "Come on, Amelia!" he called out with a grin. "I thought you said you were fast!"
She laughed, pushing herself to pick up the pace. "I'm just getting warmed up, ragazzo!"
As they vaulted over a narrow alleyway, Amelia felt a twinge in her leg - a reminder of her still-healing injuries. She stumbled slightly on the landing, but quickly regained her footing. Pettrucio noticed and slowed his pace, concern evident on his face.
"Are you alright?" Pettrucio asked, his brow furrowing with worry.
Amelia nodded, catching her breath. "I'm fine. Just a little rusty, that's all."
She appreciated his concern, but was determined not to let her injuries hold her back. With renewed resolve, she picked up her pace again, leaping gracefully to the next rooftop.
As they continued their run, Amelia found herself settling into a comfortable rhythm. The familiar movements came back to her, muscle memory kicking in. She felt a surge of confidence as she effortlessly scaled a wall, pulling herself up with practiced ease.
The group paused atop a high tower, taking in the breathtaking view of Rome at night. Lanterns and torches dotted the cityscape below, casting a warm glow over the ancient buildings. Amelia inhaled deeply, savoring the feeling of freedom in her bones. She glanced down and saw a haystack positioned at the very bottom in the courtyard below.
“Have you ever seen your brother do a leap of faith?” She asked Pettrucio with a mischievous glint in her eye.
Pettrucio's eyes widened, a mix of excitement and apprehension crossing his youthful features. "I've seen Ezio do it a few times. It's incredible, but terrifying to watch."
Amelia grinned, her heart racing with anticipation. "Want to see one up close?"
Before Pettrucio could respond, Amelia took a few steps back, her eyes locked on the haystack far below. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.
"Amelia, wait!" Pettrucio called out, but she was already in motion.
With a powerful, graceful leap, Amelia launched herself off the towering structure, arms spread wide like the wings of a falcon catching the wind. She felt the thrill surge through her as she soared, her body a fluid extension of the open sky. A wild, unrestrained cry escaped her lips, echoing into the air, mingling with the rush of wind that whipped past her, tossing her hair and filling her senses with an exhilarating clarity. In this moment, she felt weightless, untethered from everything that had held her down. The rooftops and the worries she’d left behind faded into insignificance as she arced into a perfect dive.
The ground below rose up, faster and faster, but she felt no fear, only a powerful freedom and a fierce sense of control. She adjusted her body mid-air, instinctively preparing for impact, her movements practiced and precise. For those few suspended seconds, the city was hers, a landscape of promise and purpose. Her body moved as though it remembered every leap, every fall, as if the last agonizing months had never happened. Her laughter, raw and genuine, rose above the wind, a declaration of her resilience.
As the haystack rushed up to meet her, she tucked her body tightly, curling into a controlled descent. She hit the hay with a soft, satisfying thud, the loose straw cushioning her landing, and for a heartbeat, she lay there, her chest heaving with exhilaration. Then, unable to hold it in, a burst of laughter escaped her, rich and resonant, echoing through the quiet courtyard. The sound carried upward, where Petruccio and his friends stood gawking from the tower above, their mouths open in astonishment.
“That was incredible!” Petruccio’s voice rang out, admiration and disbelief mingling in his tone. He leaned over the edge, eyes wide with amazement.
Amelia grinned up at him, her cheeks flushed, her heart still racing. She felt more alive than she had in months, the raw, unfiltered joy of the leap cutting through the remnants of her fears. “Get down here!” she called, playfully motioning for them to join her.
Petruccio laughed, shaking his head. “We’ll take the long way, thank you very much!” he shouted back, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. He and his friends began their descent, a bit more cautious than usual, their admiration for her brazen leap palpable.
Amelia chuckled softly as she watched them, brushing stray pieces of hay from her clothes and hair. The rush of adrenaline still thrummed through her, an electric pulse that made her feel invincible. She took a moment to glance around, noticing for the first time the quiet beauty of the courtyard they had landed in—a hidden oasis nestled within the walls of an old palazzo, its stone walls softened by ivy and the muted glow of lanterns in the early evening light.
But her moment of peace was interrupted by the sharp sound of approaching footsteps echoing through the stone passage. Instinct took over, and she spun around, her hand flying to the dagger at her belt, her body tensing, ready to face any threat. Her mind flashed to memories of dark corridors and hostile faces, but as the figure emerged from the shadows, recognition set in, and her grip on the dagger eased. She exhaled, her pulse slowing as La Volpe’s familiar face appeared, a knowing smile on his lips.
“Well, well,” he murmured, his tone laced with amusement as his sharp gaze took her in. “Impressive leap, my dear. Though I must say, a bit reckless for someone who is still recovering.”
She returned his smile, unable to hide the spark of excitement in her eyes. “La Volpe,” she greeted him warmly, feeling a renewed sense of self as she brushed a few more stray pieces of hay from her clothes. “What brings you to this part of the city at this hour?”
La Volpe approached with his usual feline grace, his eyes gleaming with that familiar twinkle of mischief. “I could ask you the same, cara mia. I thought you were supposed to be taking it easy.” He raised an eyebrow, a gentle reprimand in his gaze, though she could see the pride hidden beneath it.
Amelia shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “After months of being cooped up, I needed to stretch my wings a bit.” She spread her arms out for emphasis, still feeling the lingering thrill of her dive.
La Volpe’s expression softened as he watched her, noting the flush in her cheeks, the sparkle in her eyes. “And how do you feel?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern beneath his usual lightness.
Without hesitation, Amelia replied, “Alive. More alive than I’ve felt in a long time.”
He nodded, a glint of understanding in his eyes. “It’s good to see you back in action, truly. Ezio will be pleased to see you smiling.”
“Have you heard from him?” she asked, a flicker of concern passing through her gaze as she looked up to see Petruccio and his friends finally reaching the ground. “It’s been weeks since he’s been home.”
La Volpe’s smile faded, his expression turning serious. “He’s been tracking leads on the Borgia. They haven’t ceased their search for you. He’s making sure they don’t get close, doing everything in his power to keep them off your trail.”
Amelia’s joy tempered at the mention of the Borgia. Her hand unconsciously drifted to her side, tracing the hidden scars beneath her clothing, memories of her captivity flashing in her mind. She felt a pang of guilt, knowing her friends were putting themselves at risk to protect her. “I understand,” she said softly, her voice a mix of gratitude and sorrow. “I just wish there was more I could do to help.”
La Volpe placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his touch surprisingly comforting. “You’re doing plenty by focusing on your recovery, Amelia. The Brotherhood needs you at your best, and that means healing.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Petruccio and his friends, who bounded over, their faces lit with excitement and awe as they greeted La Volpe. They exchanged quick, admiring glances with one another, eager to show respect to the legendary thief.
La Volpe inclined his head toward Petruccio, a sly smile on his face. “Get her home in one piece,” he instructed, though his tone was warm.
Petruccio gave a mock salute, grinning. “You don’t have to tell us twice!”
Amelia watched as La Volpe stepped back into the shadows, his parting words lingering in her mind. But before she could dwell on them, a sudden noise drew their attention—a harsh, metallic clinking, followed by hurried footsteps.
“Guards!” one of Petruccio’s friends hissed, gesturing toward the courtyard entrance, where a group of armed men was advancing, their faces hard and suspicious.
The exhilaration of her leap quickly gave way to a surge of sharp adrenaline as Amelia’s instincts sharpened. Her gaze flicked toward Petruccio, who met her glance with a firm nod, his hand moving to his weapon, his stance tense yet controlled. In that instant, she felt the unspoken bond between them—an unyielding unity forged by countless hours of training and trust. Her heart hammered in her chest, not from fear, but from a raw sense of purpose as her senses attuned to the impending danger. They would protect each other, no matter the cost.
Just then, flickering torchlight splashed over the stone walls of the courtyard as a patrol of Borgia guards rounded the entrance. Their armor glinted ominously, casting long shadows as they fanned out, eyes scanning the courtyard. Amelia’s pulse quickened as she took in their positions, realizing with a chill that they were effectively trapped in the enclosed space.
“Quick, up the wall!” she whispered urgently, motioning to Petruccio and the others.
Without hesitation, they darted to the base of the palazzo’s wall, their hands seeking holds in the crumbling stone. Amelia followed, her muscles already protesting, a dull ache from the exertion of her earlier leap coursing through her limbs. She grit her teeth, forcing herself to climb, her fingers clinging to the rough stone as she pushed past the fatigue. Below, the guards’ voices grew louder, their torches casting a shifting light that crept dangerously close to her feet.
“Search every corner!” barked a gruff voice. “The Assassin could be anywhere!”
Petruccio and his friends had already scaled halfway up the wall, their youthful energy lending them an advantage as they navigated the facade with speed and ease. Amelia, however, felt each movement like fire in her muscles, her body reminding her that she was still recovering. She forced herself to keep climbing, inch by inch, but as she glanced downward, her heart raced at the sight of torchlight dancing mere feet below. She was only ten feet up—if any of the guards looked up, they’d spot her instantly.
Just then, her foot slipped on a loose stone, and a gasp nearly escaped her as she scrambled to regain her hold. Her fingers strained, aching as they clawed into the stone, her body dangling precariously for an agonizing moment. Every muscle tensed as she fought to keep her balance, her breath caught in her throat as she willed herself to remain utterly still, blending into the shadowed wall.
“Did you hear that?” one of the guards muttered, his voice dangerously close, his torchlight casting an orange glow that brushed against the wall, just inches from her boots.
Amelia held her breath, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain the guards would hear it. She could feel her muscles trembling with the effort to stay motionless, her limbs burning from the strain, the exhaustion of her earlier rooftop sprint catching up with her all at once. Her grip began to falter, her fingers slipping against the weathered stone, and for a split second, dread surged through her as she felt herself start to fall.
But then, a strong, silent hand closed around her wrist, steadying her. She looked up in surprise to see Ezio’s face peering down from a balcony above, his eyes intense and focused. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled her up and over the railing, their bodies moving in sync as he tucked them both into the deep shadows. The guards’ voices continued to echo below, oblivious to the Assassins perched just above them.
Pressed together in the narrow space, Amelia felt Ezio’s solid warmth envelop her, grounding her in the midst of her lingering adrenaline. His arm wrapped securely around her waist, pulling her close, his breath a warm whisper against her ear as he murmured, “That was close. Are you alright?”
Unable to trust her voice, Amelia nodded, her heartbeat still racing from the near-miss. She could feel every inch of him against her, his chest rising and falling steadily against her back, his presence both a comfort and an electric awareness that sent a shiver down her spine. His arm remained around her, holding her firmly in place, and she found herself acutely aware of the steady beat of his heart, thrumming a calm counterpoint to her own racing pulse.
She could feel his gaze on her, the warmth of his closeness soothing the raw edges of her fear, and for a moment, she let herself lean back into his embrace, savoring the strength and protection he offered. His hand was still braced against her waist, fingers firm but gentle, a steady anchor in the shadows.
Below, the guards continued their search, their torchlight sweeping across the courtyard as they barked orders, oblivious to the pair hidden above. She forced herself to focus, straining her ears to catch their words. They spoke of an Assassin spotted nearby, of orders to patrol the area until dawn if necessary.
“We should stay low,” Ezio whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur against her ear. “They’ll move on soon enough.”
She nodded, letting herself relax against him, if only for a moment. The tension of the climb and the proximity of danger had her nerves frayed, but Ezio’s presence, steady and calm, helped settle her pulse. Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the memories she had tried so hard to bury—the hours she had spent trapped, defenseless, unable to escape the torment of her captors. She had fought to erase those sensations, to prove to herself that she could still trust, that she could still feel safe. Yet here she was, in the arms of the one man she trusted beyond all others, and her heart still raced with the fragility of it all.
But as she looked up, meeting his steady gaze, she felt something else—a resolve she hadn’t known she possessed. She was still here, still fighting, and for this fleeting moment, she allowed herself to let go of the fear, to trust in the strength of the man beside her.
The guards’ footsteps began to fade, their voices growing distant as they moved on, their search carrying them farther into the depths of the courtyard. Ezio loosened his hold, his hand trailing lightly down her arm, leaving a warmth in its wake.
Just six months ago, the mere touch of Ezio's hand had been unbearable, sparking memories she had struggled to suppress. Even a casual brush of his fingers had sent shudders through her, her skin flinching at contact. But as she looked at him now, standing strong and unwavering beside her, Amelia couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming gratitude for his presence. His patience had been unending, a steady current beneath her storm, guiding her gently toward a sense of safety she hadn’t thought possible.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool, unyielding surface of his armored chest. The hardness of the metal was tempered by the warmth radiating from him, a sensation that grounded her as she released a deep, shuddering sigh. His hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair with a gentleness that belied his strength, pulling her closer. She felt herself melting into his touch, her fears and doubts quieted, if only for a moment, by the familiar scent of leather and the earthy hint of the forest clinging to him. She closed her eyes, savoring the tranquility of the moment, letting it wrap around her like a protective shield.
“I saw your leap of faith,” Ezio murmured, his breath a warm tickle against her ear, though his gaze remained alert, scanning the area for signs of more guards.
A flush of pride blossomed in Amelia's chest at his words. “You did?” she replied, glancing up at him with a small smile. “I didn’t realize you were watching.”
His lips quirked in a subtle smile. “I’m always watching over you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet vow. “Though I must admit, seeing you take that leap nearly stopped my heart.”
She chuckled softly, her laugh a quiet release of the lingering tension. “Now you know how I feel every time you do it.”
She turned in his arms, her playful smirk meeting his steady gaze. “I had to see if I still had it in me. Turns out, I do.”
His eyes sparkled, admiration blending with a flicker of concern. “You certainly do,” he replied, his voice tinged with fond exasperation. “But perhaps we should save the more daring feats for when you’re fully recovered, hmm?”
She lifted an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eye. “Perhaps… if you ask nicely.”
Ezio’s lips curved into a smile, his eyes warm as he tilted his head, feigning deep consideration. “Is that so?” he asked, his tone matching her playful challenge. “And what would constitute ‘asking nicely,’ cara mia?”
Her heart fluttered at the endearment, and she tilted her head, pretending to weigh her answer. “Well, for starters, you could—”
Her words were abruptly cut off by a sharp shout from below. “Over here! I saw movement on that balcony!”
Ezio’s expression shifted instantly, his gaze hardening, every trace of playfulness gone. “Time to go,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent. Without a moment’s hesitation, he swept Amelia into his arms, ignoring her protests as he leapt gracefully from the balcony to a nearby rooftop. They landed soundlessly, his movements swift and practiced, his arms steady as they raced through the night.
Amelia’s heart hammered with a mix of exhilaration and nervous excitement as Ezio held her close, his grip unwavering as he navigated the rooftop terrain with practiced ease. The wind whipped around them, filling her ears with the distant shouts of the pursuing guards. Despite her earlier protests, she kept her arms wrapped around his neck, her cheek resting against his shoulder, acutely aware of the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear.
“I can run on my own, you know,” she murmured, though she made no move to pull away.
Ezio chuckled, the sound a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I know, cara mia. But humor me, just this once.”
They continued their flight across the Roman skyline, his agility never faltering despite the weight of her in his arms. She couldn’t help but marvel at the ease with which he moved, his steps confident, his leaps precise, as if he were as much a part of the city as the stone rooftops themselves. In his arms, she felt a strange blend of vulnerability and strength, a sense of protection she had been afraid to admit she needed.