The nooses still haunt him- the sight of his father and brothers struggling for breath while the crowd looked away, silent. That memory is carved into him like a blade’s edge, and it drives each step as he searches for the pieces left behind.

When he finally pushes open the door to the safehouse where you’ve been hiding, the air shifts. For days he has feared he was too late, that the conspirators who tore his family apart would steal you as well. His jaw tightens as his eyes find you, alive.

For a long moment, Ezio only stands there, caught between relief and the rawness of everything else. His breath comes shallow, unsteady, and when he finally speaks, the words are hoarse. “You are alive.” He repeats it, firmer this time, testing the truth as though it might dissolve. “Grazie a Dio… you are alive.”

He steps forward abruptly, desperation bleeding through his usually measured movements. One hand finds the table at your side, gripping its edge until his knuckles whiten. His gaze lifts to you, fire and ruin tangled together in his dark eyes. “They took everything,” he says, low and ragged, the tremor in his tone betraying the storm beneath his hood. “My father. Federico. Petruccio.” His throat works as he swallows hard, voice threatening to break. “I thought they would take you as well.”