The slow sound of blood dripping to the dirtied, concrete floor echoed around the warehouse. Anton could hear nothing but the sound of his own heavy breathing, almost panting, his heart racing. His nose was broken - he was sure of it - so he had to gasp for air through his mouth to avoid the pain; what time was it?

He'd only been here for a couple of hours; arms numb now, from the tight ropes strapping him to the chair. Didn't even have to look up to know that there were guns pointed at him.

Still light outside. No chance to escape.

He was going to die here. That was the price of becoming a traitor, for running; the price of spying. A rat.

Anton stared at his ripped trousers, dirty with mud and dust and blood, through his swollen eyes; he hadn't slept in days. It was hard to run from a mafia family. No time to sleep, to rest, just keep moving - always moving - like a rat in a maze, always being watched and never finding a way out.

It was the only way. Romano wouldn't have waited for an excuse, any explanation he could come up with; as soon as Anton had heard that they thought he was a spy, he ran. He was stupid enough to think he could make it out alive - try to leave the country - but they found him.

So he'd confess. He was going to die anyway, and at least if he told them what they wanted to hear, it would be quick. Painless. As simple as falling asleep.

Drip. Drip.

The blood spattered the floor, forming a small puddle - only the size of a coin or so. He knew that soon there would be a lake of blood, enough for him to drown in. He didn't want to die - but he wouldn't be given a choice.

It was him, he was the rat.

I am the rat, he repeated in his mind, over and over, practising his lines for his final performance.

I am the rat.

---

Cee stared at Flo's eyes, stared at the picture. It was definitely her, despite the bruising. She looked terrified, one eye wide. A sickly, purple bruise was spreading across her jaw, blood smeared across her mouth; her head was shaved roughly, clumps of hair sticking out haphazardly - one of her eyes was swollen shut. She looked broken - she didn't even look like she was wearing any clothes.

She hadn't realised she was crying until a horrified tear slipped down her cheek, splashing against the table.

A little encouragement.

While she'd been sipping hot chocolate with Niccolò, Flo had been beaten within an inch of her life, humiliated and hurt-

A little encouragement.

She was no closer to finding any files - not that she'd even tried to log into Niccolò's laptop - she'd wasted all that time getting drunk-

A little encouragement.

She ran to the kitchen sink, just in time to throw up; acidic, foul-tasting liquid swirled down the drain as her stomach lurched painfully. She could hear a roaring sound in her ears; she gripped the edge of the kitchen surface until her knuckles turned white but nothing stopped the sick, heavy, painful throbbing in her lungs. She'd let Flo down.

Not yet, she told herself fiercely. You still have time.

Shakily, she lowered herself to the floor, her legs giving out: she hit the floor with a soft bump. Across the room, the bouquet loomed menacingly, its shadow crawling up the wall and choking the light from the sun. She had to find those files, and she had to find them fast.

Choking back tears, Cee pulled herself to her feet as soon as the room stopped spinning and dancing around her, mocking her; she wiped a hand across her mouth, washing the taste of bile out quickly under the tap. Find the laptop. Find the files. Find Flo.

Almost dizzy, she span away, nearly tripping over her feet as she headed towards Niccolò's bedroom. It was the first place she could think he would keep anything private. Stumbling through the doorway was the first hurdle; she crossed the invisible boundary, crossing a line.

His room was immaculate, as was everything he owned; Niccolò didn't like mess, and he didn't like loose ends. Cee swept her eyes across the room, scanning for the laptop - he'd be so angry if he knew - but she couldn't see it.

Maybe it would be by his bedside. Maybe he kept it with him at all times. Maybe if she just told him - warned him that they were going to hurt Flo and Angela - maybe he'd help her?

"What are you doing?" Cee turned abruptly, nearly losing her balance as Stefano eyed her suspiciously, glancing past her to the empty room. There was a moment where she opened her mouth and forgot, just for a moment, how to speak; what was she doing? She was betraying the man who'd protected her now for weeks, going against her morals - but she was trying to save two lives.

"Looking for Niccolò's laptop," she answered suddenly, forcing a bright smile. "I'm finishing my training online." The lie came so easily to her, so naturally, that she felt sick to her stomach. For a second, Stefano stared at her, his eyes narrowed; he looked like he was tempted to turn her in - like he knew she was a traitor.

"Right," he murmured, managing a half-smile. "I'll leave you to it."

Cee breathed a sigh of relief as she watched him turn around, heading back towards the kitchen; she backed into Niccolò's room, heading straight for the small desk in the corner. Even if she didn't have his laptop, maybe she could find some files instead - anything - to try to bargain with.

Standing there, in front of the desk, Cee realised she had no idea where to start. There were a couple of files left out on the table - mostly about the ownership of warehouses and buildings, from the looks of it - and when she tried the small draw of the desk, it was locked. Of course it was locked. Niccolò wasn't stupid.

Quickly, she flipped through the paperwork left out; there were two legal documents about the leasing of property, a lease report and a contract - but nothing incriminating. It didn't prove his business associates, wasn't to do with his financial information and didn't tell her anything about anyone Niccolò was keeping locked away.

Irritated, she shook the draw, hoping by some miracle the lock slipped and the draw would burst open, spilling out documents and files and bank account details. But it didn't, and she was left, frustrated, without any idea of what to do next.

It was an impossible task. Cee wandered towards the far side of Niccolò's bed, the bed she'd slept in twice - once with him, and once without. Niccolò wouldn't be stupid enough to leave important files out, or have a laptop or phone without a password - how was she meant to collect this information?

Maybe, she thought suddenly, stumbling into the bed and sitting down, her eyes wide. Maybe they didn't want her to succeed; it was a deliberately impossible. It was a test to get her to meet with an enemy, to go behind Niccolò's back. She would be putting herself in the hands of the enemy - who already had two hostages. Three hostages? Niccolò would falter.

Or at least, Cee thought he would.

She'd been stupid, thinking that she could do this alone; she needed Niccolò - she needed to tell him, be honest with him - explain she had been doing this to save Flo and Angela. She hadn't stolen any files, she hadn't given away anything.

Cee stood up, her mind set, her expression determined. She had to tell Niccolò - immediately. There was a second spy in his family, they'd tried to blackmail her, and they had both Angela and Flo - she even knew an address for one of their warehouses - Niccolò would sort it out.

As she moved towards the lift, she reached automatically for the key card that she'd left on the kitchen table - by the flowers - but her fingers met open air; she paused. The key card wasn't where she thought she'd left it. Cee scanned the table top, looked around the kitchen - she was not doing this whole escape thing again - once had been enough.

Thinking quickly, she knew she had a spare in her room - for emergencies - and this was definitely an emergency. Hurrying now, Cee turned back towards her room, knowing it would be in her bedside table - she didn't have time for this -

She threw open the door and screeched abruptly to a halt.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Stefano, who had been staring out of the window, turned to face her, an indescribable look on his face; she looked helplessly to her bedside table and back to him. Cee opened her mouth to answer, before pausing, her eyes narrowing.

"Why are you in my room?"

---

Luca watched the traitor, his arms folded across his chest, listening to the faint sound of blood hitting the floor. Anton had been found trying to leave the country, smuggling himself across on a ferry heading East - but the Romanos had informants everywhere.

Money doesn't buy happiness, but it bought information and loyalty - from politicians to police. And when Anton had been found hiding in a shipment along with a couple of other petty criminals, a little bird had tweeted in Luca's ear. The chief of police would be getting an anonymous bonus mysteriously in the next month.

Anton twitched suddenly, jerking at his restraints as he coughed up thick blood, spattering on the floor. Holding himself back, Luca narrowed his eyes; he always had to remember that this man was no longer family - this man was a rat. There was nothing that could redeem him.

When the sound of approaching footsteps broke the muffled silence, Luca almost smiled; the traitor should know that it was the sound of his inevitable death coming. This was the price of his lie.

Anton looked up, finally, knowing that he had to sell his excuses, had to beg for his life.

Luca barely recognised his cousin as he walked in, his presence suffocating the room; this was the Romano Don that everyone feared. This was why he ran such a profitable organisation: he terrified the living daylights out of everyone. All eyes were on him, waiting for his next move - every man in the room, besides the traitor, would die for their boss. He exuded raw, unfiltered power, especially in moments like these, and no one was safe from him.

Elias joined Luca, standing just behind his shoulder, waiting for orders. Their attention was on Niccolò - to see what he would do next. Niccolò was shrugging off his overcoat, leaving it neatly folded in half on one of the thousands of boxes in the warehouse. Only Luca noticed the slight quiver in his hand, the flex that meant Niccolò was barely managing to hold back his anger - the hint of his sheer fury.

"Mr Romano." To Luca's surprise, it was Anton who spoke first, pleading immediately for his life. He didn't get far. One look from Niccolò and he fell silent.

"Who were you spying for?" Niccolò kept his eyes on Anton's, watching a spark of defensiveness flare up.

"You'll have to kill me, sir." The Don noticed how his voice shook - he had something to lose then. A man at the end of the line, with nothing left, is not scared of death. Anton, on the other hand, was scared.

"Why do they want to kill Camilla?" Luca noticed how Anton almost flinched at Niccolò's rough, low voice; tensing - as if he hadn't known.

"I- I can't tell you." Elias rolled his eyes, stepping forward to confer with Niccolò; Anton could only just spot him out of the corner of his eye - but flinched, almost comically. He'd seen Elias at work, seen what he did to people; although Niccolò masterminded the organisation, Elias was his interrogator. Elias played with knives like people played chess; he was calculating, making deliberate actions over and over until the opponent lost the game.

"Sir," Elias murmured, keeping it respectful while Niccolò looked so unhinged. For a second, Luca thought Niccolò was going to hit Elias - but instead, he watched as Niccolò turned abruptly and drove his fist right into Anton's already bloodied, broken nose.

Anton's cry echoed in the warehouse, bouncing off the walls and windows; it looked like it hurt. Niccolò stepped back, surveying his handiwork and nodding to Elias.

"Tell me why they want her," Niccolò asked angrily, watching as Elias drew a knife from his belt, approaching Anton with an odd expression of complete calm. "Why did they blow up her apartment?"

"I don't know," Anton pleaded, straining against the rope that bound him to the wooden chair, his hands strapped by his sides. "I don't know!" he insisted, twisting his torso desperately to escape from Elias's knife - but he couldn't.

Luca watched on grimly as Anton began screaming: a long, drawn-out screech of pain. There was nothing brave about watching, nothing satisfying or gratifying, but to Luca, it meant nothing. Watching someone scream in pain without feeling anything wasn't a talent, but it was something that meant he survived in this game.

Elias slipped the knife back into his belt, after wiping it clean on Anton's trousers: a neat letter, 'R', was carved into his chest. It was easier to pretend that the blood was fake - that this was part of an elaborate film stunt, that the knife was secretly blunt and that somehow a makeup crew had managed to create a prosthetic - that Elias wasn't cutting into human flesh.

But Luca watched as the blood ran down Anton's torso and ruined shirt, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. It was easier to pretend it wasn't real, to pretend that he wasn't a bad person for letting this torture happen - Niccolò may not care about his humanity, nor Elias, but Luca did. Deep down, he did care.

"Who are you working for?" Anton looked pale, like he was about to faint; his nose looked mangled - the swelling increasing by the second.

"No one," he forced out, visibly shaking with terror. "I-" He cut himself off, refusing to say another word. Luca watched his expression: a mix of guilt, fear and pain - it was unusual. He knew something - he was hiding something - but was refusing to give it up.

"Elias." The assassin stepped forward, his knife raised; this time, Luca looked away. It wasn't the blood that had him turning away - it was the tears. Often rats pissed themselves in the interrogation process; it wasn't pretty, but sometimes they cried. Some prayed, for a God that wasn't listening, some begged, and some cried. Anton was a crier.

When Luca next looked, the man in the chair was slumped, limp; he'd fainted. Elias finished off his masterpiece, pouting like a child when he realised that Anton hadn't been conscious for the second letter: 'A'.

"We've barely started," he mumbled, trudging back over to Luca grumpily. Elias was a child; verging on psychopathy. Killing and injuring were his two forms of communication - he spoke with blood and actions.

Luca watched his cousin wipe a hand over his face roughly, clearly furious; but Luca had an idea.

When Anton woke up, his chest was on fire; he managed a groan of pain, lifting his head. In front of him, the younger Romano was crouching, waiting for him to wake up.

"Anton," he murmured in a low voice, out of earshot of the boss. "We know there's someone else involved." Luca kept their eyes locked as Anton began to shudder, tears slipping out endlessly: he'd been right. "Just tell me - just me," Luca added, as Anton began to shake his head. "And we'll let you live."

"No," Anton hissed, through his pain, through the blood and sweat and tears. "I'd rather die." Luca sighed, standing up straight. He hoped Anton would be sensible - but obviously that was too much to ask.

"Elias," Luca mumbled, nodding to Anton. "You have twenty minutes to get anything you can."

---

"Why are you in my room?"

Stefano lifted his arm wordlessly, tossing the jewellery box, containing the USB and the letters, onto her bed.

"Why are you spying on my boss?"