Alessandro woke up to a knife buried into the headboard of his bed.

He didn't wake up from it, of course. His father used to joke he could wrap Alessandro up in his blanket and have him float down one of the many canals and he'd only wake up when a shark far out in the ocean would start gnawing at him. It was probably true.

He woke up from a sunray tickling his lashes, having erred its way through the heavy curtains. He squinted his eyes against the bright light.

To his shame, Alessandro had to admit he wasn't startled the least to wake up with a dagger next to his face. He just turned around, pulled the two sets of blankets over his head and closed his eyes again. Who cared about a dagger in his headboard?

He shot up so fast his head spun with sleepy protest. There was a dagger in his headboard!

Alessandro scanned the room. The evil ray of morning sun floated across the room and stretched itself over the deep red blankets, painting little zigzags on the mountain of pillows. The flames in the fireplace had curled up to glowing embers, the deep orange hues shifting like scales of a slowly breathing dragon. A fresh set of clothes was exactly where he had placed it last night, folded up neatly into squares, his boots waiting below them at the foot of a drawer. No intruder in sight.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Alessandro twisted in bed with a groan. He narrowed his eyes at the still blade. A letter? A warning perhaps... His stomach twisted. Someone had waltzed in, rammed a dagger right next to his head -- having to climb over half the bed to even get that close -- and sauntered off. And Alessandro hadn't even woken up.

The shadows of his dreams still danced around the edges of his vision, trying to sneak up on him and pull him back into the past. Alessandro shook his head. No time. He grabbed the hilt, pulling the blade loose. It seemed familiar... Catching the sunlight on its edge, it glinted like a hungry fang. A note fluttered into his palm.

I could kill you in your sleep.

Alessandro frowned. No need to rub it in.

He turned the parchment. The backside was empty. He turned it back. Just that one sentence, scribbled hastily in an atrociously slanting handwriting. Alessandro had written neater than that with four-- with his right hand. His teacher would preach the left hand was the devil's hand.

The note looked like an afterthought, smeared onto a spare paper in the dark after the stranger had waltzed in and saw him sleeping.

Something else tickled his nose. A sweet scent wafted around him, whips of caramel and orange curling up into the air. His stomach growled. Alessandro sniffed. Hareeseh. A delighted smile stole its way onto his lips. He quickly wiped it off. He wasn't a child tugging at his mother's skirts to puppy-eye one of the sweet cakes into his hand.

His father had unintentionally started the obsession when Alessandro had been five. The Merchant had been on two month travel to Constantinople -- Alessandro remembered racing down the hallway and throwing himself at his father. Michele had spun him around and laughed his rumbling lion laugh. Little Alessandro had always wondered how a voice could get so deep. Now he had the same laugh.

His father he had brandished a small parcel from his cloak. That evening, in front of the fireplace, perched on his father's knees, Alessandro had listened to his stories with big eyes. Stories of huge palaces and underground ruins, churches and mosques with cupolas so large they seemed to hold the sky, minarets spearing the glaring sun. It smelled like spices and heat. Hectic traders and old men poring over board games. Breathing in millennia and living in the moment. There were snakes, dancing, with eyes like emeralds! And smoke rising from long pipes, blue swirls wafting down the streets like lost djinns.

Little Alessandro had only looked away for long enough to quickly stuff another small piece of the sweet cake into his mouth and lick his sticky fingers clean.

Alessandro's heart clenched. He missed his father. He was too big now, over a head taller than the merchant, but deep down he wanted to run to him and hide his face in that heavy, fur-lined cloak and smell the sea and spices on him. He'd give anything to have the strong arms keep him safe for just a moment. Alessandro quickly blinked when his eyes dared to sting. HaShem have mercy. Focus.

The small sunray moved when Alessandro shifted, falling over his shoulder and hitting something bright. A silver bowl on his night-stand. A pyramid of Hareeseh was carefully piled up, powdered sugar sprinkled over the soft dough. A slice of orange sat atop each piece. And a note was tucked underneath the bowl.

What an odd assassin, leaving notes and failing to kill him. 

The dagger really had been an afterthought. The handwriting was unmistakably the same, still terrible, but less hurried and not squeezed onto a ripped off corner in the dark.

Thank you.

He turned it. 

One word and I will stab you.

It wasn't signed. But Alessandro knew exactly who would sneak into his room, think it funny to stab a headboard and threaten to murder Alessandro just to say thank you. He had no idea how the Greek knew of his love for Hareeseh or how he had gotten it overnight, in his state at that, but somehow, bright warmth settled in his chest.

He really shouldn't be growing fond of such a man.

---

This chaos needed to be contained. So Alessandro sat down and wrote down every single thing they knew. One sheet for facts. A seperate sheet for assumptions with high probability and  some evidence. And one for the lingering feelings he couldn't shake, the suspicion carved into the marrow of his bone by a hundred criminals. There was only a single name on it. Daniele Cornaro. 

Alessandro pushed it beneath a stack of paper. He couldn't stand looking at it for one second longer, feeling the letters taunt him.

Despite knowing better, he couldn't help glancing up at Giacinto. Seated across from him on -- rather than at -- the table, the Greek was scribbling down numbers and shifting through calculations. Pointedly avoiding Alessandro.

He could understand. Alessandro had seen him in a state no one would want to be seen in. Much less by a practically stranger they fought with every day. Again, his mind tried drowning him in memories. Alessandro ground his teeth, battling the flood back once more. Not now.

Alessandro cleared his throat. "Your knife." The Greek took it without looking at him.

Alessandro mustered him closely. There were bags under his eyes and bruises on his neck and jaw, but he seemed fine. Controlled. It bothered Alessandro, Giacinto never looked controlled. He wouldn't take -- or want -- Alessandro's help anyways. He was stable and that was enough. It had to be.

"A wonderful good morning!" The double winged door banged open dramatically and Lorenzo sauntered in, arms spread wide.

"It's past midday." Giacinto barely looked up long enough to nod at Lorenzo. "I take it you had a fun night?"

Alessandro frowned.

Lorenzo's eyes flickered to Alessandro. "No, I've been tortured. My old nanny was there. She practically chewed my ear off. Asking so many questions should be illegal." Lorenzo plopped down onto a free chair next to Alessandro with a dramatic sigh. He bumped his knee against Alessandro's thigh. "So. What's going on?"

Giacinto finally looked up. "Seriously? Telling the first pretty guy you run into everything?"

Alessandro shifted uncomfortably. "No, I -- listen, first of all, I'm not a sodomite." His voice turned harsh. "And I'd much appreciate it if you wouldn't try and make me sound like one. Second of all, Lorenzo deserves to know what he's getting into." The lie came so easy by now. What a hypocrite he was.

Lorenzo's smile fell for just a second, but he pulled it right back up. The warmth of his knee against Alessandro's leg disappeared.

Alessandro should refrain from speaking altogether.

Lorenzo grinned at Giacinto. "Aw, you called me pretty."

Giacinto sneered. "Please. You know very well you're not ugly. Steno?"

Alessandro looked over at Lorenzo. His hair was in the tiny ponytail again, a blue silk ribbon tied to a loose bow. Same colour as his eyes, a deep sea blue. "Right," Alessandro said. Lorenzo didn't look at him.

Laelia saved him.

She dashed into the room with an exited laugh, skirts whooshing after her. The silk billowed around her as she spun in the hall, dancing with the sunlight. "Lorenzo!"

The man beamed at her. "Little Lia."

"Hey! I'm not calling you LoLo either," the girl pouted. But not for long. She was clutching a wooden box to her chest. "Look!"

"What is it?" Giacinto set his calculations aside.

He had went to see her first thing this morning -- Laelia hadn't even let him apologize, just wrapped him into a tight hug (Alessandro was surprised he managed to endure it with a smile, given his bruises all over) and then dragged him off to feed him some new, even worse smelling herbal mixture. Alessandro had seen the weight lifted from the other's shoulders.

"A gift! And a note!" She held up a parchment like a victory banner, waving it in the air. "It's from Antonio!"

Alessandro froze. He could see Giacinto's jaw clench. Lorenzo frowned deeply.

"You were wrong! It's not him! You'll see!" She tugged the box closer. "A messenger just arrived, from Venice. Antonio wrote me a letter!"

"Laelia, how does he know where we are?" Giacinto's voice was dark.

"Lorenzo knew, too!"

Alessandro turned to Lorenzo.

"From him," Lorenzo said. "I figured given the amount of useless knowledge he collects, he might know something important as well."

Giacinto frowned. "Lia, I don't like this..."

"You're just angry you were wrong about him!" Laelia snapped.

Alessandro shot them a stern look. "This is not the time for petty arguments. Giacinto is right." The Greek looked at him surprised. "We should be careful. But we should also see what he has to say. What did he write you, Laelia?"

"That he loved me!"

Giacinto recoiled.

Laelia sparked with happiness. "And this is a gift! He says he's innocent, he'll prove it."

Giacinto held out his hand. "I'll stab it."

"No!" Laelia pulled the box away from him.

"What if it's a trap?"

"What if it's something nice for me?"

Giacinto ran a hand over his face. "Then I'll gladly buy you whatever it is again."

"It won't be the same."

Lorenzo squared his shoulders. "I'll open it." He reached out for the box, intricate carvings swirling through the dark wood, patterns inlaid with silver.

Laelia pulled it to her chest. "No. It's mine." She shook it. "It's something heavy!"

Lorenzo frowned. "I'll open it. If it's dangerous you won't --"

"No," Alessandro said. "Giacinto is right. Sentimentality isn't our primary concern right now."

"You're wrong!" Laelia cried out. "You're all just so convinced it's him! You don't know love!"

She was right.

"Lia, this man hasn't done anything to show you his love for years. Why now?" Giacinto asked.

"Because now that I've been taken from him he realized it!"

She opened the box.

A black blur shot at her. Scales and fangs glinted victoriously.

Laelia screamed, high-pitched and piercing. The box clattered onto the table.

Alessandro could only yank back Lorenzo in time.

A whirl of silver came down so hard the entire table shook.

The snake wound and curled, thrashing and throwing its powerful body from side to side, rearing against the dagger in a final explosion of poisoned hisses. The spook was over as quick as it had begun, the snake hitting the table in a dull thump.

Giacinto's breath came in ragged heaves. He ripped his dagger from the still snake. A dark fire burned in his eyes.

How could anyone be that fast? The Greek had lunged across the table the second the box had opened, his blade striking with the precision of a hawk and faster than nature itself. A man, unprepared and injured had been faster than a monster's instincts, forged by hundreds of thousands of years of kills.

Laelia staggered back. Tears sprung to her eyes.

And the street below the window blew up in shouts.

* HaShem means 'The Name' in Hebrew and is a name for God in Judaism, so Alessandro uses it rather than 'God'

A very special thank-you note, a deadly gift and a sudden commotion -- what do you think of this chapter? I wanted to give a small glimpse into Alessandro's past and yet still have action in here. And Alessandro's struggle with parts of himself ... 

Laelia was so happy -- and said some things she shouldn't have to the men. She's not just one of the most unexperienced characters, but also the most trusting ... 'Serpent Heart' is a quote from Shakespeare.

Thank you for taking some time out of your day to read my little mad piece! I keep saying it, but it means so much to me! You're all such wonderful people!

Avis