"From you as well!" Ezio shouted, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wild, spit flying from his mouth. "I watched my father, my two brothers drop like stones, watched their necks snap like twigs, heard the crowds…" A thin stream of blood trickled from the line where blade met flesh. "I carried their bodies where they had been dumped…cold and lifeless and hollow…I carried my family to their proper graves when no one else would. I felt…I -felt- they were gone." His voice lowered to a deadly breath. "I avenged them with my first kill. I continue to, slaying for ten years. Do not think I will hesitate to bring the same fate to you."
The silence that followed his words was so pregnant, so absolute, that nobody seemed to be breathing. Giovanni shifted his weight, and the tension in the air teetered on the edge of the metal at his throat.
"When my second born was fifteen," he said, "I took him out to the rooftops of Firenze." Ezio's pupils shrank, but Giovanni did not falter - neither did the threat of a second death. "I had seen him climb. I knew he had skill. Knew he lacked strategy. I took him south to the Duomo and told him to climb. And the look…" A chuckle slipped from his mouth at the memory, an involuntary gasp from his captor. "The look he gave me. But he was a proud boy. He aimed to please, even if it was only his father. Especially when I mentioned Frederico had done it already. So he climbed. After a while, he broke a window, slipped inside…I couldn't see him anymore. I had to trust he was there. Trust he'd find his way up, and his way down."
Leonardo felt tears on his face, too wrapped up in the story to care, too terrified for what would unfold. Giovanni's face had softened as he gazed upon his son, his dear Ezio, who looked as though someone had torn his chest open. Still, his cheeks remained dry - he would -not- stoop that low. Not yet.
"After a while, I was scared. I wanted to be up there with him," Giovanni murmured, and the silver faltered a little. "I thought perhaps I was wrong, maybe he'd fallen inside, was hurt or worse. And then I looked up…" He closed his eyes briefly, heart cracking at the sobbing breath that met his words. "And there he was. There he was, perched on the top of the Duomo tower, looking out over Firenze. The entire city was his. And I remembered the feeling that I'd had when I was fifteen when my own father had told me to climb. I remembered the fear and the passion to see me above the whole city, seeing what princes could not, what kings could only dream of.
"And he looked down at me, and he waved. I knew he had to do it, but the first moment I saw him suspended in the air, the minute I saw him jump, I wanted to shout at him 'Stop! You're not ready!' But I couldn't." Gently, he brushed Ezio's hood back and touched his hair. "And when he jumped out of that haycart right next to me…I knew one day he'd be alone. He was so happy, and I was so proud, but I…" His voice thickened and he saw Frederico brought a hand up to his face out of the corner of his eye. "I knew I could never forgive myself for that moment. My son was no longer mine."
Re: E Ritorno [3/?]
"Cazzo, Ezio!" Frederico cried, "Don't talk madness."
"From you as well!" Ezio shouted, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wild, spit flying from his mouth. "I watched my father, my two brothers drop like stones, watched their necks snap like twigs, heard the crowds…" A thin stream of blood trickled from the line where blade met flesh. "I carried their bodies where they had been dumped…cold and lifeless and hollow…I carried my family to their proper graves when no one else would. I felt…I -felt- they were gone." His voice lowered to a deadly breath. "I avenged them with my first kill. I continue to, slaying for ten years. Do not think I will hesitate to bring the same fate to you."
The silence that followed his words was so pregnant, so absolute, that nobody seemed to be breathing. Giovanni shifted his weight, and the tension in the air teetered on the edge of the metal at his throat.
"When my second born was fifteen," he said, "I took him out to the rooftops of Firenze." Ezio's pupils shrank, but Giovanni did not falter - neither did the threat of a second death. "I had seen him climb. I knew he had skill. Knew he lacked strategy. I took him south to the Duomo and told him to climb. And the look…" A chuckle slipped from his mouth at the memory, an involuntary gasp from his captor. "The look he gave me. But he was a proud boy. He aimed to please, even if it was only his father. Especially when I mentioned Frederico had done it already. So he climbed. After a while, he broke a window, slipped inside…I couldn't see him anymore. I had to trust he was there. Trust he'd find his way up, and his way down."
Leonardo felt tears on his face, too wrapped up in the story to care, too terrified for what would unfold. Giovanni's face had softened as he gazed upon his son, his dear Ezio, who looked as though someone had torn his chest open. Still, his cheeks remained dry - he would -not- stoop that low. Not yet.
"After a while, I was scared. I wanted to be up there with him," Giovanni murmured, and the silver faltered a little. "I thought perhaps I was wrong, maybe he'd fallen inside, was hurt or worse. And then I looked up…" He closed his eyes briefly, heart cracking at the sobbing breath that met his words. "And there he was. There he was, perched on the top of the Duomo tower, looking out over Firenze. The entire city was his. And I remembered the feeling that I'd had when I was fifteen when my own father had told me to climb. I remembered the fear and the passion to see me above the whole city, seeing what princes could not, what kings could only dream of.
"And he looked down at me, and he waved. I knew he had to do it, but the first moment I saw him suspended in the air, the minute I saw him jump, I wanted to shout at him 'Stop! You're not ready!' But I couldn't." Gently, he brushed Ezio's hood back and touched his hair. "And when he jumped out of that haycart right next to me…I knew one day he'd be alone. He was so happy, and I was so proud, but I…" His voice thickened and he saw Frederico brought a hand up to his face out of the corner of his eye. "I knew I could never forgive myself for that moment. My son was no longer mine."