He swam through the river, stole a horse belonging to an armoured guard, rode it close to death through the sparser regions of Rome and got into a fight with a group of guards as a result of catching one of them with the horses rump. After felling them to his sword he ran swiftly away from the scene and collapsed against the side of a brick building, panting.
The adrenaline drained from his system, his arms felt heavy. He slid down the wall and sat on the ground, no doubt dirtying the seat of his robes. Claudia was right, it was not her that he was confessing to: Leonardo should be the first to know. But how? The Borgia kept him locked up as if he himself were the apple or some other key to the knowledge of the universe, and when they could meet it was brief, secretive. Murmurs exchanged from the corner of lips and eyes scanning the crowds and rooftops to make sure that they were safe from prying eyes and that they had not been discovered. Hardly the place for a love confession. And on the small occasion that they spoke away from the bench their conversations were brief, they flinched apart at the sound of footsteps, and Ezio himself was much too on edge during those moments.
The situation looked bleak. The admission and announcement of his love looked impossible.
His knees creaked and cracked as he stood and stretched, whistling for his horse. He rode off, back towards the hideout.