fess up, vico

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While Adamo certainly had a habit of keeping people waiting, he was still a man of his word. He and Vico didn't have any missions to worry about for a good few days, so he took the opportunity to buy that wine he had mentioned to his partner a few weeks back. (Their previous missions had actually treated him pretty well, financially, but that was probably because he had sticky fingers when handling the nobler targets.) Vico had picky tastes, though, and the bottle he bought probably wasn't up to his par, but it would have to do. It wasn't the cheapest, nor the most expensive.

"Vico?" Adamo called as he emerged from the tunnel entrance, turning the corner. The bureau was always quiet by midday, the assassins usually away doing their assigned duties. (Except for a few unlucky ones in the armory who were cleaning. They must've angered Machiavelli.)

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"Sono qui," came Vico's voice, distracted judging by the tone of it, from the inner chambers of the Tiber Island headquarters. He was standing near the Maestro's desk, discussing something quietly with one of the older assassins, a man named Giuletto that was a few years their senior, having been one of the first that the Grandmaster had recruited. He was a Master Assassin by now, probably imparting some advice or information to Vico, who simply waved Adamo over when he appeared in the doorway.