NICCOLÒ

22. The Smallest Casket

Niccolò watched Vincenzo carefully, not allowing a single flicker of emotion to betray him. The Fiero looked manic, his tanned skin tinged grey with fear; his eyes darted from side to side nervously.

"Let me go or I shoot," the Italian demanded, his grip tightening around Camilla's neck; a bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck. Slowly, Niccolò pushed his hands deep into his pockets, the picture of relaxed control. His nonchalance disarmed Vincenzo, whose hands were shaking now.

"You want to leave this place alive, no?" Niccolò almost rolled his eyes, looking out the window as if he were examining the car park - in actuality, he was ensuring that his men were surrounding the front doors in case the Fiero made a break for it.

"Yes." Vincenzo's voice was weak, pathetic; Niccolò disliked men who orchestrated their own deaths and then begged for mercy.

"This was a trap." Niccolò kept his tone conversational; it was if they were two strangers meeting in a coffee shop for the first time, rather than a Mafia Don against an armed madman. Vincenzo's arm trembled. He took that as a yes. "But not for me."

Slowly, Vincenzo nodded, his grip relaxing slightly on his niece; Niccolò noticed.

"For young Leo, sí?" Behind Vincenzo, still held by Romano's men, Leo struggled furiously, shouting something rapid in Italian; Vincenzo tensed visibly, his hold tightening around Camilla's neck. "You want to take over the business."

Leo fell silent, subdued by Niccolò's men; he was thinking rapidly, trying to work out the easiest way of separating Vincenzo and Camilla.

"I respect power," Niccolò said finally, turning his gaze away from the window and towards the Fiero. "But you will not leave this warehouse alive with Camilla."

"TRAITOR!" Leo had broken free from Romano's men, was throwing himself at Vincenzo, a murderous expression on his face.

That was all it took. The moment Vincenzo lost focus on his prisoner to defend himself from Leo, Niccolò jerked his head to the side: a signal he and Elias had perfected over the years - it meant instant death. Before Vincenzo turned his head to look back at the Romano Don, Elias had fired.

Elias was a perfect shot; he trained to be the best, to kill the best - this was no exception.

The bullet struck Vincenzo through his temple, with a small entry wound and a significantly larger exit wound, blowing blood and brains across the concrete directly behind him; Elias had aimed so that the bullet would pass through Vincenzo and would miss the two men restraining Leo Fiero by passing more than a metre to the right of where they stood, skimming Leo's upper arm.

He died instantly.

Camilla screamed, she felt Vincenzo's grip loosen around her neck; she fell to her knees, a small spray of blood misted over her right cheek. The body fell next to her, no longer moving.

She felt arms around her, her brother's familiar voice - but it was blurred, like he was standing at the other end of a long tunnel.

"Caterina." She heard her own voice say her sister's name.

Niccolò watched as Leo Fiero tried to comfort his sister, her face oddly blank. "Caterina," she spoke hoarsely, unfocused, barely there. Before he could think, he was crouching in front of her, watching silently as she began to cry, throwing herself away from him; he caught her, holding her struggling arms by her sides effortlessly. As soon as she realised who it was, Camilla had thrown her arms around his neck, curving her back to press herself against him as tightly as she could; he was her support. Niccolò pressed a hand against her lower back, ignoring the confused look from the Fiero boy.