Chapter Text
Federico leans back onto the parapet of the rooftop garden, idly tilting the half empty bottle in hand. He was supposed to meet an informant there, but the thief had failed to show up. That in and of itself isn't terribly unusual – thieves come and go as fortunes treat them, good or bad, and it's hardly the first time he's been stood up on a rooftop.
It's been happening more and more, though – and Federico likes this one. Biagino is a cheat and a liar and hardly the best thief of the city, but he is fun once you got couple cups into him – and great source of gossip. There's nothing better than gossip prone thief when you're trying to manage an information network – so as long as you knew not to give them any gossip you did not want spread around.
Problem with them is that they hardly ever live long – and lately…
Federico leans his head back against the side wall of the garden and sighs. Third time just this week that he's been stood up by an informant. Once it had been a courtesan who had then been found dead. Next it had been a mercenary, who had had a sudden change of heart about working with the Assassins. Now, a thief too? It's not good. There's something going on in the city – a blind man could see it. Something is disturbing the usual status quo and he doesn't much like it. It even has Father worried, which is even worse.
It's a beautiful night out, if nothing else. The moon is almost full over the rooftops of Florence, and there's a thin mist down in the city streets – it makes it look as if the rooftops float over an ocean of grey, glowing in the moonlight. Not even slightest stirrings of wind in the air, either – if it wasn't for the rowdy fight happening in the tavern below and the joyous marital fun a young couple is having in one of the tavern's rooms, it would've been perfectly silent.
Couldn't have gotten stood up on a more perfect night, Federico muses and uncorks the wine bottle. He'd aimed to give it to Biagino as an extra reward, on top of the usual sum of florins, but since the thief is nowhere to be seen…
There's a rasp of foot on roof tile and Federico turns his head just in time to see a shadow sprinting silently over the rope that connected the tavern roof to the smithy's on the other side of the street. Red tunic, faded blue pantaloons – Biagino.
"Any of that for me?" the thief asks while jumping onto the flat platform where the garden has been pitched up. "I'm parched!"
"You're late is what you are," Federico answers and pushes the cork back in the bottle. "Trouble?"
"Nothing I couldn't handle. Some Pazzi bastards were roughing up some of the boys – we set them straight," Biagino grins ferociously and crouches down beside him. He has a new bruise on his cheek. "Come on, young master, I'm dying of thirst. Give it here."
"Only if you have something for me," Federico says and holds the bottle out of reach. "Let's hear it."
Biagino pouts at him theatrically but launches into the most recent gossip amongst the thieves. Most of it's about marks – fat men and dolled up women with even more impressive money pouches. There's also those who have become too dangerous for the thieves of Florence to make a go at – the Pazzi, Federico is unsurprised to find, are climbing higher on that list. They're increasing security at their palazzo, sending their lackeys around the city, making general nuisance of themselves. None of it's precisely news but… it's ramping up speed it looks like.
Almost as if they know something's coming, Federico thinks grimly. "And it's just the Pazzi doing this?" Federico asks. "Anyone else bolstering their household staff's with new swords?"
"Just the Pazzi and their bootlickers," Biagino says. "There's that Baroncelli, he's hired some new guards at his house, but that's about it."
Federico nods slowly. Banker hiring more guards is not that strange, but in light of everything else… "Thank you Biagino," he says. "Can you keep an eye on the situation, see if they move to hire more people?"
"So as long as you pay. Time I spend looking is time I don't spend thieving and man's gotta earn a living," Biagino says and then holds out his hand meaningfully. "Speaking of which."
"You don't have anything else?" Federico asks suspiciously – he won't pay until he knows he's gotten everything out of the man. He made the mistake of paying Biagino early once, and ended up paying the man twice. He's not going to repeat that mistake.
Biagino grins and leans back. "Well there's also this," he says and takes something from inside his tunic – a folded piece of paper, unsealed, outwardly unmarked. "To be delivered to the Auditore post haste."
"You had a message and you didn't open with it?" Federico asks flatly.
"Business is business," Biagino says with a wink and holds the letter between his fore and middle finger. "Now what's it worth to you?"
Thieves. Federico smothers the urge to roll his eyes and tilts the bottle. "Trade?"
"Federico," Biagino says, stretching the last syllable with mocking sadness. "You can do better than that, my friend."
Federico sighs, and takes out his money pouch from inside his doublet. Watching Biagino's expression carefully he starts counting coins, one by one – when the thief's eyelid twitches with the slightest tell of smug glee, he stops. "You've been paid for that message already, haven't you?" Federico asks suspiciously.
"Tch," Biagino answers and then tries for an imploring expression. "My coffers are empty, Federico, I go hungry every other day!"
"You go drunk and sick every other day. I am a banker, Biagino – you can't swindle the professional," Federico says and holds out his hand. "Hand it over."
"You were a banker," Biagino mutters. "From what I heard you got thrown out on your ass – from your family's own bank, too. Not much to boast about, that." Still, with an utterly exasperated sigh, Biagino holds the letter out for Federico to snatch from his hand. "Tch."
With his money pouch safely tucked away, Federico unfolds the letter and finds – nothing. "You brought me an… empty piece of paper?" he asks dubiously and then looks up with exaggerated incredulity. "You were going to ask double pay for an empty piece of paper? Biagino, my friend…"
Biagino shrugs, relentless. "Money is short and times are hard, Federico," he says.
"Yes it must be, for you to ask pay for delivery of nothing," Federico mutters and then frowns. Still… "Someone paid you to deliver this to me?"
"To an Auditore," Biagino shrugs. "It was a creepy bastard that paid me – it was fifty florins, too. Just told me to get it to an Auditore as quick as I could."
"And when was this?"
"Just couple of hours ago, before we got into our little dance with the Pazzi thugs."
Federico nods slowly. That's… not bad, for Biagino. The sender must've left quite an impression. Still, fifty florins for an empty piece of paper? His eyes narrowing, Federico looked the letter over again. He still can't see anything written on it – but there are slightest impressions of strokes there. Not empty, then – the writing must be invisible – or written as impressions which dusting of charcoal might reveal.
"Well I thank you for this highly valuable piece of empty paper, Biagino," Federico says and quickly tucks the letter under his doublet. "And this… creepy bastard?" he then asks, looking up. "You didn't know him?"
"No. I guess he wasn't that creepy, just… strange," Biagino says and scratches at his swollen cheek. "He was dressed in monk's habit, but he didn't move like no monk I've ever seen. I don't know. Seemed bit off to me."
"… A monk's habit," Federico repeats, thinking fast. A robe, then. "He was hooded? What was the colour of the habit?"
"Black?" Biagino asks, giving him a strange look. "Yeah he was hooded, you know, like a monk. Had a rosary and everything."
"Ah." Not the traditional Assassin robe then. Still, very interesting. "And where was this?"
Biagino shrugs. "Near the western gates," he says. "I was taking a look-see at the people coming in when he walked up to me out of the blue. Never saw him coming, nearly scared the wine out of me."
"Did he give a name?" Federico asks, and Biagino shakes his head. Damn. "Did you see where he went?"
"Can't say I cared to look," Biagino shrugs. "There were other monks coming in – I lost him in the crowd. Looked like he was coming in rather than going though, so chances are he's still here."
Well that's even more interesting, isn't it? "Is there anything else?"
Biagino makes a show of thinking about it. "Well unless you care about the troubles of whores and killers, no," he says. "I doubt it."
"I do care about the troubles of all the peoples of Florence – but perhaps another time," Federico says and stands up. "Thank you, Biagino. Keep an eye about, and if you spot the monk again, try and see where he's staying?"
"That'll cost you extra – speaking of which," Biagino holds out a hand. "Cough it up."
"You have already been paid for the letter," Federico says defensively.
"Yes – but not for the information. You wouldn't want a reputation of being stingy, would you now, young master?"
Federico gives him a look. "You'll bleed me dry one day, my friend," he says forlornly.
"The day the Auditore pockets empty will be a sad day indeed – but it is not today," Biagino says and waves his fingers. "Pay up. And make it good."
Federico pays the thief with another sigh, watching the coins run out with a sad look. Biagino grins and salutes him with the half bottle of wine before heading off without further word, racing from one rooftop to another and then disappearing into the mist. Federico shakes his head after the man and then takes out the empty letter
Try as he might concentrate and narrow his eyes and squint… he hasn't been blessed with Ezio's gifts – the invisible writing refuses to reveal itself to him. Pity.
Well, Father would know how to read it.
The palazzo is quiet as Federico scales the rooftop and then drops carefully increment by increment into the inner courtyard. Even the maid is no longer on duty, and everything is quiet. Or, almost quiet.
"Federico! You scared the hell out of me," Ezio hisses from the shadows of the pillars and Federico almost jumps out of his skin.
"Ezio, what are you doing?" he hisses back.
"Uh, same as you – sneaking in?" Ezio asks, nodding towards the pillars – apparently, they'd just missed each other on the rooftops. "Where have you been?
"Where have you been?"
"Where you think?"
They look each other and then grin, bursting into giggles and then hissing at each other to, "Shush, be quiet, you'll wake everyone," and then giggling even harder, badly smothered in their palms.
It is pretty obvious where Ezio's been that night, even if he didn't go and visit Cristina most every night – for this night she'd left marks. Federico grins at the redness of his brother's throat. "For tomorrow's choice of outfit I recommend a neckcloth, Brother," he says and grabs Ezio to a head lock. "You look as if a vixen mauled you. Had a pleasant night, then?" he asks, and pokes at the bruises.
Ezio somehow manages to blush at that. "It was an extremely pleasant night, thank you," he says, and tries to wring himself out of Federico's hold. "And you, whose bed did you grace tonight?"
"Ah, a downright thief's – came and went with my money," Federico sighs. "An unworthy transaction it was."
"And you call yourself an Auditore," Ezio says mockingly. "Maybe it is time I give you some tips for a change, for it seems your luck with the ladies has deserted you."
Federico smiles and ruffles his brother's hair. "Cristina is a catch, Brother, but don't get full of yourself now. You still have much to learn," he says. "Now come, off to bed with you."
"It should have been bedtime for both of you hours ago," a voice snaps out and Federico feels Ezio flinch slightly under his arms. "Ezio, where have you been?"
"Er, out and about?" Ezio says, squirming, as their father steps out through open door – which neither of them had heard being opened. Sometimes, having a Master Assassin for a father was a little unfair.
"Out and about around the Vespucci house," Federico says and grins as Ezio squawks at him. "I'm sure it was no harm, Father."
"I will be the judge of that," Giovanni says, stepping out of the shadows and looking at both of them with unimpressed expression. "Cristina Vespucci, again, Ezio?"
"She is the loveliest flower in all of Florence, Father," Ezio says, grinning and earnest like a puppy even while trying to break Federico's wrist to free himself from his grip. "Her virtue is beyond bounds."
"I suppose it would have to be, to endure you this long. Indeed, she must be a saint," Federico agrees.
"Federico, please, go fuck yourself," Ezio hisses under his breath and then offers their father an awkward grin. "I swear, Father, no one saw me, I made no incident, I mean, her father –"
"Indeed, her father, who has already brought me many complaints about your indiscretions," Giovanni says severely, giving Ezio a pointed look. "One day soon I will either have to start negotiating your engagement to marry the girl... or your enclosure at a convent. Which one will it be, Ezio?"
Ezio goes pale. "I'll be more discreet?" he offers weakly.
"Please," Giovanni says, giving him a look of fond amusement. Then he looks at Federico. "And where have you been, my oldest, my bright and joy?" he asks dryly. "Leaving more sacks of money on rooftops?"
Federico coughs. He's never going to live down getting caught doing that, is he? "I –"
"He let some thief of a woman run away with his money," Ezio says gleefully. "And it wasn't even worth it."
"Brother, you would betray me so?" Federico hisses under his breath into Ezio hair, clenching his arm around his brother's neck warningly.
"To get Father off my back? In a heartbeat," Ezio hisses right back just as quietly.
"A thief?" Giovanni asks, giving them a look and then throws his hands up. "What will I do with the two of you? Monasteries, monasteries for both of you!"
"God, please, no, the horror," Federico says with exaggerated dread while Ezio laughs. "We'd wither away and die."
Giovanni sighs and then chuckles, giving up. "Off to bed, Ezio," he says. "And tomorrow try and restrain yourself. Your manhood will not suffer from a day of abstinence."
"It might," Ezio objects and finally wrings himself free of Federico's hold. "And why aren't you telling Federico that?"
"Because I know Federico will be too busy tomorrow to even think it," Giovanni says and gives him a considering look. "I might find some work for you as well, now that I think about it –"
"Yes, well, I'm sure it would be fun but, er, I am quite tired all of sudden – good night Father, Brother," Ezio says and then he all but flees into the house, disappearing into the shadows.
Federico and Giovanni look after him and share a chuckle. "I despair over our family business, I really do," Giovanni mutters. "What will happen to us once I am gone? There's not a shred of banker in either of you. Both my sons, so reckless!"
"Indeed, we're all doomed," Federico agrees. "Place all your hopes on Petruccio or prepare for ruin."
Giovanni sighs. "Sometimes I fear I must," he says and then gives him a look. "You are out late, Federico. Did something happen?"
"Biagino was late – he got into some scuffle with Pazzi thugs. News was the usual – Pazzi are still strengthening their security, hiring more lackeys…" Federico says and then takes out the note. "He had this, though. From a man he described as a creepy or at least an unusual monk."
"A creepy unusual monk," Giovanni says flatly and accepts the letter. His eyebrows rise and then lower when he finds it empty. "Right – into my study," he says and turns to head inside, Federico following shortly after. "When was the letter delivered?"
Federico tells him all he learned from Biagino – which is not much, all told, but it's something to start with. Giovanni studies the letter in mean while, looking for means to read it – shining candle light through it and feeling at the impressions on it before frowning.
"Some sort of invisible ink?" Federico asks.
Giovanni sniffs the letter delicately. "None I know of – there is no scent here, only paper," he says. "I daren't use potions on it before I know which type of ink was used – use the wrong type and it might dissolve the message. Hmm… Tell me again what Biagino said, maybe there was some clue given as to which type this is?"
Federico runs through the conversation again, but nothing about it stood out to him as a clue. Either the monk had not said, or Biagino had completely missed it.
"That is troubling," Giovanni muses. "A man in disguise delivering a message to us in such manner, it might be important."
"Should we get Ezio?" Federico asks.
Giovanni considers it and then folds his arms, indecisive. "He's still young, and not knowing what secret is on this letter… I will consider it further, test it with what I have. If I can't get the writing out of it by morning, then I will have Ezio use his talent," he decides and then looks up. "How is Ezio doing?" he asks then, his tone changing. "He came in through the roof, didn't he?"
Federico shrugs. "Teaching him to scale buildings has made him a menace. He's brilliant at it – he's taken to the rooftops of Florence like he was born to fly," he says wryly. "And fall – but he does even that with skill." Or at least with a thick skull.
Giovanni hums and nods. "It tends to be that the gifted ones take to our skills the fastest," he muses and looks away. "Still… he is young."
Federico folds his arms at that and hums in agreement. He'd been Ezio's age when his training had started – three years in, he's still barely an Assassin. He's not yet permitted his own missions, never mind assassinations, though – Ezio is farther away still from that grim future.
But in Ezio's case it had been a future never envisioned for him. Federico was meant to carry that mantle alone as the future head of house while Ezio enjoyed the liberty of being a mere nobleman and nobleman's son. Honestly, Federico would have preferred it that way too, only then Ezio had developed the gift – Assassin's Second Sight – and the choice was made for all of them by fate. Whether Ezio suspects anything yet is hard to say – he knows his sight is special but it has yet to alter his behaviour or nature in any way.
"He will make a magnificent Assassin, Father," Federico says – and believes it with all his heart. "But you are right – a few more years to grow up and settle might not go amiss there."
"Considering how stirred the city is becoming, it might be time we cannot afford," Giovanni says grimly and looks at the empty letter. "Something is coming, Federico – a power shift, perhaps, certainly a coup is in the works and I fear what might stand behind it, powering it. Ezio can't afford to remain child forever."
Federico nods and looks away, at the unlit fireplace. "If push comes to shove, I think Ezio can rise to the occasion. He has… talent," he admits. "Even beyond the gift he possesses. If he must, he can be dutiful, even honourable. I think if forced to, Ezio can set aside his distractions."
But what that would do to his brother's spirit, Federico doesn't like to think.
Father must be thinking something similar, for his frown is very conflicted. "Perhaps some small tasks to start with," he muses. "Running messages between informants, that sort of thing."
"As good a start as any," Federico agrees. "Should I start him on hand to hand combat?" He can already think of a few taverns where they could orchestrate some good old fashioned bar fights for Ezio to learn on. The mercenaries would be all over it, putting an Auditore through their paces…
"Perhaps," Giovanni says and then takes a seat by his desk. "If you can manage it without rousing suspicion I'll leave it to you, Federico. Now in think I will try and solve the mystery of this letter."
Federico nods. "Do you know who it might've been from, Father?" Are there any Assassin moving in on Florence that his father might know about?
Though if it was an Assassin, then why not simply announce himself to the Assassins already present?
"I have a suspicion, but nothing more than that," Giovanni says and looks up. "If I know nothing more by morrow, then your brother's gift should tell us something. Good night, Federico."
"Good night, Father."
Federico wakes late the next morning – by then Mother has already visited the market and she and the maid are done with breakfast preparations. And considering that in Auditore house breakfast tends to run later than in most houses, it's late indeed.
Ah, the schedules of thieves and ladies of the night – how they mess an Assassin's life.
"And where were you so late last night, Federico?" Maria Auditore demands when he makes it to the breakfast table. "Even Ezio was awake before you."
"He was?" Federico asks, impressed. Maybe Ezio's had caught some sleep at Cristina's bed before being chased out of it, the dog. "I was enjoying the night, Mother, taking in the air."
"Indeed?" Maria asks. "And how was the nightly air, my son?"
Federico considers Petruccio sitting across from him. "Crowded," he settles on saying. "Did Ezio head out already?"
"He tried to but he had such a guilty look on his face that I made him stay, just in case," Maria says and shakes her head. "He should be in his room. He had better be in his room or so help me."
Federico laughs at that. "Father threatened him with work last night. Probably a good thing you kept him in, Mother, otherwise I doubt we'd see him all day."
"Oh dear," Maria sighs. "Do we have another visit from the Vespucci to look forward to today?"
"I think we might."
Maria tuts. "We really must to find Ezio a hobby one of these days," she muses and looks up, "Good morning, Claudia," she greets her only daughter. "A letter with your name arrived this morning – a runner brought it just as we came from the market."
"A letter?" Claudia asks and immediately brightens. "It must be from – oh, where is it, I must read it at once!"
"It is by the mantelpiece," Maria says and Claudia flounces right off, all but clasping her hands to her heart.
"Duccio?" Federico asks, amused.
"Duccio," Maria agrees with a sigh. "It's swear my children have only one thing in mind – except for you, Petruccio, please don't you ever fall for the vices of your brothers and sister."
"I won't, Mother," Petruccio agrees sweetly and Maria presses a kiss on his hair before moving to fetch something from the kitchen. Petruccio turns to Federico. "What kind of vices do you have, Brother?" he asks curiously.
"All of them," Federico says solemnly. "I am a terrible terrible person and you should never take my example."
Petruccio grins and in the living room Claudia lets out a delighted shriek. "I love him!" she announces to the kitchen. "Nobody bother me – I'm going to write right back to him! Aah, I love him!" and then she's gone.
Federico and Petruccio look after her and then share a look. "Don't follow her example either," Federico says seriously.
Petruccio makes a face. "Wasn't going to."
Federico grins and together they tug into the food.
Giovanni comes in a little after that, looking tired and a little irritated. No luck on the letter, then, Federico thinks while Petruccio pipes out, "Good morning, Father!"
"Good morning, my sons," Giovanni says, smoothing a hand over Petruccio hair and clasping Federico by the shoulder as he passes him by. "And where are the rest of my children?"
"Claudia is off writing a love letter to Duccio," Federico reports while Petruccio makes a face, "And Mother put Ezio into pre-emptive house arrest because apparently he looked guilty."
"Like a cat that got caught in the birdcage – and the fact he didn't even argue me proved there was cause," Maria Auditore says, carrying in a basket of freshly baked bread. "Good morning, my love," she greets her husband.
"My dearest Maria," Giovanni answers with a loving smile and takes a moment to kiss her. And then kiss her again. And again until the maid has to rescue the bread basket as the Master and the Mistress make an embarrassment out of themselves.
Really, with this kind of example how would the Auditore children grow up any other way, Federico muses wryly. There has never been a man and woman so obnoxious in love as their parents. Honestly no one in this whole household has any shame. Even their maid is a former prostitute, for God's sake.
Somehow they manage to finish the breakfast, with a plate set aside for the absentee Claudia and some left over bread left for Ezio in case he gets hungry before the next meal – which seeing as he ate hour before everyone else, he might. While Maria, Petruccio and the maid move to clean up the rest, Federico follows his father to the study,
Federico isn't surprised to find papers strewn about Giovanni's desk – along with several phials of various concoctions he'd no doubt used to try and decode the message. The letter itself sits in the middle – still blank. It doesn't look like Father has had any luck reading it despite having spent what looks like all night trying.
"Nothing?" Federico asks.
"Whatever means it is written with, they eclipse my knowledge of such things," Giovanni says. "We know there are means of writing which are only visible to those with the gift, however – rare as they are in actual use. I suspect there is no other way of reading this message, except with Ezio's eyes."
Federico frowns a little. "Does anyone know that Ezio has the gift?" He asks worriedly.
"No, I have made it a point to keep it a secret for now – but the talent is known to run in the family. Your grandfather had it," Giovanni admits. "So one might expect it to be commonplace among the Auditore, if they knew my father. In any case… we need Ezio. Go and fetch your brother, Federico."
"And if the message is something… revealing?" Federico asks, arching a brow.
"We will deal with it accordingly," Giovanni says and looks at him seriously. "There is no doubt now that the message came from a fellow Assassin – and as such, it must be important. We need to know. If this means your brother will learn our truths earlier than intended then so be it. Now go get him."
"Yes, Father," Federico says and nods his head, before going to fetch Ezio.
Turns out Ezio probably hadn't slept at Cristina's bed after all – for he's fast asleep and dead to the world when Federico eases his brother's door open. Ezio is also drooling all over his pillow. Delightful.
Federico considers his brother for a moment. If there wasn't the matter of the letter he'd go to fetch a cup of water and pour it all over Ezio's baby cheeked face, but alas... duty comes first.
So instead he grabs a pillow from the floor and goes beat Ezio over the head with it.
"Rise and shine, Brother dearest, it's a beautiful bright day outside, the birds are singing, the ladies are –" Federico says cheerfully while trying to smother Ezio with the pillow, "- up and about and you are missing out –"
"Federi – Federico what the hell –" Ezio yowls and tries to kick him. "Get off me, you bastard –!"
Federico grins and pins Ezio under the pillow for a moment before easing off. Ezio glares past the pillow's edge, his hair sticking every which way. Adorable. "Father wants to see you," Federico tells him.
"And you couldn't just say that?" Ezio demands and kicks him off his bed. "Bastard."
"You know that's an insult to you as much as it to me?" Federico asks and catches the pillow Ezio throws at his head. "Well you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Didn't get your beauty sleep in? Gotta keep that pretty face in shape you know, it's all you got."
"Go drown in a bucket of piss, Federico – why are you so cheerful this morning?"
"Something you'll learn in time; nothing cheers you up quite like making someone else – particularly a foolish baby brother – miserable. Now come on, Father is waiting for us."
Ezio stumbles after him, groaning irritably all the way until they make their way to their father's study. Giovanni has cleaned up his desk somewhat, setting the bottles and phials aside – the letter is still there though.
"Good morning, Ezio," Giovanni greets his middle son, smothering a snort at Ezio's bed head. "I see you are ready for a hard and productive day of labour."
Ezio's eyes widen a little before his shoulders slump. "Yes, Father," he sighs. "What do you want me to do? Run messages?"
Giovanni laughs while Federico grins – Ezio sounds so broken, the poor lush. "To start with, come here and read this letter for me," Giovanni says, motioning to the desk.
Ezio goes warily and peers at the page. "It's empty?" he more asks than states.
"With your gift, you dolt," Federico snorts and slaps him on the back lightly. "Use that special vision of yours."
"Uh – right, I knew that," Ezio says a bit defensively and then closes his eyes briefly.
When he opens them, they're gone from brown to bright, almost golden amber.
Federico watches on a bit wistfully and notes their father doing the same. Ezio doesn't even know how precious and special his talent is and it comes to him so effortlessly. Usually it takes years of training and for some – like Giovanni – it never comes at all despite decades of trying. Federico still might have the chance to develop it but Ezio… Ezio just had it.
If Federico didn't love him so much, then by God he'd be so jealous of him.
"What does it say, Son?" Giovanni asks after long period of silence.
"Well, uh," Ezio says and scratches at his cheek. "On the top it says Uberto Alberti is a Templar?"
Federico's heart skips a beat and on other side of Ezio their father goes instantly pale with horror.
Oblivious, Ezio continues, "Then there's a list of names under it. Rodrigo Borgia, Grandmaster. Jacopo de' Pazzi, Francesco de' Pazzi, Francesco Salviati, Bernardo Baroncelli, Antonio Maffei, Stefano da Bagnone, Vieri de' Pazzi…" Ezio makes a face. "What is this list, why is Vieri on it?"
Federico shares a look with his father, both of them wide eyed.
The Templar Order. Someone had given them the Templar Order – what's worse, they know most of the names on that list. Some of those names belong to allies.
And the one right on top is one of the closest confidantes of the Assassins' Brotherhood.