Chapter Text
He leaps from rooftop to rooftop like it's nothing, feet flying – yes, flying is the word for it; propelled forward by a force just barely within his control. It is a necessity, that they have had to learn to move through their city like this, but sometimes to Giovanni it feels more like a destiny. Sometimes it wakes a soaring feeling in his chest, a sudden certainty: this is where he must be; there is no other life but this.
He will not tell Mario that. It will earn him nothing but laughter and another accusation of being too romantic, Giovanni; this is not one of your storybooks.
He knows that, of course he does. Besides, there will be no one to tell their story if they do their job well...
Something below his foot shifts as he lands now at the edge of a rooftop, and his boot slips, his leg slides just a bit too far backward, and that is all it takes.
It's a long way to fall, but Giovanni knows how to fall, and when he sits up on the stone-paved street, dazed and vaguely aware of a throbbing ache from everywhere and nowhere, he can't help feeling a little cheerful at the lack of serious head injury. He and Mario had never practiced falling from quite that much of a height.
He blinks a few times, waiting for his breath to come back to him, does a cursory check for any blood, and then reels to his feet. The world reels with him – or maybe against him – and Giovanni sways more drunkenly than he feels, bracing himself against the nearest solid object – a streetlight. Normally to be avoided when running illicitly through the city at night. He clings to it for a moment anyway, breathing, dizzy. The ache seems to have decided to settle in his ribs, and now each breath he draws brings sharper pain.
It seems to take an age before he can move himself forward, centuries from one step to the next, and hardly any time at all to slide back down to the ground again. Giovanni waits. He can be patient, no matter what Mario says. He will wait until he can stand again, and then he will find his way home – moving from streetlight to streetlight if he has to. Broken ribs are not the worst thing, and if the ground would just stop swaying –
"Would you tell me something, please?" inquires a voice from the darkness, and just like that Giovanni lurches up again, clinging still to the light post, cold prickling at the back of his neck. He has three knives within reach, and his hand moves toward the one in his coat pocket.
"Are you stupid," the darkness goes on, "or were you hoping to die?"
"I am armed," Giovanni answers.
There is a laugh. "Stupid, then." A shadow parts from the darkness then, stepping toward him, hooded and slight. He stops at the very edge of the light, and Giovanni can make out a small smile.
"Buona sera, signore Auditore," he says. "Have you injured anything important?"
Giovanni narrows his eyes, his hand closing around the hilt of his knife. "I don't recall making your acquaintance, signore...?"
"No," says the shadow. "La Volpe."
"I am sorry?"
"I am called La Volpe," the shadow clarifies, and then smirks. "And many other things. But I did not need to make your acquaintance to know your name. Giovanni and Mario Auditore, i fratelli brillanti, raised in Firenze, trained in Monteriggioni, although apparently not well..."
Giovanni scowls, and pure irritation now has him standing on his own. "La Volpe is not a name."
"I have also been called tagliagole," La Volpe offers.
"Why do you know me?" Giovanni says, ignoring this.
"Everyone knows you. The brothers who fly through the city at night. Who carry knives and secrets...That is, everyone who also carries knives and secrets knows you. Which is only a few. I would not worry." La Volpe's smirk fades as he steps closer, and Giovanni blinks dizzily at him, clutching the knife but not moving. "You should never land at the edge of a roof that way," Volpe says, almost sounding annoyed now. "Especially not on the riverside. The tiles come loose all of the time."
"Sto bene."
"Si, si, bene, only broken ribs, hm? You know, it is always bad for business when they find a corpse in the streets. It does not matter whose it is."
Giovanni just grunts and turns away, carefully. Volpe is proving no threat, or at least, not enough of one to waste the few hours of darkness left on. And his balance is coming back to him now. The pain is sharp as before, but he will get used to it in time. He always does. It must have only been shock...
He takes a step forward, does not fall, and says, "What business is this?"
"I have also been called tagliagole," Volpe repeats, walking alongside him with an exaggerated slowness that feels just a little bit mocking. "But I am mostly a thief."
"And what do you thieve?" Giovanni asks, as though they are having a perfectly normal, polite conversation. The ground seems to slip away a little bit here and there, but he stays standing through agonizing step after step. Hunched over and wobbly but standing, still standing, which is the most important thing. Pain is only pain.
"Whatever is necessary," Volpe answers. "And what is your business?"
The question comes so swift and sharp that Giovanni is momentarily distracted from his mission. He stops and looks at Volpe, eyebrows raised. "I thought you knew me."
Volpe looks annoyed again. "I know you oppose the mafiosi," he says, after a moment, and Giovanni shrugs at this and starts inching his way forward again.
"Is that so unusual?"
Volpe keeps pace alongside him, taking one step for his every three. "It is the way you do it."
"Hm. Which is?"
Volpe only scowls, and Giovanni smiles.
"So you are not all-knowing."
"I know Bartolomeo D'Alviano taught you to fight," Volpe offers. "I do not know who taught you to climb, but they seem to have left out some key details."
"Are you following me for a reason?" Giovanni asks, pausing to lean against another streetlight for a moment. At this rate the sun will have risen before he's even halfway there.
"I told you. A corpse in the street is bad for business."
"Ah, so you will be my savior then? Or will you be throwing my body into the river?"
"It depends," says Volpe sullenly, "on my mood."
"You are from Venezia," Giovanni says abruptly, mostly to distract himself from the way his ribs are burning as he steps forward once again. (Pain is only pain, is only ever pain...) "I can hear it."
Volpe seems unperturbed. "Si."
"Why are you in Firenze?"
"There is no life left in Venezia," Volpe says, without any apparent emotion.
"But in Firenze..."
"Firenze burns."
Volpe's tone is admiring. Giovanni casts his gaze up and out over the small patches of red visible in the darkness, the rooftops lit here and there by a streetlamp. In the morning, the city will rise red and gold and white into the world; it will wake aflame.
"Yes," he agrees, proud.
They walk in silence for a little while. Giovanni reflects that probably he should not be leading a stranger who calls himself after a forest creature to his home. But – Mario will be there and armed, and this man is...this man could have killed him and thrown him to the river long ago if he had truly wished Giovanni ill.
"You and your brother, you are skilled," Volpe says suddenly, his tone careful. "I know of...some of your works. But you will be found out soon if you are not more cautious."
"Is this a threat?" Giovanni asks, without much interest. Better to talk, better to talk and think less about the pain.
"It is a word of warning," answers Volpe. "From a friend."
"Oh. So we are friends now."
"I have not yet thrown you into the river."
"Grazie mille, amico."
Volpe smiles, showing a hint of teeth. "Non c'è di che."
"And how do I become more cautious? Should I name myself for an animal? Will that help?"
Volpe snorts. "You could not pull it off. I will show you how when you have recovered, if you will tell me what it is the Auditore want from Firenze."
Giovanni considers. "Light," he settles on. "Light where there is darkness. Truth where there are lies."
Volpe gives him an odd look. "Is that all? Not justice or liberty or world peace too?"
"Light," Giovanni repeats. His head is spinning. "That covers most of it, I think." He stops walking, presses a hand to his forehead, wincing.
"You will need a doctor," Volpe observes. He seems unconcerned.
"No," Giovanni murmurs.
"Si. I know someone discreet. Go home, and I will find her for you."
"Because we are friends?" Giovanni asks, letting his hand fall away.
"Because you are a fool who falls from rooftops," Volpe answers. He is already turning away, disappearing back into darkness. "Go home. Paola will come to you. And then we will speak again of business."
"Va bene," Giovanni answers, because he is too tired to answer anything else. And there are so many knives in the house. And Mario. Yes, La Volpe is no threat.
No one responds from the darkness. So Giovanni keeps moving, keeps thinking.
It would be good, to have allies. They would need to be careful, but it would be good, if it were done right. He will discuss this with Mario, if he makes it back alive.