Chapter 7: The City of Florence
Mario unveiling the Auditore Sanctuary and Altaïr's codex pages showed he was finally treating Lu Xiao like a serious prospect for the Brotherhood's inner circle. But with his current skills, Lu Xiao knew he wasn't there yet—not by a long shot. Six months of training had sharpened him, sure, but he was a desk jockey turned fighter, not a born Assassin.
The day after the Pazzi flopped their attack on Monteriggioni, Mario led a sturdy brown horse out and walked Lu Xiao to the city gates.
"Being an Assassin isn't just a job," he said, handing over the reins. "It's a belief passed down since forever. Doesn't matter your rank, your wealth, your strength—if you live by the Creed, you can be one of us."
His tone got heavy. "But to hit the core of the Brotherhood, you need more—knowledge, skills, the works. Your fighting's solid now—your bow work's better than mine. Experience is all you're missing there, and that'll come with real fights. Everything else, though? You've got gaps."
Mario wasn't wrong—Lu Xiao could hit a target from a wall, but stealth, strategy, the Brotherhood's deeper tricks? He was still a rookie.
"Florence is our hub in Tuscany. Giovanni and the veterans there will shape you into a proper Assassin." He tossed Lu Xiao a finely made leather bracer. "Catch. You'll need this in Florence—Giovanni'll show you how to use it."
The bracer landed in Lu Xiao's hands, its leather smooth and worn, etched with faint lines that hinted at its purpose. He turned it over, fingers brushing the metal clasp, already guessing what it would reveal—a hidden blade, the Assassin's signature.
"Go." Mario gave the horse's rump a hard smack as Lu Xiao climbed into the saddle, half lost in thought. "I'm counting on you to step up someday—help us push back the Templars. They're getting too damn big." His words hung in the air, a mix of trust and urgency.
The horse reared with a loud whinny, then bolted down the road, hooves pounding. Lu Xiao glanced back at Monteriggioni's walls. Mario stood at the gate, waving with a grin, while the mercs banged their weapons in a rowdy send-off.
Six months in Monteriggioni had gotten Lu Xiao used to this era's rhythm. He'd warmed up to the gruff mercs and simple townsfolk. Mario, his so-called mentor, was too tied up with Brotherhood gigs to hang around much, but the guy left a mark. Rough around the edges, sure, but sharp underneath.
His charm and clear-cut rewards kept even the wildest mercs in line, moving like a real army. Lu Xiao had seen it in the way they'd rallied at the siege. Mario was a leader who didn't just bark orders—he inspired loyalty, the kind you couldn't buy.
"No wonder he's the Italian Brotherhood's head. That kind of pull's rare."
Monteriggioni's outline faded fast behind him. Lu Xiao nudged its sides, gave the reins a shake, and shouted, "Yah!" The steed kicked into high gear, winter wind whipping his face as they tore down the dirt road toward Florence. The landscape blurred past.
***
Florence—Firenze, the Emerald City—birthplace and heart of the Italian Renaissance. Art thrived back in ancient Greece and Rome, but the medieval dark ages under Catholic rule choked it out. The Renaissance kicked off here, sparked by folks fed up with the Church's mental shackles.
Lu Xiao had seen sketches of the city in history books—domed cathedrals, bustling squares—but nothing prepped him for the real thing. As he crested a hill, its red-tiled roofs glowing in the midday sun, the Arno River snaking through the city.
As grassroots money piled up and Europe's economy clawed back, people ditched the old gloom. Bankers and the new rich started chasing life's pleasures—a big middle finger to the Church's "suffer now, win later" line. That clash birthed the Renaissance. Lu Xiao could feel it in the air as he rode closer—the hum of a city waking up, shaking off centuries of sermons for something brighter, bolder.
Artists were done with the Church's abstinence crap—everyone knew priests and nuns weren't exactly saints behind closed doors. They wanted to rip off the holy mask and free people's minds.
Problem was, most art back then was Church propaganda. No clear way to fight back. Lu Xiao remembered college lectures about this—painters and sculptors chafing under bishops' thumbs, their work twisted to prop up dogma. Florence had been their breaking point.
After some back-and-forth, they landed on reviving Greek and Roman vibes to push for free thought. The new-money bankers loved it—anything to stick it to the Church's lockdown. They bankrolled the artists, fueling the Renaissance wave. Marble statues and vivid frescoes sprang up, funded by men in velvet robes who saw art as a weapon.
History gushes over the movement, but at its root, it was the up-and-coming rich taking a swing at the Church's feudal grip—a straight-up class brawl. The Medici, Florence's rulers, were the poster kids for that new elite.
Bankers by trade, they'd built a fat war chest. Over two generations—Giovanni and Cosimo—they'd muscled out the old Albizzi crew, set up a tyrant-style rule, and crowned themselves Florence's uncrowned kings.
The current boss was Cosimo's grandson, Lorenzo de' Medici—a name that'd echo loud in history. Lu Xiao recalled Lorenzo from the game—young, sharp, a patron of art and a target for Templar schemes.
For the Brotherhood and Templars, it was chess. The Templars, dug deep into the Catholic core, wanted to squash this new-money surge and keep their perch. The Italian Assassins saw an angle—enemy of my enemy—and threw their weight behind the rising elite to counter the Templars. It was a messy alliance, politics tangled with blades, and Florence was the board where moves got made.
Giovanni Auditore da Firenze, Mario's younger brother, was born in Monteriggioni too. But as a teen, he ditched the family turf for Florence, crashing with a relative, Ilario Auditore. Ilario was tight with Cosimo Medici—his loyal right-hand man and long-time Gonfaloniere di Giustizia, the big shot in the elder council. That's when the Auditore-Medici bond kicked off.
The Auditores weren't just playing nice with the Medici for kicks. The Brotherhood had pegged their potential early and bet big. At 19, Giovanni "ran into" 6-year-old Lorenzo by the Arno River. When the kid slipped and fell in, Giovanni dove after him without a second thought—pulled him out sopping wet.
That sealed the deal between the families. Giovanni became Lorenzo's close pal and go-to ally. Over the years, he handled dirty jobs the Medici couldn't touch—thwarting Church plots to topple them more than once. With Medici backing, the Auditores grew into a banking heavyweight in Florence, a major player in the Emerald City.
Only Lorenzo and a few Medici insiders knew the real deal behind Giovanni's banker act. He was an Assassin—core Brotherhood member, a thorn in the Templars' side, and one of Lorenzo's trickiest enforcers.
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