The rest of Luciano's day mostly passed uneventfully and...ineffectually. His investigations into the whereabouts of Marciano yielded few results: while he found a tavern close to the Basilica that likely served as the place for the thieves' celebration after ‘killing’ him, he could not extract any valuable information from the bartender, the man only confirmed his already existing suspicions. Only having a name to go by made things more difficult, but what was an even greater blow to the Templar's ability and pride was the fact that his intimidation factor was woefully lessened by his accident. Truth be told, a sizeable bandage wrapped around the shoulder and a strained and still somewhat pale face did not quite give off the image Luciano hoped to give and that made his tried soul furious.

He had to realise though that his condition was...suboptimal, at best. If he wanted to stick to his mission and have any hope of successfully completing it—and after what he had gone through for it, he would not have abandoned it for anything—, he had to approach it from a different angle as complete recovery was impossible in just a day.
‘A different angle...’ He spun the thought through his mind repeatedly while sitting on a bench by himself on a lesser-walked street. He still had some time until the blacksmith was done forging his second sword and until that he felt...incomplete and unprepared to take on any serious pursuit. He tensed his muscles to stretch the bandage on his arm every now and then, but the response was still sharp pain every time. He would not have thought a single knife could leave such a mark on a fit and hardened man like him, in fact he had always thought the weapon as weak and throughoutly inferior to other, larger blades—like the ones he swung with great might and skill. But alas, he had to admit that when wielded by skilled users, like the rogues whose combat style was perfectly complemented by the small and easy-to-wield knife, it was as deadly of a weapon as any. Luciano had to consider himself lucky the impact of one made him fall—any more metal struck into his flesh would have very well meant the actual end for him.

An actual death or a supposed one—it mattered little as long as the enemy did not know the truth. Just like they had done with Elena and Alessandro, faking one's own demise was a hard to execute but very effective trick to keep the opposition's guard down and strike when they least expected it. It was what the Templar was intending to do in this case as well—recalling the details the young woman collected for the meeting tonight at the [i]Santa Trinita.[/i] He also remembered what he told her: they were to progress as planned and not worry about him.

With that, his thoughts shifted to the three people he left behind. While he never considered himself a good leader in a sense that he preferred doing tasks on his own—he only took on Emerico after ostensible pressure from the Grand Master—, he found himself concerned about them. Granted, it was more because he did not want them to fail and his trust to turn out misplaced rather than actually worrying about their well-being. Yet still, he felt some kind of...connection forming towards the three. Perhaps the lone wolf mentality was not always the best way to go about matters...?

He shook his head and rose up with a grunt. These thoughts were temporary weakness, just like his injuries. He reminded himself he did not get to where he was by relying on others. He could not allow his ambitions to lapse into content. In the cutthroat world of the constant struggle between the Order and the Brotherhood, that was a death sentence. There already have been too many good Templars lost to failed collaborations and haphazard cover-ups. Luciano knew he could not make the same mistakes.

He headed back to the blacksmith to pick up his second blade.

————

The last rays of sunlight were biding their farewell to Florence and someone was watching them while reclining to the wall of a house. The house had an extended awning, effectively covering him from anyone who might be snooping around on the roofs. Safety first. Of course, the mesmerising orange shades were not the only things in his attention. As soon as movement was heard near him, he broke away from the house, springing with a silent, hopefully unheard hiss of pain onto the street. The figure there regarded his appearance with a momentary, albeit unanswered gaze and then a small nod before resuming the purposeful walk. He stepped a little closer and kept the tempo, wordless, soundless.

The two figures moving in the growing darkness looked very much alike. Ragged pieces of cloth fastened together provided a light but comfortable and versatile outfit. Their cowls hid most of their faces—especially so for the second one, who seemed to have a gaze fixed on the ground—, only the glint of their daggers were somewhat noticeable for onlookers. Not like there were any, though.
“You got your hands dirty again, didn't you?” The initial person spoke—whispered, more like, taking a brief glance at their partner.
Ah yes. They must have caught the faint scent of blood that permeated from the other's robes. Violence was a best-avoided, but sometimes inescapable matter in their profession. Some were...more bound to resort to it than others.
The accosted man nodded, breaking neither his vow of silence nor his gaze of the floor.
“I wonder why you were even invited...”
There was not even as much of a reply to this heckling. He made it obvious that he was in no mood of a discussion right now. The point was taken.

The towering [i]Santa Trinita[/i] soon unfolded before them. It hid behind it a dying sun that would soon totally retreat for the day. The cloak of darkness shrouded the two figures and a few others too as they converged in the courtyard and made their way towards a secret entrance. The thieves, for that was what they were, filed down a staircase into a cellar-like area under the church. There they formed a sort of half-circle and began their discourse with one another, but mainly with a man who stood in front of the rest. Just slightly better dressed but with graspable authority, he was like a priest before the flock.
“Corradin, nice to finally meet you...”

The man who was waiting under the awning just a couple minutes before was now standing at the edge of the half-circle, cowl still on. He listened to the discussion and the sayings of the leader, Corradin intently, but really was only seeking one word.
“...We successfully took out one of Borgia's top men! We led him to an ambush, Marciano tricked him, he thought it to be this meeting! That will certainly...”
At the mention of this particular thief and his exploits, a couple others let out a hearty laugh, one even gave him a pat on his back. The man on the edge took a very brief glance to the side to see who actually was the receiver of the compliments. Fortunately, Marciano made himself easily visible: with his chest puffed out and his face bright with a toothy grin, there was no mistaking the ‘hero’ of the recent days.

That was all he needed. The rest of the meeting was somewhat of a blur to the man, as his thoughts were already wandering into the future. He only truly snapped back into reality when the present thieves started moving out of the cellar en masse, then spreading out on the surface and finally disappearing into the night. It was no small task to identify someone from all the brown-clothed and hooded figures, but he would not let such a trail go cold. He followed after Marciano who walked with casual but still careful steps—he seemingly had nothing else to do for the night but as any skilled thief, he did not let that lull him into a false sense of security. He took side paths and ducked under the cover of buildings frequently, all with ease as if it was routine. The man behind him did not know if he was aware of being pursued, but his choice of directions actually served his cause in this case. He sped up while trying to keep his movement quiet.

Marciano's senses tingled. As he was passing by a wall, he stopped for a brief moment and looked behind him. His eyes widened and his mouth opened, but only a strangled cough came out. The man rammed him like a horse, grabbing hold of the his neck with his left hand and shoving him into the wall. The eyes of the once brash and sly thief now shone with shock in the moonlight. He would not be denied knowledge for long, for the man who kept him in this chokehold flipped up the cowl. Though his outfit was very much unlike and his hair was also tied up, there was no mistaking that face...nor that expression.
“A true Templar never goes back on his word,” he whispered and plunged his dagger into Marciano's wide open throat...and twisted it, for good measure.

A gargling, bloody heap fell onto the ground, breathing its last laboured breaths. The latest to cross Luciano de Vicari.