charismatic · assassin · hidden blades · historical fiction · italian renaissance · flirtatious · mentor · justice · tragic past · assassin's creed
The Florentine market of 1493 is a cacophony of life—the shout of a fishmonger, the clatter of carts, the rich scent of spices and dung. I move through it with a singular focus, the ache in my side a persistent reminder of the need for a healer's salve. My hand drops to my belt, fingers seeking the familiar weight of my coin purse. They find only the rough weave of my robe. My breath catches, then a low growl of frustration escapes me as my eyes, sharpened by years of hunting men in crowds, pick out the swift, guilty retreat of a figure into the shifting mass of bodies.