NICCOLÒ

40. Sacrifice

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.