Cee heard Niccolò approach before she saw him. The crunch of gravel beneath his feet, the change in atmosphere as his muscular silhouette cast a shadow several metres long. Twisting, she forced herself to roll over, to see him.

Standing directly in front of the headlights meant she could barely make out any detail, but she knew exactly how his eyes were glinting with fury and how his jaw would be tensed, his broad shoulders tight. She had to warn him somehow - but as if someone had read her mind, one of Caito's men hauled her up by her upper arm, keeping a tight, tight grip to ensure she couldn't do anything, and dumped her unceremoniously with Flo and Angela, the group blocking all three of them from sight.

Cee winced at his bruising grip and felt frustrated tears rise in her eyes for the second time. She had to warn him, had to help-

She felt a soft touch to her head. Looking up, Cee let the tears flow down her skin as Flo put a finger to her lips, smiling weakly. The group of Caito's men had their backs to them, training their guns on the casually approaching Romano Don.

Cee kept herself breathing slowly despite the tears rolling across her cheeks, letting Flo pick carefully at the corners of the tape.

"Romano." She pulled herself together, using the tugging pain at the skin around her mouth to focus her mind; she had to focus. Crying wasn't going to help, and Angela and Flo were still here. "Did you bring the money?" Flo finally pulled the tape off, allowing Cee to breathe fully once again - she kept silent as she shifted, just enough to allow Flo to reach the tape around her ankles.

"One hundred and fifty million." Niccolò's voice sent a shiver down her spine - she'd never heard his voice this cold; it was like the air around her had frozen to ice. "As you asked."

"Flo," Cee breathed, barely making a sound, "you have to run. Get Angela and run." Flo nodded her head imperceptibly, glancing over at the terrified girl sitting next to her as she tried to cut the tape with a sharp-edged stone. Angela looked nothing like the child that had left the Romano House a few months ago; she was bruised, battered and skinny, matured by pain and fear.

"Hand it over," Domenico demanded eagerly, the greed dripping from his tone, unaware of the escape plan being hatched behind him. Niccolò considered the young man before him. Despite being a similar age to him, Domenico Caito was a child - a ruthless child, but a child. His father still headed the Caito famiglia: Domenico was only heiress to the fortunes his father had. $150 million must feel a lot to him.

"Give me the hostages." Flo let go of Cee's ankles, just before she could cut through the tape, as men hauled the three of them towards Caito, none too gently. Cee swallowed a cry of pain as her knees scraped against the gravel, pressing grit into the cuts; she looked up, searching for Niccolò in the bright headlights.

He was examining them, one by one, his eyes impassive as he noted every bruise, every cut or scrape, Flo's split lip, and finally, stopping at Cee. Even though there were a good ten metres between them, she could feel the anger radiating off him at the sight of the dried blood on her forehead, the worry as he traced her features gently with his gaze before looking back at Angela.

Domenico was clearly too blinded by his ego to notice the tape was gone from her mouth.

"Money first," he sneered, his gaze fixed on the Romano Don, "then you can have them." A flicker of movement caught Cee's eye; she searched the rooftop blindly, looking for a shadow, a figure, that she was sure was there even if she couldn't see it. Snipers - it had to be snipers.

She tested the tape around her ankles once more - it was holding strong. Niccolò's gaze finally moved away from his sister to Domenico, almost mocking him with a singular look. The snake stared back, shifting his muscles unconsciously, nervously.

"How can I trust your word?" Niccolò didn't sound like himself; his tone was cool, his icy-cold hatred easily distinguishable. Domenico shrugged, his eyes flashing with greed as he stared across No-Man's Land.

"Have it your way." Domenico hauled Flo to her feet, pushing her across the invisible boundary towards the Romano Don - Luca darted forward, his silhouette blocking the headlights for a split second - Cee deliberately looked up at the rooftops, trying to signal to Niccolò - or anyone - that he was in danger - she needed to warn him.

She heard Luca murmuring soothingly to Flo, shaking in his arms, her shoulders heaving with wild breaths - but Domenico hadn't released Angela or herself.

"The other two," Niccolò demanded icily, his gaze flickering from Angela to Cee, then back to Angela and back to Cee again; his eyes were shining in the dark, wild with indecision. Cee knew what he was thinking: which one could he save? Blankly, she watched as Flo and Luca disappeared into the darkness, her mind spinning out of control.

"Ah ah," Domenico mocked, shaking his head; he was more perceptive than he let on. "Choose one, then give me the money. Then you get the other." Cee knew. Domenico had no intention of handing over at least one of the hostages - as soon as Niccolò handed over the money, he would be shot.

So it was now or never.

Cee turned her gaze to Niccolò, staring him right in the eye, and tipped her head towards Angela, the other side of Domenico. Niccolò stared back at her in the darkness, and for a second, Cee thought he was going to ignore her, to demand that Domenico handed her back instead of his own sister - but she couldn't let that happen. Narrowing her eyes slightly, Cee glared at him and tilted her head, more deliberately, to Angela.

It was as if they could hear each other's thoughts. Niccolò didn't know who he wanted to save first: she was making that decision for him. She couldn't live with Angela's blood on her hands, knowing that she'd cost him a sibling. Someone was going to die, right there on the gravel and stone - and it was not going to be Niccolò or his sister.

His eyes glinted with understanding, and pain.

Domenico waited impatiently, barely noticing anything around him except the one man in front of him. The Don turned to him, a cold, impassive look on his face; behind him, Luca held his breath, Flo half-in and half-out of the car, wrapped in a blanket.

"Angela."

Even though she'd told him to pick his own sister, some part of Cee felt a flash of pain. Ignoring it, she tugged again at the tape around her ankles but it was still holding tight, gripping her, ensnaring her - but it was loosening; oblivious, Domenico gestured Angela across the short gap. The girl struggled to her feet, stumbling across the gap and half-falling into Luca.

"Now," Domenico smiled, his eyes darting skyward for a brief second, "the money."

Niccolò only hesitated for a brief second. He was torn between making sure Angela was okay, was safe, and killing the cocky kid in front of him for daring to touch her - and then at the same time, he wanted to sweep Camilla off her feet and lock her away where no one would ever be able to harm her again.

And then he saw Camilla, head bowed, kneeling - like she was praying. She was his angel; even if he didn't know how to love, he would die for her.

Luca handed him the briefcase silently, a trusting look in his eyes. Bring back our Cee, his eyes said, slicing straight through to Niccolò's heart.

The Romano Don turned, catching Cee's terrified eye as she looked up; they both knew what was going to happen next.

Cee gave a strangled gasp as Niccolò stepped forward, breaking through the tape she'd been pulling at and scrambling to her feet, but not before Domenico had nodded, once, to the sniper on the roof. Cee darted across the small space between them, throwing herself at Niccolò, trying to knock him out the way - but she was too late.

As soon as Cee had taken her second step towards him, she heard the shot ring out.

For a split second, her world stood still. She was metres away from Niccolò - her protector and guardian - but their eyes met, just for a millisecond. Dark brown met toffee irises, and the scene around her fell silent.

It was just the two of them, endlessly searching for each other; Cee could see her own fear reflected in his eyes, see how he'd accepted this moment. They'd both heard the gunshot, but he hadn't fallen. Not yet.

Cee collided with Niccolò, knocking him back a step, but he caught her easily, keeping them both upright; her entire body shaking, frantically searching for the bullet wound, her breath coming in quick, trembling gasps. She could feel his hands running down her upper arms soothingly, rubbing warmth back into her skin - his mouth was moving but the words were so blurred -

"Camilla," Niccolò repeated softly, hugging her to him, "cara, calm down. I'm safe, I'm here." Over the top of her head, he watched as Domenico Caito fell to the floor, his expression a mix of shock and rage: blood seeped from his chest, from a perfect, coin-sized bullet hole. A spray of fire killed the Caito's men where they stood.

From the rooftops above them, Elias grinned into the darkness, holstering his gun, surrounded by several dead bodies. Luca had predicted the set up perfectly; snipers, waiting to kill Niccolò, on the rooftop, whilst Domenico took the money. It had been easy for Elias to sneak up to the roof, kill the men, and take the shot.

"Camilla," Niccolò murmured again, pulling her away to arms' length so she could look him in the eye; the terrified look on her face made something twist painfully in his chest. "It's okay." She was still scanning him, shaking with fear, searching for the blood that should be pouring down his body, for him to drop to the floor and bleed out in her arms - all because of her -

"Camilla." His voice finally broke through her hysteria; her eyes snapped up to his briefly and she began to cry, immediately hiding her face in his shoulder. She'd been so sure that he was about to die, that the shot was meant for him.

"Niccolò," she managed, muffled by tears and the material of his shirt. "I thought- he-"

"I know," he murmured soothingly, running his hands down her arms until he reached the tape around her wrists. "Let's get you home, carissima." At his words, she began to cry harder. She didn't have a home - her apartment was gone, Caterina was gone - but Angela and Flo were safe now.

Niccolò made a move to let go, to spin her around in order to cut the tape from her wrists, but she panicked, her breathing turning to hyperventilation; Niccolò caught her chin between his finger and thumb, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and then to her lips, keeping her tucked closely against his body. "It's okay, Camilla," he mumbled into her hair, "I'm not going anywhere." Cee was shaking, her knees weak, but she let him turn her around slowly, let him get rid of the restraints.

As soon as Niccolò had cut through the tape with a pocket knife, helpfully provided by Luca, she clung to him, her fingers curled in the material of his shirt, crying quietly into his chest as he pressed a hand against her back, keeping her tightly against him, murmuring reassurance the entire time.

"I've got you, cara," he murmured, closing his eyes tightly for a second to mask the sheer relief he felt. "I'll always come back for you." Cee pulled herself away from his chest, ignoring his questioning look, and reached up to kiss him; for the first time, Niccolò forgot about his men, his family around him, and closed his eyes, cradling her cheek with his palm as she kissed him as hard as she could, expressing a thousand emotions with a single action.

As she lowered herself down from tiptoes, someone tapped her on the shoulder; Niccolò, albeit unwilling, let her go so she could throw her arms around the other Romano man in her life. Luca felt like a brother to her and she could tell by his face he felt the same: they were family.

"Grazie a Dio," Luca whispered, hugging her tightly. "I can't believe we managed to get all three of you."

"Where's Flo?" Cee asked immediately, trying to wipe away her tears and failing; she was so emotional. It was terrifying, watching Niccolò bargain for her life, having no control over whether she lived or died.

"In the car," Luca replied, letting her step back to attempt to control her emotions. "They broke her fucking leg, Cee." Cee saw the familiar glint of Romano fury in his eyes, and forced back another wave of tears.

"Go comfort her," Cee insisted, trying to laugh through her hysteria. "I'm fine." With one last grateful look at her, Luca turned, walking back towards the car; Cee turned around to see Niccolò talking to Angela, seriously, a respectful metre between them before she flung her arms around his waist. They looked so similar - even their curls were similar, although Angela's had been cut roughly, sticking out at different lengths, and was filthy with mud, blood and dirt.

Elias, appearing out of the shadows behind the siblings, ruffled Angela's hair, and she broke away from her brother to smile up adoringly at the assassin. Cee watched Niccolò as he turned to one of his men, probably to give them another order, and almost smiled - he never relaxed - but as he turned his back to her, she saw the glint of metal out of the corner of her eye.

She felt like she was in one of her nightmares - except instead of Caterina, it was Niccolò. Domenico's face was twisted in pain and fury, but he was lifting his arm, lifting his gun, towards Niccolò - aimed at him.

Before she could a breath, she'd jerked towards Niccolò, instinctively. Not now. She couldn't lose him now. Not like this.

Niccolò heard the gunshot, and spun.

He was quick enough to see Elias empty a clip of bullets into Domenico's head. At first, he didn't realise who had been shot, other than Domenico - but there had been seven shots, and Elias's handgun only contained six rounds, which meant-

Camilla's frame wavered in front of him, crumpling a little. Niccolò stared, unable to move. It couldn't be her. Not Camilla.

Cee kept her arms spread wide, speechless. Her first thought was that she'd been punched, very hard, in the chest, and that she couldn't drop her arms in case Domenico fired again, but he looked very dead, judging by the pool of blood around what was left of his head. She wasn't quite sure why she was spreading her arms - she wasn't covering much surface area anyway, and it wouldn't make a difference because Domenico couldn't fire again - but that left the question as to where the first bullet had gone.

Niccolò just watched as she turned, blinking her big brown eyes at him once, a questioning look on her face, her expression tinted with fear. Cee looked down at the same time he did, spotting the growing bloody spot on her dress - and it was ridiculous, but Cee immediately wondered if she could get blood out of this material, and if this would cost a lot to replace.

Luca realised what was going on a few moments after hearing the first shot, looking up from where he was standing by the car, where he had been talking to Flo. He saw Cee turn, lowering her arms slowly, and then press a hand to her chest, stumbling as blood spilled out over her fingers, dripping to the floor.

"Someone call ahead to the hospital," he yelled, running towards Cee to catch her as she fell forward, her face a picture of shock. "Get Angela and Flo to Magenta, presto." The Romanos' men burst into action, hurrying the youngest Romano girl into a car, collecting the bodies, cleaning up a crime scene.

"Niccolò," Cee managed, her eyes wide and terrified as she looked up at Luca.

"He's going to come with you to hospital," Luca reassured her, scooping her up, forcing a cry of pain from her lips at the sudden movement. As soon as he heard her cry out, Niccolò snapped out of his trance, sprinting after Luca, who was already halfway to the car.

"You drive," Niccolò demanded abruptly, opening the back door and sliding in, letting Luca place Cee in his lap. Niccolò felt the warm blood slipping over his fingers as he pressed against the wound, felt the car shake as Luca slammed the door.

"Niccolò," Cee repeated, her breathing quick and shallow, her eyes darting from his eyes to his hands; he was cradling her against him like a child as Luca revved the engine and sped away from the crime scene.

"I'm here, baby," he murmured gently, "right here, okay?"

"Am I going to die?" Niccolò felt his world stop spinning, felt his heart twist painfully; he could see the pain in her eyes, see the fear in her expression, hear the terror in her voice, feel her life slipping away. He forced himself to look her in the eye before he answered - it took him a second to clear his throat before he could reply.

"No," he told her firmly. She couldn't die. Not now - not before they loved each other. They hadn't had enough time - hadn't had any time - she couldn't leave him like this. But Cee knew when he was lying, and he knew too.

Cee felt the stinging pain in the right side of her chest increase; she felt like she was breathing through honey, like she was drowning in her own fear - Niccolò tried to keep pressure on the wound, tried not to panic for her sake.

"I'm scared," she whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes; she wanted Niccolò to tell her everything was going to be okay, but she wouldn't believe him if he did. Her breaths felt too short, like she was hyperventilating - her chest was tight, her heart racing - the pain heightened to a burning, stinging pain.

Niccolò watched helplessly as she passed out in his arms, her blood on his hands.