ąųdįţǫŗę (mentori) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-09-18 18:22:00 |
|
|||
Honestly, figuring out the mafia situation in Italy was a chore unto itself - oftentimes, the term was a catch-all for what seemed like a thousand different branches of organized crime, some of which had even more specific names. But Ezio did not care about the nuances - he knew now why his family had been murdered (his father and brothers, and if he and the others happened to be home that night, they would have been gone too) and he knew who was responsible. He came to Italy to return the favor - nuances were simply background noise at this point. In Florence, it wasn’t exactly what you’d call seedy - there weren’t many seedy areas, rather. Maybe on the outskirts, but specifically, he knew of one place - Santo Spirito. And he’d done his research beforehand as well, based on the info Qrow gave him and the subsequent followup that the man had done to ensure Ezio would have a way in, a way out, and be at the right place at the right time. It was a noisy neighborhood at night, which may work in their favor. People sat on the steps of buildings with pizza boxes and beer, they left their trash stacked by bins and milling about were the typical mostly-harmless drunks. During the day you could glimpse practically anything - vespas zooming by, people buying fruit or sweeping their storefronts. But night, nighttime was the right time. Save for Evie, another fellow Assassin, there really wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do this with besides Dan. Hellion was a brother, and Ezio felt lucky to have this kind of thing in his life now. And, well, had Dan ever been to Italy before? It would be an educational trip in many ways. Especially starting off in the neighborhood of Santo Spirito tonight, in a bar that he recognized because of the repurposed furniture and the terrible service. Again, something that could work in their favor. “They will be here,” he said as he opened the door. No one would be speaking English, most likely, but that was alright - Ezio would translate when need be, and then he and Dan would probably let their weapons do the talking for them. “Not all, of course. But the main ones. It is a well known...hangout, I should say.” A place that gained underground notoriety for its criminal associations - tip well, in any case. Thanks to the nice Italian family who used to take him in and feed him the evenings his father was working the night beat, Dan had a rudimentary understanding of the Italian language. The parents were third or fourth generation, but they had been proud of their heritage and Italian was routinely spoken in the home. As well as learning to cook, Dan picked up on the language as well, mostly due to just being immersed in the family and listening to them talk amongst themselves thinking the little Irish kid wouldn’t even notice. His fluency wasn’t great (he had the vocabulary of a 12-year-old native speaker) and his accent was odd to say the least, but he knew enough to make himself understood and of course he knew all the swears. Stronzo was a favorite. That all being said, Dan was fine letting Ezio translate during their mission. Just as the Italian family had, people were more apt to speak freely in their native tongue if they thought Dan couldn’t understand them. And besides, this was Ezio’s gig on his home turf and Dan was perfectly fine letting him take the lead. Plus, Dan had never been to Italy before. Hell, he’d never even been to Europe. Everywhere one looked seemed to scream some kind of historical significance: the art, the culture, the architecture. It was a shame the two of them wouldn’t be able to go to the places Dan had only read about in his books. Maybe someday. But not today. Dan didn’t mind, however. Of all the jobs he’d taken, this one was one of the most important. He understood revenge. Understood it well. Understood the fire, the rage, driving need and the void that followed. Dan was there first and foremost to make sure Ezio got what he desired -- that every one of these dickheads were dead -- but he was also there to be sure that Ezio didn’t get swallowed up by the life like he had. The other man had too much going for him to risk losing it all. Dan nodded his understanding. “Aye, certainly looks it,” he murmured as he glanced around the place. It reminded him a little of his bar. Seedy establishments were a global concept, apparently. He gave himself a little time to visually familiarize himself with the bar’s layout, potential exits, potential hazards, any little hidey holes someone could jump out with a knife and stab him in the back. He was itching for this. This was personal. His colt felt heavy in it’s holster under his arm. Dan could feel the weight of it through his shoulders, crying out for action and blood. This was what Dan lived for. “What’s the plan?” First, Ezio ordered them shots of grappa to start things off - it was a very potent, high-proof wine that wasn’t considered true grappa unless you were actually in Italy. So, may as well get the experience while they were here. It was a wonder the bartender even looked twice at them (and that they didn’t have to wait for a half hour - bene, because he was not in the mood to be patient) but after the shots were served, the man disappeared. Fair enough. “When they come in, we get them alone in the back room - they think they are meeting others for an exchange, and we can pretend to be those people for a moment. Follow my lead, yes?” Ezio instructed, knocking back the shot. It was meant to be sipped, really, but in addition to lacking patience he was also not in the mood to stop and smell the roses. Maybe later. He could show Dan a few things tomorrow, after the bloodshed and before they headed back to Orange County. “Aye,” Dan nodded. He kept his voice low. Not low enough that it would be considered plotting or scheming by anyone who happened to be listening in, but low enough to keep the private conversation private. Dan eyed the bartender as the other man served them their drinks and then proceeded to fuck off. Was that the Italian version of customer service? Dan’s eyes wandered the bar again. Given the overall feel of the place, he chalked it up to being unique to this specific setting. Dan had never had grappa before. The moment the alcohol hit his tongue, Dan knew that this wasn’t the type of drink you slammed down in one shot. Dan didn’t slam his back as Ezio did, but took the opportunity to nurse it as they waited for their targets to arrive. As he did, his eyes moved subtly about the bar again, going over Ezio’s plan in his head. Ezio would take point, Dan would follow his lead without question, but he’d been doing this long enough that thinking and re-thinking potential strategies and possible scenarios was second nature. He literally couldn’t help it. He was on a job. The genial, good natured bartender with the slightly over-inflated ego was gone. In his place was an unfeeling, calculated killer. His voice, deep and cold, reflected the shift. “Ye give the word, an’ I’ll follow.” To the gates of Hell and back if necessary. This was how Ezio knew he could trust Dan, because he would do what needed to be done - of course, he’d known before this. Maybe even had known they would become great friends the first day they ran into each other. But seeing him in action, so to speak - it was familiar, in a way. It reminded Ezio of his Assassin brethren, and that was a unique sort of bond - the kind that belied words. He waited until he saw three (well, that was one more than he was expecting, two against three, what a thrilling fight it would be) swarthy-looking characters come in. Dark skin, dark hair - that true ‘Mediterranean’ look, which made it difficult to discern actual heritage. But Ezio knew it was them, Borgia descendants, and when they sat at the bar (chatting amongst themselves in Italian - nothing substantial), he slid closer. “So chi sei,” he told them, I know who you are. What followed was a brief conversation of Ezio ‘confirming’ his identity and also Dan’s - it was not too uncommon to find, in some crime circles, a merging of the Italian and Irish mob. Due to a good familial relationship in the past, things had...worked out. But it would account for Dan’s accent and general demeanor, and also him picking up a few things in Italian (yet not all). Then, one of the men motioned toward the back - so Ezio glanced at Dan, sliding off the stool to follow the soon-to-be dead bodies. Oh yes, the two of them had the product you wanted, you shitheads. All the nose candy your black hearts desired. Dan knocked back what remained in his glass before setting it on the bartop. He had feigned mild interest while Ezio chatted with the three swarthy men, nodding only when he was mentioned. In truth he listened carefully to what was being said -- what he could understand of it. Certain words were not something he’d learned as a child, but got the general idea well enough. He stood from his barstool and followed after the trio. His expression remained bland, almost bored, but inside he was grinning wildly. As he followed the others, he looked them over carefully. They were armed, but that was to be expected. Only a fool would come to a drug deal without a piece. Three on two? Psh. Dan thrived on odds like this. In stark contrast to his voice and the cold ambivalent look in his eyes, his blood was rushing hot. He could feel it in his veins, sloshing with adrenaline. A fevered rush. One hard to replicate no matter how hard Dan chased it with death defying stunts for fun. Those dark eyes darted towards Ezio. Death was in those eyes now and it sparked like a single match in a dark powder keg ready to ignite. All Ezio had to do was give the word. Once they were in the back room (it was simply a storage room, and a dirty one at that - boxes and stains and rat turds everywhere) and the door was shut behind them (and locked, for good measure - Ezio did it quickly and smoothly), he turned to face his and Dan’s company. There were a few ways to do this, but he wasn’t going to pussyfoot around why he was here. Why he’d come all this way. “Mi chiamo Ezio Auditore,” he told them, the deep timbre, the accent that was smooth as that grappa consumed out front, caressing the words. They recognized the name, of course - it had been one of their more complicated jobs, a whole spidery network of people involved in both the execution and cover up; they remembered that night. “...ucciderti non li farai tornare indietro. Ma mi farà sentire meglio.” Killing you won’t bring them back. But it will make me feel better. There was a thwick of his hidden blade then, the gauntlet worn on his arm and revealed after he’d pushed up the sleeve of his jacket. The way he moved was almost inhuman, inhumanly fast - he slit the throat of one of the men quicker than you could blink, and he did it so that the spray of blood bathed the other two. It was literally like a fountain, the correct artery slashed, and he only had a few seconds of gurgling left to live before dropping. The other two, even while soaked in blood, reacted quickly, pulling out their guns in retaliation. Ezio smirked at Dan - word officially given, have at it. That wild grin Dan had been hiding inside was prevalent on his features now. His gun was in his hand. It wasn’t a melee weapon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t get up close and personal with one of the other two remaining men. In a breath he had closed the distance between himself and one of the other two. The man saw him coming and tried to use his gun to clock him. Dan easily ducked under the strike and came up with the muzzle of his gun right under the man’s chin. That grin widened, but the look in his eye -- it was absolute cold and death. Dan gave the man one full second to get a good look before pulling the trigger. The sound echoed in the small room as the bullet tore through the man’s head, exiting out of the top of his skull splattering both him and Dan in blood and brain. Dan shoved the body back and in the same motion he whirled around and aimed at the last remaining man right between the eyes. Ah, the sound of bullets firing, shell casings hitting the floor, holes in the wall and holes in skulls. In his dreams (and even in this life, when he went hunting), Ezio didn’t often use firearms. Being skilled with a blade was like an art to him, but he had to admit there was something satisfying about pulling the trigger and seeing the life gone so rapidly. And there was no coming back from a bullet taking a stroll through your skull either. He’d dodged the shots fired at him, barely so much as a graze - besides, he and Dan were just so quick. It was impressive to see. They’d gotten the jump on these three, the element of surprise very much in effect, because all they’d come for was the chance to score drugs - now the tables had turned. Stepping behind the man with a barrel of a gun aimed between his eyes, Ezio grabbed his arm - twisting it and wrenching it in such a way that there was an obvious crack, the gun in the man’s hand dropping to the floor out of reflex as pain shot through him like a lance. Then the Assassin seized him roughly, an arm around him almost in a loving embrace - but he had a blade pressed to the man’s throat, and he could go as quick as the first fucker. Or maybe not. “Shhh,” he murmured quietly, sweetly, by his ear as the mobster tried not to show fear. “Sarà finita presto.” It will be over soon. Carefully, Ezio cut his throat - but not to the point where he was spraying blood everywhere. No, it was a deliberate slice that left him alive and was meant to torture him as he bled out slowly, choking and spluttering and unable to really make much noise. “Pezzo di merda,” Ezio spat, calling him a piece of shit and stepping away to let him fall. Then he met Dan’s eyes. “One more bullet.” Dan looked up at his brother and nodded. He watched the man on the ground, writhing like a worm, desperately trying to pull in air, but aspirating on his own blood. Gruesome. Nightmarish. A terrible way to die. But no less than what the he deserved. Dan stepped up to him, stepping over twisting and kicking feet. The man was looking right up at him. Hands clutching at his own throat, mouth open and gurgling a fountain of red. Shooting the man seemed like a mercy he did not deserve, but they had been back in this room long enough. If the sounds of scuffle hadn’t alerted that not all was right, the report of gunfire would surely have tipped someone off. Dan and Ezio were on a time table now. Every little moment was precious. “More’en ye deserve,” Dan cocked the hammer back and placed a bullet decidedly in the man’s skull. There was a jerk just like that it was over. The rush was gone. Dan was left cold, but not yet spent. There was work still left to do. He wiped the blood from his face onto the sleeve of his dark coat. “Time t’ go,” he said to his friend. “Si, we move quickly,” Ezio replied, and when they got elsewhere - that was when he would take a moment to really assess what had happened. How he felt. But he couldn’t do it now. Instead, he kicked and shoved aside random boxes, making a path toward the door on the opposite end of the room which was rusted shut. The bar didn’t get many deliveries back here, let’s just say. Still, Ezio was confident he could get it open - adrenaline was still coursing through him, and he’d always had above peak-level strength as an Assassin. He used his shoulder and rammed into it with sheer brute force; the door flew open and banged against the brick building, and then he was out a moment later. Would not be the first time dead bodies were found in the back room of that mobster hangout anyway, and he was glad for the near-empty place and the inattentive service. The bartender did not get a good look at them. Now in a maze of alleyways, weaving in between shops and restaurants and cafes to put space in between them and the scene of the murders, he headed for the town square - during the day you’d see fruit and vegetables stands set up, but now there was nothing like that since sellers were either home or out getting blitzed. The second was more likely. He sat on one of the stone benches for a moment to get his bearings, hidden blade retracted and his coat covering the gauntlet on his arm. In the distance, he heard chattering and laughing - even singing, all that drunken revelry. “I have been waiting for that,” was all he said for now, head drooping to fall into his hands as if that would ease the pounding ache at his temples. Adrenaline? Wearing off. Dan recognized the look. He’d experienced something similar after his first kill. After he’d gotten revenge for his father’s death. He’d holed up in a run-down condemned building, holding his breath and jumping at every noise, imagining Victor Montoya or one of his goons coming to finish him off. No one came. Three days later he’d heard from Garcian, giving him the word to move and move quickly. He remembered how hollow he’d felt once he’d left that building that had been his refuge. Lost. Empty. He’d had nothing in Detroit to return to. Nothing to his name. No home. No friends. No family. It would be another several years before he could say he had any of those things again. Before then he would wander all over the Midwest until the next job literally fell into his lap and Dan experienced the Rush truly for the first time and become addicted to it. Using it to fill the void in his soul he himself had created. He did not want that for Ezio. A hand fell on Ezio’s shoulder. “Aye, that ye ‘ave,” Dan said firmly, but not unkindly. His voice had lost that cold dark quality and was back to normal. He was speaking as a friend, as someone who had gone through this himself. “An’ ye got wahtcha wanted. Whatcha needed. Take yer time. Process it.” But even as he spoke, Dan used the hand on Ezio’s shoulder to keep them moving, putting more distance between them and the scene. Slow and casual like. Just two buddies on their way home, one of which having had a killer of a day. “But donnea hang on t’ the feeling too long, or else it’ll consume you. Grieve, but move forward. Never back.” Dan had no idea if his words were even getting through the adrenaline withdrawal. Perhaps yes. Perhaps not. He’d repeat them later, when Ezio was more of a mind to hear and register them. But for now they needed to get to the safe house The Crow had set up for them. Dan steered them in the right direction. They blended in easily enough at a normal pace - the coat Ezio was wearing had a hood, and he pulled it up to shield part of his face, so that he was only moving forward. Yes, forward, never back. It held a few meanings. You would think he’d be more used to this - but was not the same man he had been in his dreams, and for that he was actually grateful. Because he did not want to become that person at all. To the safehouse they went, with Ezio following Dan’s lead. He knew where to go but he was glad his friend was there to make sure he kept moving. “Consuming me, that is what I was most afraid of,” he admitted. “Do you think that you will ever move forward enough to leave it behind?” To retire, in a sense. Ezio had tried, in his dreams. He’d gotten married after he finally made the choice to settle down because he’d done all he could do; he had a family and then only spent a few years with them, enjoying them, before he passed away. “Ah, donnea ye worry too much ‘bout that,” Dan gave him a toothy grin. “Yer strong an’ inna pretty good spot all things considered. I won’t letcha go down any path you donnea want to. An’ I’m sure Elijah will keep ye headed in the right direction too.” Dan certainly hoped he would. “Ye’ll be fine.” Once they were safe and secure in their safe house -- a quaint little place tucked out of the way which was thankfully quiet -- Dan shed his long coat and frowned at the blood on the sleeve. Apparently he’d gotten more blood on his face than he’d realized. Dan gave a soft tsk before putting it to soak in warm water in the bathroom. With any luck he’d be able to salvage the garment. If not, it was going to have to be torn up and thrown away. Pity. He was rather fond of that coat. Then he went about changing his clothes to inspect them for any trace evidence. He was impressed to see that while he’d gotten a fair amount of blood on his face, his clothes had mostly been spared. Ezio’s aim with the blood spray had been impeccable. A simple wash and he wouldn’t have to trash this shirt and pants either. He glanced at Ezio as he went about changing into a fresh set of clothes. “Retire?” He asked and paused a moment to think about that. “Haven’t really given it much thought,” he mused. He took a moment or two, standing there in his skivvies to reflect on that notion. Then shook his head and pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans. “Nah, I’ve been doin’ this too long. ‘Fraid I donnea know ‘ow t’ do anythin’ else.” Assessing back at the safehouse meant that Ezio realized he hadn’t fared as well in terms of bloodstains - it was true that he could slice and dice in such a way to avoid minimal staining on his end (like he wanted Borgia scum on himself anyway), but he would definitely have to burn these clothes. Alas. He had a fresh pair that he changed into, removing the gauntlet from his arm - for now. He also had poison darts he wouldn’t mind using, in addition to the dual blade mechanism. “I said the same thing, in a dream I had,” he chuckled dryly. “I suppose you never know where life will take you. But...grazie.” He felt as if he needed to thank Dan, many times over. Ezio would never forget what the other man had done for him, how he’d been there. “For coming out here with me, ensuring I did not have to do this alone. I may do my best to retire but if you ever need my help with anything, I will be there.” If Ezio wanted out of this life, then Dan was going to make damn sure he was successful in doing so. He appreciated the gesture, though. True friends were very rare in this line of work. Brothers to the bone. “Yer welcome,” Dan said solemnly. “I want fer ye t’ have nothin’ but peace now in yer future and I pray that I not need t’ call on ye for assistance. But it do me heard good t’ know I ‘ave ye in my corner.” |