From Hell with Love (36 page)

“Are you kidding?” Niccolo asked, raising his eyebrow, but Innocenti shook his head.

“I went to a church the other day, Nico, for business, of course, but for the first time in a long time I decided to pray.  No one spoke to me; I felt no sense of divinity.  However, it became a time to reflect.  Niccolo, without your help, without your abilities, the Normans would have complete control over this city.”

“I fail to see how this,” Niccolo said before removing his glove and exposing his ruined hand to the lantern’s light, “is an example of God’s love.”

“Who said it had to be
love
, Nico?” Innocenti asked, setting his lantern on the ground.  “This is your
purpose
.  Maybe in his…pragmatism, God gave you a gift in disguise.  So many people, like the guards you killed tonight, like all of the men who were paid to be in your way, have no purpose.  But you, with the training I gave you, with the resolve this plague has given you…Niccolo, you might not just change Italia.  You might change the
world
,” he urged, placing both of his hands on Niccolo’s shoulders.

“That’s a lot of
ifs
and
mights
, Lorenzo,” Niccolo said, shaking off the merchant’s hands and crossing his arms.  “If God did this, I find it hard to believe that it was just to kill some people.”

“My point with all of this, Niccolo,” Innocenti said as he picked up his lantern and motioned toward the skull and relics, “is that during the present, it may be difficult to perceive your role in the world.”

“I am no saint, Innocenti,” Niccolo said, his gaze fixed on the face of the man who had trained him how to kill, who had sent him to kill others.

“I never said you
were
, Nico, but God needs warriors, as well,” Innocenti said before moving past Niccolo, turning before heading up the stairs.  “Would it be so difficult to believe that all of this happened to you for a reason?  That it’s more than just a cruel god using you as a plaything?”

Niccolo did not answer the man, but instead followed Innocenti as he led them back up through the catacombs.  Although the words sounded nice, Niccolo could not trust them.  He did not want to believe that his purpose was to end the lives of others; that his “gift” was a rotten arm and carte blanche to kill God’s enemies.  God could kill them, himself.

However, as they made their way through the shadows, Innocenti’s lesson started to give Niccolo some hope.  No matter how many people he killed, at the very least he felt a numb pain in his heart.  He did not
like
to kill people; he just
had
to.  Innocenti had given him his purpose, and maybe some other, all-powerful God had given Innocenti that purpose.  In a time and place of darkness, Niccolo had been given something very dangerous.

He had been given hope.

“Niccolo,” Innocenti said as they came out of the catacombs, the sun peeking over the horizon and rendering their lantern useless.  He put out the flame before setting the lantern inside the pack on his saddle, turning to face his student as he emerged from the darkness.  “I want you to think about these words.”

“Fine, I will,” Niccolo said, but Innocenti walked forward and placed his hands on the assassin’s shoulders once more.

“I’m going to give you some time to do it.  There are no more assignments; no more people that you have to kill,” he said, which threw Niccolo’s mind into confusion.

“There’s
always
someone to kill.”

“At this point, you have the option to choose, Niccolo.  Your contract is up.  You’ve spent four years in Napoli killing enemies of Italia, and my accounts as well,” he said before raising his hands and interlacing his fingers before bringing them down in front of him.  “You’re free to go.”

“I’m…free?” Niccolo asked, unaware of how much time he had given to Innocenti.  It did not seem like four years since Innocenti had hired him in that church in Firenze; the very thought made Niccolo dizzy.  He would have fallen if Lorenzo had not caught his arm.

“You are, but I want you to take my lesson to heart.  In your current state, there’s…not much you can do, Nico,” Innocenti admitted before realizing that his associate could stand on his own and released his arm.  “I want you to think about continuing to work for me.”

“You want me to keep killing?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.  I want you to fulfill…your purpose,” he said, placing emphasis on the words.  “As a leper, as a beggar, you cannot affect the world.  As an assassin, you could change its very course.”

“There’s no guarantee of that.  And Lorenzo…it hurts,” Niccolo admitted, finally relenting and letting his inner pain show.  “Every death haunts me.  I try to maintain my anger and resentment, I try to harden my heart, but I don’t know if I can take it.”

“I know, Nico.  You think I don’t notice?” Innocenti asked, drawing back and folding his hands over his hips.  “But Niccolo, you have a strength of character that even
I
did not notice.  I thought you would be a good assassin, but Nico,” Innocenti said before smiling and shaking his head, “with you on our side, the Normans don’t have a chance.”

“Why should I care about the Normans?  Why should I care about Italia, Innocenti?” he shouted, unable to stop pacing in front of his former master.  “They rejected me at the first chance; they threw me to the streets where I had to steal and murder just to live.”

“All of that is true, I won’t fight that.”

“Then why should I give up my life to stop this invasion, Innocenti?  Why should I throw everything away so that the people who rejected me might be able to have a little more coin in their pocket?”

“It’s not just
coin
, Nico,” Innocenti said before walking up to his mule and then raising himself up to the saddle.  “It’s freedom.  The freedom to live without those masters.  It’s the same freedom I’m offering you right now.  You have the right to choose, and if you choose to continue in my service, perhaps we can give that freedom to others.”

“And if I refuse?” Niccolo asked, which caused Niccolo to stare at the sun coming up over the horizon.

“That is your right, Nico, but why would you run away from the gift that has been given to you?” Innocenti asked before looking down at his student.  “Think about it, Niccolo.  Come back to me whenever you like, and I will welcome you with open arms.”

“I…” Niccolo started before looking at the ground by the mule’s hooves.  “Where would I go, Lorenzo?  Except for this life you have created for me, what do I have?”  Innocenti turned to look out to the distant hills, not focusing on the city or the sun still rising in the sky.

“That is up to you, Niccolo.  What
do
you have?” Lorenzo asked before striking the mule’s sides with his boots, causing the creature to amble away.  Niccolo watched the man depart and pondered his words.  Except for this life of killing and slinking about in the shadows, the leper did not have much.  He stared at the hills on the horizon, hoping that perhaps Innocenti was giving him some clue.

That was when he remembered the smile of the girl in Firenze.  That was when he remembered the woman who had given up her future for his wretched life.

Perhaps he still did have something, after all.

***

Firenze was almost exactly how he remembered it, with the only exception being the Ponte Vecchio.  Carlo Vespucci had done a good job on it, the bridge was even more splendid than it had been before its destruction, but it brought Niccolo no joy.  It only caused him to remember how he should have been part of it; it was just another part of the future torn from him.

He had tried to stay away from the Vespucci estate, at first, but it called to him.  He had spent a few days on some of the neighboring rooftops, hiding in some of the closest corners and shadows.  When he had first seen Allegra taking out her son for a walk, he had felt a blinding anger, but it had disappeared once he remembered that the child was an innocent.  For that matter, Allegra held no blame either, and Niccolo still remembered the look on her face when Carlo banished him from their family.  She had, at the very least, seemed sympathetic.  He wondered if she would hold the same sympathy for him now.

After the third day, Niccolo finally saw his father talking with some of the other merchants.  Although the Ponte Vecchio had provided the Vespucci estate with an enormous cash flow, it seemed that Carlo had squandered most of it.  Now the family was in worse state than they had been in before Niccolo’s absence.  In some of the taverns, Niccolo had heard small talk and rumors about how Carlo had never been the same since his first son had died.  Niccolo thought about how humorous it would be to proclaim he was Carlo's long lost son and that he was very much alive.

However, when he saw Carlo’s face, saw the grey working into his hair and the desperation creasing permanent lines into his face, Niccolo did not have the heart.  Though Carlo had destroyed him, it seemed that he had destroyed himself in the process.  His father turned to look at him once, while he was passing by, but Niccolo turned away quickly and hid his face within the hood of his red cloak.  Out of his periphery, he could have sworn he saw Carlo’s expression change at the sight, but Niccolo continued to walk past his father without conversation; a stranger to the man who had raised him.

It was best if Carlo truly thought that he was dead.

So he had turned his attentions on Camilla and her husband.  It did not take long for Niccolo to discover that Camilla’s father had taken ill and died just two years after Niccolo’s departure.  Since Camilla had no other siblings, the Gherardini estate had been absorbed by her husband, Giovanni Simonetti.  Now the noble had all the power he needed, but, of course, that would never be enough.  He had already made moves to absorb the Vespucci estate, although Carlo refused due to his pride.  It was just another reason to hate Simonetti, the man who had stolen the love of his life.

Niccolo watched them for a week, noting the habits of the Simonetti family and their bodyguards.  Giovanni seemed to flaunt his wealth, walking along the merchants with disdain, putting certain stands out of business with the thugs he brought with him.  It only took a moment for Niccolo to recognize those guards as the very men who had beaten him and allowed Giovanni to degrade him in front of an entire street of Fiorentini.

He thought about what it would be like to kill these men, to force them to recognize their worthlessness, but he maintained a cool head while he watched them.  For the first few days, he only saw Giovanni, Camilla was nowhere to be found, so he only thought about his vengeance.  Once he had seen her, however, the game changed.

What had started as a petty chance for revenge turned into an entire fantasy.  When he had first seen her, Niccolo was shocked by her appearance.  Yes, she was still beautiful and yes, Giovanni had provided Camilla with all the jewels and dresses she needed, but Niccolo could see the defeat in her expression.  He could see despair in her eyes.  In the four years he had been gone from Firenze, her spirit had aged decades.  The playfulness was gone from her expression; wrinkles and lines caused by stress and worry were only just noticeable under layers of makeup.  Niccolo was at first filled with pity and sadness, but then anger soon took its place.

Giovanni did not have the right to do this to Camilla.  She was beautiful on the inside and out, a clever and witty mind paired with the beauty of her exterior, but the noble had decided to ignore that.  To him, Camilla was merely a trophy, a pretty thing to place on his shelf along with his other accomplishments.

Niccolo's vengeance became something more than just killing Giovanni Simonetti.  Now he was tasked with rescuing Camilla.  Although she would become a widow and lose her property, Niccolo knew she would accept him.  Her father could no longer keep her from her freedom; she would be able to choose between them.  Either the monster that kept her caged or the man who had loved her for her mind, but she would have that choice.  If she chose him, he would do anything to provide for her.  She might not be a merchant princess if she spent her life with him, but at least she would have some chance for happiness.

If nothing else, she deserved that.

***

Niccolo jumped down from the roof and onto the vendor’s table, which shook from the sudden impact.

“Hey!” the vendor shouted, but Niccolo had already jumped off the table and sprinted forward, his short blade in his hand.  The thug in the canary yellow colors of the Simonetti family perked his ears at the merchant’s yell, but he did not have enough time to react before Niccolo brought the blade point down behind his collar bone, puncturing his heart swiftly.  As the still-breathing bodyguard started to fall forward, Niccolo was already prying the blade from his body.

When he brought his head back up to regard Giovanni and his men, they were facing him in confusion.  The young noble and his bodyguards were not expecting the sudden strike as they were moving along the market place.  Niccolo had watched them for half an hour already, creeping along the rooftops, and had leapt on them when they had reached a largely-vacant stretch of road.

“Who…What?!” Giovanni shouted as he brought his long sword out of his scabbard, stepping in front of the woman cowering behind him.  Niccolo almost laughed at the situation, but kept his head under pressure.  The other two thugs had taken out their weapons, one a large club and the other a long sword, but Niccolo was not nervous at all.  He calmly stood up above the newly-made corpse and smiled as Fiorentini screamed around him.

“A ghost, young Simonetti.  A man who should be dead,” Niccolo teased as he ran forward toward the two thugs, whose thoughts had turned to violence.  The assassin brought out his second short blade and ducked under the heavy strike of the first man’s club, spinning slightly so that he could draw his weapon across the man’s Achilles’ tendon.  The bodyguard crashed down to his knee and yelped, lifting his head skyward and making it easy for Niccolo, who merely continued his spin and cut into the man’s throat before drawing the blade back and tearing it open, spraying the other thug with lifeblood.