beamed, but modestly. ‘And now, my friends, I suggest that we put politics aside and give ourselves over to the enjoyment of this sublime work of art, so generously donated by the noble Medici.’
Ezio waited until Alberti’s companions wandered away in the direction of the
David
. For his part, Alberti took a goblet of wine and surveyed the scene, a mixture of satisfaction and wariness in his eyes. Ezio knew that this was his opportunity. All other eyes were on the statue, near which Verrocchio was stumbling through a short speech. Ezio slipped up to Alberti’s side.
‘It must have stuck in your craw to pay that last compliment,’ Ezio hissed. ‘But it’s appropriate that you should be insincere to the end.’
Recognizing him, Alberti’s eyes bulged in terror. ‘You!’
‘Yes, Gonfaloniere. It’s Ezio. Here to avenge the murder of my father – your friend – and my innocent brothers.’
Alberti heard the dull click of a spring, a metallic sound, and saw the blade poised at his throat.
‘Goodbye, Gonfaloniere,’ said Ezio, coldly.
‘Stop,’ gasped Alberti. ‘In my position, you would have done the same – to protect the ones you loved. Forgive me, Ezio – I had no choice.’
Ezio leant close, ignoring his plea. He knew the man had had a choice – an honourable one – and had been too supine to make it. ‘Do you not think I am not protecting the ones
I
love? What mercy would you show my mother or my sister, if you could lay your hands on them? Now: where are the documents I gave you from my father? You must have them somewhere safe.’
‘You’ll never get them. I always carry them on my person!’ Alberti tried to push Ezio away, and drew in a breath to call for the guards, but Ezio plunged the dagger into his throat and dragged its blade through the man’s jugular artery. Unable now even to gurgle, Alberti sank to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching at his neck in a vain attempt to staunch the blood that cascaded down on to the grass. As he fell on his side, Ezio stooped swiftly and cut the man’s wallet free of his belt. He glanced inside. Alberti in his final hubris had been telling the truth. The documents were indeed there.
But now there was silence. Verrocchio’s speech had ground to a halt as the guests began to turn and stare, not yet comprehending what had happened. Ezio stood and faced them.
‘Yes! What you see is real! What you see is vengeance! The Auditore family still lives. I am still here! Ezio Auditore!’
He caught his breath at the same moment as a woman’s voice rang out, ‘
Assassino!
’
Now chaos reigned. Lorenzo’s bodyguard quickly formed up round him, swords drawn. The guests ran hither and yon, some trying to escape, the braver ones going through the motions at least of trying to seize Ezio, though none quite dared make a real attempt. Ezio noticed the cowled figure slipping away into the shadows. Verrocchio stood protectively by his statue. Women screamed, men shouted, and city guards streamed into the cloisters, unsure of whom to pursue. Ezio took advantage of this, climbing up to the roof of the cloister colonnade and vaulting over it into a courtyard beyond, whose open gate led into the square in front of the church, where a curious crowd was already gathering, attracted by the sound of the commotion within.
‘What’s happening?’ someone asked Ezio.
‘Justice has been done,’ Ezio replied, before racing north-west across town to the safety of Paola’s mansion.
He paused on the way to verify the contents of Alberti’s wallet. At least the man’s last words had been truthful. Everything was there. And there was something else. An undelivered letter in Alberti’s hand. Perhaps fresh knowledge for Ezio, who broke the seal and tore the parchment open.
But it was a personal note from Alberti to his wife. As he read it, Ezio could at least understand what kind of forces might be brought to bear to break a man’s integrity.
My
Ezio waited until Alberti’s companions wandered away in the direction of the
David
. For his part, Alberti took a goblet of wine and surveyed the scene, a mixture of satisfaction and wariness in his eyes. Ezio knew that this was his opportunity. All other eyes were on the statue, near which Verrocchio was stumbling through a short speech. Ezio slipped up to Alberti’s side.
‘It must have stuck in your craw to pay that last compliment,’ Ezio hissed. ‘But it’s appropriate that you should be insincere to the end.’
Recognizing him, Alberti’s eyes bulged in terror. ‘You!’
‘Yes, Gonfaloniere. It’s Ezio. Here to avenge the murder of my father – your friend – and my innocent brothers.’
Alberti heard the dull click of a spring, a metallic sound, and saw the blade poised at his throat.
‘Goodbye, Gonfaloniere,’ said Ezio, coldly.
‘Stop,’ gasped Alberti. ‘In my position, you would have done the same – to protect the ones you loved. Forgive me, Ezio – I had no choice.’
Ezio leant close, ignoring his plea. He knew the man had had a choice – an honourable one – and had been too supine to make it. ‘Do you not think I am not protecting the ones
I
love? What mercy would you show my mother or my sister, if you could lay your hands on them? Now: where are the documents I gave you from my father? You must have them somewhere safe.’
‘You’ll never get them. I always carry them on my person!’ Alberti tried to push Ezio away, and drew in a breath to call for the guards, but Ezio plunged the dagger into his throat and dragged its blade through the man’s jugular artery. Unable now even to gurgle, Alberti sank to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching at his neck in a vain attempt to staunch the blood that cascaded down on to the grass. As he fell on his side, Ezio stooped swiftly and cut the man’s wallet free of his belt. He glanced inside. Alberti in his final hubris had been telling the truth. The documents were indeed there.
But now there was silence. Verrocchio’s speech had ground to a halt as the guests began to turn and stare, not yet comprehending what had happened. Ezio stood and faced them.
‘Yes! What you see is real! What you see is vengeance! The Auditore family still lives. I am still here! Ezio Auditore!’
He caught his breath at the same moment as a woman’s voice rang out, ‘
Assassino!
’
Now chaos reigned. Lorenzo’s bodyguard quickly formed up round him, swords drawn. The guests ran hither and yon, some trying to escape, the braver ones going through the motions at least of trying to seize Ezio, though none quite dared make a real attempt. Ezio noticed the cowled figure slipping away into the shadows. Verrocchio stood protectively by his statue. Women screamed, men shouted, and city guards streamed into the cloisters, unsure of whom to pursue. Ezio took advantage of this, climbing up to the roof of the cloister colonnade and vaulting over it into a courtyard beyond, whose open gate led into the square in front of the church, where a curious crowd was already gathering, attracted by the sound of the commotion within.
‘What’s happening?’ someone asked Ezio.
‘Justice has been done,’ Ezio replied, before racing north-west across town to the safety of Paola’s mansion.
He paused on the way to verify the contents of Alberti’s wallet. At least the man’s last words had been truthful. Everything was there. And there was something else. An undelivered letter in Alberti’s hand. Perhaps fresh knowledge for Ezio, who broke the seal and tore the parchment open.
But it was a personal note from Alberti to his wife. As he read it, Ezio could at least understand what kind of forces might be brought to bear to break a man’s integrity.
My
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