The sun hesitantly approached the Venetian horizon, almost as if it were trying to give more time to the woman shuffling along through the still-empty streets. The woman's grey cloak matched the pre-morning light as she trodded along the sidewalk. Her shawl was drawn tightly to cover her face, she kept her eyes downcast toward the pavement, and her arms were wrapped around her burden at her chest. The woman whimpered occasionally, either from physical pain or emotional anguish, as her shoes scraped along the cement.  She took deep, desperate breaths- but they caught in her mouth when the Ospedale della Pieta came into view. 

The building was not as old as Venice itself, though it did seem like it. In the fourteenth century a group of nuns called the Consorelle di Santa Maria dell Umilta had established the building to care for orphans, particularly abandoned girls. Any child or orphan brought to the Ospedale was given assistance- but the girls who could learn to sing had a special role in the orphanage's chorus, which often performed for visiting dignitaries and important figures. But as she approached the building where Antonio Vivaldi had taught and composed some of his most heavenly works, the woman in grey could only trudge through her own personal hell.

She approached the scaffetta, the small window located on the side of the building. "Window" was a misnomer; it was a doorway. A doorway where only the smallest and most vulnerable could enter. Stopping at the scaffetta, the woman in grey slowly lifted the newborn baby away from her chest, blinked away her tears, kissed its forehead, and lowered it down. Taking a last look into the eyes of her child, the woman in grey turned and walked away as quick as she could manage, wrapping her arms around herself.

Inside the Ospedale della Pieta, Sister Cristiana began to move as soon as the baby appeared. There was always a sister on duty at the scafetta, although they usually passed the time in reading or prayer. Several times a year, however, the orphanage was roused by an anonymous arrival. As Sister Cristiana lurched into motion, she used her bible to thump the shoulder of the dozing novice sitting next to her. 

"Svegliati! C'è un bambino!"

Before her tired brain had fully processed the statement, the novice's feet were moving towards the other sisters' living quarters.

Taking a deep breath, Sister Cristiana approached the sleeping infant. As the elderly nun laid a gentle hand on the baby's head, the first rays of golden sunlight slipped quietly through the window. Nodding to herself, Cristiana checked the infant over. Unlike some who were left with them, this child seemed healthy. Despite being well cared for, the baby had no note, no name, or any identifying information. Tabula Rasa, thought Cristiana. As day continued to break and bath the room with a golden light, the child seemed to awaken. Taking the child in her arms, Cristiana whispered to the baby girl.

"Ciao figlia di dio Ti chiameremo Oriana. Benvenuto a casa."

Soon, there would be chaos as sisters and novices would each perform their tasks to care for the new child- Oriana. For now, Sister Cristiana simply enjoy the quiet, holding the infant child close and saying a brief, fervent prayer for the baby's mother.

The room smelled pleasantly old, like a well-loved book from another century or a wine cellar passed down through generations. The Church was not perfect, admitted Sister Cristiana, but it would always be Good if it protected places like this. In quiet moments, she was forced to admit that, despite her attendance of daily mass, it was here in the music room that she felt closest to God. The thought sometimes made her feel guilty, but she usually chided herself. How could God's music point anywhere except to Him?

The girls filed in their simple black dresses, mirroring the nuns' habits that the sisters and novices wore. Some of the girls, perhaps, would grow up to become a novice or sister. Many of them would find work with a local family by the time they were fifteen or sixteen. But while they were here, the best of them served God with their voices. The orphanage's choir regularly performed for the Patriarch of Venice, other church officials, and visiting dignitaries. With the guidance of Sister Cristiana, they sounded liked angels.

Eventually.

At the moment, they sounded like a gossiping bunch of girls aged six to twelve. Clearing her throat quieted most of the crowd, and a glare finished off the rest of them. In a few moments, they were practicing. A group of four girls stepped forward and lead the singing, while the other two dozen provided harmonies.

"A solis ortu usque ad occasum
  laudabile nomen Domini."

After a half hour of practicing, she dismissed them. They'd be back in the afternoon, since the next concert just a couple weeks away. As the girls filed out, Sister Cristiana's eyes lingered on Oriana. Officially, of course, none of the sisters picked favorites. Each of the sisters and novices was universally responsible for each girl.. in theory. In practice, they each had a few girls they kept a closer eye on. For Sister Cristiana, Oriana was usually her focus: not only did the girl have a beautiful voice, but she was constantly testing boundaries and rules. The young lady would be a handful, no doubt, but for now things were well under control. 

Sister Cristiana's eyes snapped up.

"Oriana! Questo non è il tuo violino!"

The twelve year old Oriana had her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed at the nun sitting behind the desk. Oriana's grey eyes, filled with such cold concentration, could get any of the other girls to back down, most of the novices, and even one or two of the younger sisters. Sister Cristiana, however, had had far too much practice dealing with Oriana when she was in one of her moods. 

"Perché dovrei essere proibito?" demanded the girl.

"In English," sighed the sister with an air of patience, "as we practiced."

"Some special opportunity for some girls. Why not me?"

"I told you, the chorus is exempt."

"But I don't want to be exempt."

"Well, perhaps you should."

"And why is that?"

Sister Cristiana couldn't hide her frown.

"This man, this government man. Why should he want girls who can run and jump and throw things? It is not right. These girls should not do these things, and I worry about those who go with him."

"If you're so worried, why don't you tell him to scr-"

Sister's eyes flashed up to meet Oriana's.

"-politely leave us alone?" finished the girl.

"The Patriarch himself, the Church, the leaders of our city... they all say to do what the man says. The only thing I can do is make sure the chorus is not interrupted. We are too important, you see, to them. Tourism. Performances for them. You understand."

"I see that part. But why shouldn't I be allowed to try as well? You know that I'm better than the other girls and-"

Sister Cristiana dropped the papers she was pretending to read.

"Yes, Oriana, I know that you are better. If you compete, you will probably leave. Is that what you want?"

"Yes."

The girl said it so quickly that it seemed to take both of them by surprise. Both Sister Cristiana and Oriana reacted like they'd been slapped. It was quiet for a while. For once, Oriana kept her mouth shut as she watched Sister Cristiana process the news.

"Then go."

"Sister, I-"

"I know, Oriana. I know. I just... thought there'd be a few more years."

"I'm sorry, Sister."

Sister Cristiana watched as Oriana pursed her lips, then slowly exited the room. No, she supposed there wasn't much more to say. It was hard to keep a girl locked up that was so desperate for the world. Taking a deep breath, Cristiana returned to pretending to read her papers. She was still there as the novices came to report on what was happening. A government man had come and commandeered the practice room earlier in the day, where he'd set up various challenges for the girls to participate in. The exemplary achievers would leave the orphanage and be provided for, although the details were unclear. Oriana, as Sister Cristiana expected and feared, easily won the challenges of reflexes, speed, and endurance. When it came to pure strength the girl struggled a bit, but still finished respectively. Blinking, Sister Cristiana stood and excused herself.

She took a long walk that ended, unsurprisingly, at Oriana's room. The girl had just finished packing, throwing her few possessions into a government provided suitcase that was far larger than necessary.

"Sister, did you want to meet Mr. Bianchi?"

"No, I don't think I need to. There is nothing I can do to stop him or you, so what is the point?"

"I- thank you, Sister, for everything."

"Oriana, do you remember our talk from the summer? About men?"

"I do."

"Remember it."

"I will. I'll remember it all. Thank you, Sister Cristiana. For my education, for my health, for my safety. Someday, I'll find a way to repay you."

"There is no need."

Oriana buried her face into the Sister's shoulder, most likely to hide her own expression. Cristiana patted the girl on the back and wrapped her arms around her. It was a heartbreaking moment, and she was glad that Oriana couldn't see her face either.

"Write, Oriana, when you can. And live. Be good."

They didn't let go of each other for a long time.

Francesco Bianchi allowed himself to daydream as he watched the sun climb over the Dolomites; the mountains loomed in the distance above the compound, offering a striking, secluded landscape. The small collection of buildings nestled here in the mountains would, Bianchi knew, either be the site of his greatest triumph or the end of his career- possibly his life.

As the black car pulled to a stop, Bianchi stood and smooth out his suit. As soon as the white haired man exited the car two imposing men in suits flanked him. Bianchi took deep breath and spoke.

"Ministro Corratini, siamo onorati della sua visita e-"

"In English, please. My guards have a security clearance, but I'd prefer they focus on doing their jobs and not listening."

"Minister Corratini. Your visit honors me, and I look forward to showing you the many of successes of the program."

"I hope so, Bianchi, for your sake. A black budget doesn't mean you get to flush money down the toilet," barked the Minister. "When it came out just how much you've spent in the last five years without a single benefit to show for it... well, you'd better hope you have something worthwhile today."

They walked in silence for a few steps as Bianchi settled himself.

"I'm sure, Minister, that you're aware of the basics of our project here?"

"Of course. Train orphans into resources and use them. Except you've never actually used them. Minor intelligence gathering, but nothing important."

"You said yourself, Minister, of the investment into this project- we didn't want to risk losing any-"

"And that's another thing. What the hell are you spending all this money on anyways? How many girls do you have here?"

"Thirteen, Minister."

"They can't be that expensive to feed. Clothe. Where's the money going, Bianchi?"

"Training, mostly. We want each of these girls to be able to handle themselves in nearly any situation, to be able to blend in anywhere. We have trainers in most European languages, mathematics, literature, history, the arts, the classics, charm, etiquette-"

"Those hardly sound like practical skills for field agents, excepting languages."

"Imagine infiltrating the upper class without knowing how to speak or having anything to discuss. And, of course, they have extensive combat training. Hand to hand. Knives. Marksmanship in pistols and rifles. Poisons. Basic medical training."

For the first time, Minister Corratini had a respectful silence. 

"I want to see them. How old are they now?"

"Most are eighteen. Some of seventeen. And of course you can see them, Minister. They should be arriving shortly."

It would have been nice, thought Bianchi, if the girls had shown up immediately as he said that. Unfortunately, it took another two or three minutes of awkward small talk before the girls made their appearance. When they did, however, it was worth the wait. They materialized from the mountain air like birds of prey, moving silently as they ran in formation. As they approached, Bianchi held up his hand and they stopped, moving from a full sprint to standing at attention. Without prompting, they arranged themselves in a line for inspection. They girls looked very different; they were a mixture of body types, hair color, and expressions. But as they smoothed out their black jumpsuits, straightened their back, and stared forward they nevertheless seemed as one.

The minister looked them over with a stern expression. By the end of the line, he was nodding. 

"Well, Bianchi, they certainly look the part, at least."

"I know you'll be impressed, Minister."

"Time to see what they can do."

"Of course. We've arranged several stations inside to demonstrate how-"

"That's not necessary. My guards are well trained. They didn't have charm classes, but they're veterans. Soldiers. Skilled fighters. You, step forward."

Bianchi couldn't hide his frown as the minister pointed at the smallest of the girls, Lucia. Oriana, standing next to Lucia, immediately stepped forward, as if the Minister had been pointing at her instead. The Minister hesitated for a moment, studying the beautiful, dark-haired young woman who seemed so eager. After appraising her, he shrugged.

"Girl, please disable these guards."

A grin began to creep across Oriana's face.

"Without using any weapons."

The grin faded, replaced by a stone face and hardened grey eyes.

The guards didn't react. Did they not speak English? Possible. Either that or they were exceptionally well trained. The Minister had mentioned they were soldiers. Oriana felt Lucia's finger trace a line down her back, urging her forward. No hesitation.

Oriana took off in a sprint toward the two guards, wishing more than anything that she could reach for her knife or her gun. 

She was a fast runner, but sprinting at a bodyguard tends to put them on the alert. Still, she could hear the tone in the minister's voice. He wanted to be impressed; he was, perhaps, even hoping that she would fail. No, she had to do this the hard way.

As she approached the first guard, he had already assumed a defensive position. Using the speed she'd built up running, Oriana launched herself into the air with a half-hearted kick towards the man's chest. Even if she'd been trying to land it, he would have mostly blocked it. He was so focused on that kick, however, that her other foot landed in his groin. As she fell on her back, the man doubled over towards her, and she kicked up towards his head to send him on the ground. Standing, she was able to deliver three kicks to the man's face before the other guard arrived in the fray.

Hoping she'd immobilized the first one, Oriana turned her attention to the second, who was now in a full defensive stance with his fists raised. 

He was a good fighter- that much was obvious from the way he carried himself. They traded initial jabs that didn't land, and Oriana grimaced. This would take too long. There was no doubt in her mind that she could put this man on the ground without taking a single punch... but it would take a few minutes to wear him down. Her grey eyes darted to Francesco Bianchi, who seemed only slightly nervous. He needed this.

Quick and dirty, then.

For the next thirty seconds, Oriana began a series of punches and kicks that seemed like they were conducted by a maestro; there was a rhythm to them that Sister Cristiana would be proud of. In launching her attacks, Oriana absorbed several punches. Like a chess move that draws out an opponent's pieces, she drew the bodyguard out further and further. When the final blow slipped through his defenses- a punch to his throat that threatened to collapse his windpipe- the guard barely had time to react. As he dropped, Oriana glanced furtively between the two guards, but they were both out of commission.

Silence reigned for a moment.

"And they can all do that?" questioned the minister. Francesco Bianchi couldn't help but smile as he replied.

"No. Not that. But they're nearly as skilled."

"What's your name, girl?"

"Oriana."

"Oriana what?"

The beautiful young woman just shook her head.

"Ah. Of course. I'll go watch your other demonstrations now, Bianchi, but this was... impressive. Consider yourself funded for one more year. When these girls are all eighteen, they'll begin working to repay the investment that their country has made in them. Understood?"

Bianchi's eyes gleamed with triumph.

"Of course, Minister."

"You- Oriana. Go get yourself cleaned up. You'll be dining with myself and Mr. Bianchi later."

She nodded and, bowing, made her way back to the girls. They swarmed around her like a protective cocoon, and Oriana felt Lucia reach out and give her hand a squeeze. Oriana would have to see the nursing staff. And, frankly, dinner was much more intimidating than a fight.

Francesco Bianchi was walking on air; he felt like he could float up back to the main building. Instead, he forced himself to stand and wave at the departing Minister's car as it pulled out into the night, in an inverse of his anxious waiting that morning. When he finally turned to head back, he flashed a grin at Oriana, stopping in his tracks.

"You were wonderful today. Absolutely wonderful."

"Thank you," she grinned. 

"Stepping in for Lucia was risky. I feared that the minister would double down, force her to fight."

Oriana shrugged, seemingly unsure of what to say. They headed back inside together as Francesco continued.

"And after dinner? I've never seen a man so charmed in my life. He would have given you anything you'd asked for. I expect that he'll extend our funding even more when he returns to Roma."

"Does that mean we'll have more time to train?"

"We've been over this, Oriana. As it stands, you're all ready. But with half the group underage, the political ramifications of sending children, even orphans, into a dangerous situation... it's just not a risk the government is willing to take. Why would you want to delay even further? Aren't you eager to put your skills to good use?"

Oriana hesitated before replying. Her face was a mask, but Francesco had been with her for years, watching her learn how to employ that mask. He read her like a book.

"You don't want to split up the group."

She seemed relieved that he'd said it.

"No, Signor Bianchi, I don't. We're all very close and-"

Francesco stopped her with the slightest raised hand.

"I'll tell you what- and you can tell the other girls this, too. Although you're all capable of working independently... we'll start exploring group dynamics. Working in small teams of four to six. When we're eventually deployed, there may be solo missions as needed, but... we'll work on keeping you at least somewhat together. No promises. But we'll explore it, run some practice scenarios."

Oriana had practically leaped out of her shoes, but tried to temper her reaction. The force of her smile or the light in her eyes seemed to knock Francesco back on his heels for a moment, and they were both silent for a moment as they continued walking. When they reached Oriana's room, Francesco turned to her. Hesitating for a moment, he gently raised his open hand to her face and brushed a strand of chestnut hair back behind her ear. Oriana looked at him with eyes that seemed slightly wider than they'd been a minute ago. As he dropped his hand to his side, he looked at her and whispered before he walked away.

"Sei così bella ... la mia creazione più bella."

Pietro Sabbatini cursed his shoes. They were brand new, and they squeaked every time he took a step. In the silent building, it felt like everyone could hear him walking down the hallway. What a first day on the job. His new boss, Bruno, was doing his best to ignore the sound. Pietro was about to apologize for the shoes when both men froze. Four young women had appeared, wrapped in bathrobes and towels as they made their way down the hall from the baths to their living quarters. Pietro's mouth must have dropped open, because at least two of the girls laughed at him before they disappeared.

Bruno had grabbed his tie before Pietro could say a thing.

"Listen, kid. Listen. Listen. Don't even think about it. Don't even dream about it. Every one of those girls could kill you with a toothpick, and they've been 'solving problems' for the government for years now. And the last guy who went and knocked on their door... we never saw him again. I know you've got your security clearance checked out, so you can obviously keep a secret; if you're working this gig, you need to forget you ever saw them." 

Staring for a moment, Pietro nodded.

"Good. And kid... get some new shoes, huh?"

Francesco Bianchi stood at the front of the room like an artist at a gallery showing. His girls were all in the same room for the first time in years. Two? Three? Four? It was hard to remember. The Minister of the Interior had used them for so many missions that it was easy to lose track. Nine of them were still alive- a testament to their skill and training. 

"Ladies," he purred, enjoying the way that the silence immediately descended on the room, "if you'll take your seats, we'll begin."

He watched them as they took their seats and looked up at him, curious. He didn't leave them waiting long.

"We have a new mission- one assigned by the Minister of the Interior himself. All of you will be working together."

Even with their practiced discipline, the girls couldn't help but glance at each other.

"In the last few years, you've worked in well-rounded teams. Moving forward, we'll have three teams with more specific roles. Marta, Lucia, and Beatrice: i conigli. You will be responsible for infiltration and gathering information. Beatrice, you'll lead the team."

Beatrice kept her face emotionless; the short-haired young woman simply nodded once. 

"Vittoria, you will lead the next team, which will consist of Paola and Ginevra: i lupi. No more sneaking around for the three of you, thankfully. You'll be armored up and ready to deploy on the heavy jobs where direct action is necessary. The Minister has also expressed a desire for visually striking bodyguards, which should be easy enough work for the three of you."

"The last team will be il gatte. Oriana will lead Viola and Serena."

Francesco paused.

"And what will we do?" asked Oriana, gently disturbing the silence.

"Whatever is necessary. Cats, after all, are versatile. You will work with both groups, depending on where more assistance is needed. I expect that you'll most often be with il conigli, acting on the information that they gather."

Oriana looked like she was about to say something else, but she seemed to catch her words in between her teeth and smiled. Francesco couldn't help but return it, despite the disquiet in his heart.

Sunlight slipped through the window, illuminating bright white sheets strewn lazily across the large bed. Clothes, guns, and radios were scattered around the room. 

"How long have I been a rabbit, Ori?"

Oriana audibly sighed.

"Two years. Seven months. Eight days."

Lucia furrowed her brow.

"Is... that accurate?"

"No, but it's close enough. Do you really want to have this discussion again? Now?"

"It just irks me. I know I can't fight as well as you. But I'm still good. Am I going to spend my whole life as a rabbit? Gathering information and then calling you to do the actual work?"

Oriana shrugged, moving Lucia's head slightly.

"Lu, it's not like we're working for a normal company here. You can't just put in for a promotion."

"Easy for you to say, boss."

Silence slowly devoured the room. After a few minutes of quiet, Oriana stood and made her way to the bathroom, closing the door harder than she needed to. 

"She went rogue."

"She saw an opportunity and took advantage of it."

"Oriana, this is not your decision. Lucia had strict orders to call you in when the information was acquired. She ignored those orders, tried to do the job on her own, and failed."

"Francesco, I-"

They both stopped walking; Oriana dropped her hand from Francesco's chest.

"... I fixed it. The mission was still handled. There's no long term danger."

Francesco studied Oriana carefully, and she looked back at him. The man hadn't seemed to age much since she'd first met him as a child, but the grey that had begun at his temples had started to outnumber his dark hairs. When he frowned, as he was now, the lines near his eyes became more clear.

"If you can honestly tell me that one of our agents-"

Our agents?

"-disobeying orders isn't a long term threat, then I'm reconsidering your position."

Oriana just stared back at him for a moment, before they resumed walking and Francesco continued to speak.

"I know it's not the first time she's done this. One of the other conigli made me aware of London. And Budapest."

Fucking Beatrice.

As they turned the corner, Francesco stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders, just as he did when she was a girl. It threw her off-center for a moment, just as she assumed he'd intended. Still, she kept her grey eyes steady as she looked up at him- albeit not as much as she'd looked up to him years ago.

"She's off the team, Oriana."

He must have seen something flash in her eyes, because he quickly continued.

"And so is Ginevra. Medical condition. We'll be restructuring again. The Minister is concerned about the future of Europe, particularly England, France, Germany, and Austria. He's decided to shift our priorities to infiltrate each of these governments and acquire as much information as possible. You'll be operating largely independently, and I-"

"Francesco... that's not a restructure. That's a complete redefinition of the program. Couldn't you fight it? Hasn't the work we've done been... worth it? Worth something?"

"I could have fought it, I supposed. The Minister offered me a new position, one that I frankly couldn't and didn't want to decline. My project was a success, Oriana, and it will continue to be a success. You will all continue to do good work for your country. Besides, you must admit that you're all- that some of the other girls... other women... are getting harder to control. When you were all seventeen, each of you would have run through a wall for me. Done anything I asked without hesitation. Now, you ask why. You second guess me.  I don't just mean you, of course. You're the best of them, as you've always been."

Oriana was stunned into silence. She nodded, and Francesco rested her hands on her shoulders again. He slid them down the sides of her arms, letting them linger near her hips for just a moment before letting go.  

Tonight, too? No, he was turning.

"Go back to your room, Oriana. In the morning, everything will make more sense."

She nodded, forcing a smile.

Ten minutes later she'd picked the door to the medlab. Locking the door behind her, Oriana silently made her way toward the single occupant of the dark. Her whisper cut the darkness, causing the figure to turn and blink.

"Gin! You awake?"

"I am now, Ori. What's going on?"

"... a lot. But I'll have time to figure it out tomorrow. Right now, I just wanted to check on you. What happened? Catch a bullet?"

Ginevra cracked a sad smile before resting her hand under her belly button. Oriana stared for a moment, then her eyes went wide.

"Gin... who? I mean, was there anyone else, or-"

"No. No one else."

"So what... what happens now?"

"I don't know, Ori. I'm just waiting. I think I'm off the team and-"

"You are."

"Oh."

"Sorry."

At the sound of footsteps outside, Oriana melted into the shadows. Francesco walked in, pausing to lock them door behind him. Without saying a word, he moved to sit on the side of Ginevra's bed and began stroking her hair. Oriana's spine stiffened and her breathing halted for a moment. Ginevra didn't move. Pretending to be asleep, thought Oriana. It's what I would do. 

Francis reached into his pocket and he removed a syringe. Leaning forward, he whispered into Ginevra's ear before inserting the needle into her arm, depressing the plunger, and returning it carefully to his pocket. Francesco and Ginevra exchanged a few more gentle words and a kiss before he stood to leave. Oriana stared, frozen in the shadows. It was a few minutes after Francesco had left before she could quiet her mind and force herself to move, fighting battles with anger and a jealousy that she recognized as twisted. She stalked over to Ginevra with narrowed eyes, reaching out and grabbing the girl's shoulder to pull her.

"So. How long have you been-"

Ginevra was cold. Not breathing. 

Francesco?

With a sharp intake of breath, Oriana checked the arm where Francesco had inserted the needle. No bruising. No sign of what poison it might be. As quietly as she could, Oriana rummaged through the available medicines. Without knowing what had been done... every curse she knew ran through Oriana's brain as she made her best guess and drove the needle through Ginevra's collarbone. A slim chance that it would help, but... without finishing her thought, Oriana began praying for the first time in almost a decade. 

By the end of her prayer, Ginevra's skin was starting to grow cold. At one point, Oriana kissed her hair and, with furious tears streaming down her face, exited into the hallway. She moved to her room, gathering her guns, knives, money, and the very few mementos she owned. Silent as a ghost, she moved toward Lucia's room. Without knocking, she let herself in.

Lucia was in bed reading a book; she looked up with a mischievous grin as she put the book down, but Oriana's faced drove the grin away.

"Ori... what's wrong?"

Dropping the bag, Oriana rushed to Lucia and spoke in her ear.

"Francesco killed Ginevra. She was pregnant. You're being 'removed' from the team as well. We need to leave. Now. Get your things."

"Ori, I... no!"

Oriana was moving instincitively, leaning back and quick-drawing her gun at the door- at Vittoria, Marta, and Paola. They were all holding guns as well, and they froze when they saw Oriana. Paola muttered something; was it just her imagination, or did it sound like "said was supposed to be alone?"

"Hey." Oriana said the word casually, lowering the gun slightly.

"Hey yourself. You're not supposed to be here. And why are you pointing a gun at us?"

"Why do you have your guns out?"

"No reason. Just wanted to scare Lucia. Send a message that she fucked up."

"Well. Message received. Goodnight, ladies."

No one moved. No one spoke. 

When she couldn't take it any more, Oriana broke the silence.

"Did Francesco send you?"

Vittoria nodded.

"To kill Lucia?"

Vittoria paused, then nodded slightly again. All three girls at the door seemed to hold their gun tighter, although they were still aimed at the floor.

"So why the guns, then?"

"He said you might be here."

"And what were you supposed to do, if you found me?"

"Whatever it takes."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Us too."

"We don't have to fight. Let Lucia and I walk out and-"

All three girls at the door shook their heads. 

"We don't have to do this."

There was a long pause.

"Ori, just get up and walk out of the room. It's the only way."

After a moment, Oriana nodded. And moved. 

She was faster than the other girls- and a better shot, although Vittoria was a close second. Oriana's first two shots went into Vittoria, but even as she shifted her aim toward Paola Oriana resigned herself to death. She could have been any one of them. But three?

Oriana and Paola shot each other simultaneously, both falling backwards. Oriana landed on Lucia's bed while Paola collapsed in the hallway. Marta, the least threatening of the three, had nevertheless had the most time to react and aim. Oriana could hear Lucia shooting and, although she had trouble moving her head, tried to aim her hand toward the doorway and pull the trigger, guessing where Marta would be.

Then everything went black.

When she woke up, Oriana was on a bus. A bump in the road had knocked her head against the window; she winced, more from the sharp pains her side than anything. Someone had stitched her up. Hopefully they'd taken the bullet out first. She blinked.

Cazzo.

Where was Lucia? What had happened with the other girls? Francesco?

Even thinking the name caused Oriana's fist to clench. 

With a deep breath, she scanned the bus. No one suspicious looking, not that that was any real reassurance. She wanted to ask where the bus was going, but that'd stand out too much.

No, she'd just stay alert- be ready when they arrived at whatever their destination was.

The bus lulled her to sleep before they'd traveled another couple miles.

The sun hesitantly approached the Venetian horizon, almost as if it were trying to give more time to the woman shuffling along through the still-empty streets. The woman's grey cloak matched the pre-morning light as she plodded along the sidewalk. Her shawl was drawn tightly to cover her face. She kept her eyes downcast toward the pavement and her arm pressed against the wound at her side. Her rhythmic breathing halted when the Ospedale della Pieta came into view. 

She glanced around her as she moved toward the front door, beginning the process of picking the lock before she remembered that it was always left open for those in need. As she slipped inside and closed the door behind her without a sound, she entered one of the most surreal ten minutes of her life. Exhausted and wounded, she nevertheless felt like she was ten years old again. Novices and sisters would occasionally make their way through the halls and Oriana found herself hiding in all the old corners, closets, and crannies that she did as a child. By the time she made it to Sister Cristiana's room, she was barely standing up. Lurching inside, she managed to close the door behind as she felt herself losing consciousness. The bed was too far away, so she sank down to the ground to ensure she wouldn't fall and hit her head as the world went black.

Blinking awake, Oriana found herself lying in a bed with Sister Cristiana's hand in hers. Immediately, the young woman tried to force herself to a sitting position, but the elderly nun held her down. Well, that wasn't a good sign for her strength.

God, Cristiana looked old. The eyes were the same, but the woman looked... hollowed out. The extra weight the sister had carried on her hips and face had evaporated. Oriana couldn't help but stare.

"I know. I'm old. You aren't exactly in perfect shape yourself, you know."

"What happened?"

"I was hoping you would tell me. I returned from the choir to find you lying dead against the wall- or so it seemed. Sister Gaia has been caring for you for the past three days."

"If I've been here three days, then you're all in danger."

Sister Cristiana shrugged, as if Oriana had asked her what she wanted for lunch. Oriana once again made a motion to sit up and was held in check by the nun.

"Sit. Sister Gaia said that you'd been shot. More than that, whoever patched you up had done a poor job of it. Internal bleeding."

"Isn't that where the blood's supposed to be?"

Cristiana shot Oriana a look, but they shared a small smile before it faded from Oriana's face.

"Sister, you are in danger. Everyone here. I need to leave as soon as I can."

Reading Oriana's face more than listening to the words, Sister Cristiana nodded.

"Of course. I'll prepare what you'll need, and then myself and Sister Gaia will travel somewhere more secluded with you. When you're healthy, you'll be on your way. That's the best you're going to get, Oriana. Don't fight it."

Pausing for a moment, Oriana eventually nodded.

Later that night, Oriana awoke to the sound of breaking glass. She was out of bed in a minute, moving slowly toward her things and re-arming herself with guns and knives. She was far from perfect, but she did feel stronger. It had been years since she prayed, but she quickly begged God to protect the children and sisters of the orphanage.

She would not, however, leave the matter in His hands alone.

Francesco walked through the front door of the orphanage with fire in his eyes. His long coat billowed behind him as the three young women took up their positions around him.

Cazzo. What a mess.

Still, it was salvageable. Oriana was confused. Hurt. But she could be returned to the fold. She, along with Beatrice, Viola, and Serena, could then begin their long term intelligence assignments; one per country was all that was really needed.

"Viola, stay with me. Beatrice, Serena, find her. Bring her to me so that we can talk."

He strode through the main hall as two of the women melted away from his side into the shadows. 

"What is happening here?"

Francesco turned to the nun who'd approached him and offered his best smile.

"Good evening. My name is Francesco Bianchi, Department of the Interior. You have a young woman with you who's been injured. She's quite confused, and we need to find her to help her."

He narrowed his eyes and the sound of broken glass and cursing, walking towards it immediately.

"What happened? Beatrice, explain."

"This old woman hit Serena with a vase. She went after her again, so I knifed her. I wasn't thinking."

Francesco glared at her.

"No. You were not. I expect more from you. And now," he dropped his voice, "we're going to have clean up this debacle, remove witnesses..."

Viola began to look bothered. Her expression only worsened as a gunshot rang out and a bullet struck Beatrice in the forehead. Beatrice looked confused for a moment, almost as if she was trying to say something, before she dropped to the floor.

"Francesco!"

Oriana's voice sounded like it was coming from the main hall; Francesco, Viola, and Serena had taken cover, unsure where the shot had come from.

"I didn't mean to kill that nun- that was an accident!"

Francesco pursed his lips. She was loud enough for the whole building to hear her... what was she doing? Of course. Taking responsibility for killing the nun would turn up the heat on herself, but it meant that the rest of the orphanage had nothing that needed to be covered up. If Oriana was desperate to protect them, he could use that. 

"Turn yourself in, Oriana! Or these people will get hurt! You're not well- you're confused!"

"Where's Lucia?!"

"Dead!"

"I don't believe you!"

"It's true, Ori!" shouted Viola. "She went crazy! Killed Ginevra, Vittoria, Marta, and Paola- and she shot you too! Don't you remember?"

"She's not dead! She-"

Oriana's voice broke. Viola continued.

"She threatened to kill you! Grabbed a gun and forced the doctors to operate on you, then drove off with you! She came back to the compound to try to kill the rest of us and... well, it was self defense! We had to!"

Oriana was silent. Francesco raised his voice.

"I know things are confusing, Oriana! You're not remembering things correctly. You're confused. Scared. Let us help you. Let me help you."

It was silent for a long time; Francesco kept waiting for a reply, holding the other girls in place with a look. But they didn't hear anything, other than the approaching sirens. Cazzo. What a mess. 

They'd duck the cops and get out of the city. They'd find Oriana, and they'd fix this. He still had Viola and Serena. His cats. And Oriana, too. He'd get her back, return her to where she belonged.