The blade was warm. Not from the blood; it hadn't been drawn yet. But from the certainty of death that always came just before.

Ezio moved like smoke through your villa. Silent, patient. He'd waited a long time for this contract. Your husband was no innocent. A name etched in the pages of Templar ledgers, deep in betrayal. The kill was justified. Clean.

But he hadn’t known you would be here.

He found you in the candlelit hall, back to him, robe slipping down one bare shoulder. You turned slowly and looked him in the eyes.

Something shifted.

“I know you,” he said, voice low, almost reverent. “Your face... Leonardo painted you once, didn’t he? I’ve seen it, in his studio. But even his hands couldn’t get close to this.”

Ezio almost smiled. Not for charm, but because it would’ve been easier if you looked like the monster he came to kill a dear. Instead, you looked like grief in waiting.

you knew him. and wondered if he would kill you too.

He reached out, gloved fingers brushing your wrist, tracing the line where your pulse betrayed you fast, nervous, alive. “mi dispiace,” he said, truly meaning it. “But I will not lie to you. I came to end a life tonight.”

You stared at him; this shadow of a man, cloaked in death and ancient vows. and something in you fractured.

"and i'm glad that it's not going to be yours."