NICCOLÒ

23. Torn

Cee stared at the soft, mounded soil - cut to a perfect rectangle - that lay in front of Caterina's gravestone.

The soil was rich, damp: filled with life. She tried to memorise the exact position of each blade of grass lining the grave, the placement of each pebble buried like a diamond in the recently overturned soil. It was a game, to forget whose grave it was.

Her mother and father were buried either side of Caterina; no matter how strong their love was for each other, their children came before anything else -

Or at least, that's what Cee had thought. Vincenzo had killed her father for his non-compliance, in front of her. Leonardo's cold, lifeless eyes haunted her nightmares.

Cee sniffed, trying to stop her nose from running. She'd cried too much already.

The service had finished hours ago, but she couldn't bring herself to leave; her sister needed her. Cee touched a hand to her mother's rosary, now strung around her neck along with the necklace from Niccolò. Marie wouldn't have wanted her rosary buried - prayers are for the living, she would say.

The three were buried in their local church ground, just outside the city, as Marie Fiero would have wanted; she had more faith than anyone Cee had ever known.

Cee lowered herself to the ground, ignoring the damp grass and kneeled in front of her sister's grave; she hadn't prayed since she was a little girl, and she wasn't going to now, but she offered her silence and her love. The gap in her heart where Caterina had been felt like a bullet wound.

The service had been unusual - the pews barren save for the small group of men in suits and the two remaining Fieros. Leo hadn't allowed weapons into the church, so armed guards stood along the perimeter of the church grounds.

Cee had picked the flowers. White, for purity. Yellow: Caterina's favourite colour. Pink roses for love.

In the church, lit by the cold winter sun through the stained windows, the flowers had bloomed gently, curling around Caterina's coffin like a woven basket of light - but to Cee, it all looked grey.

Everything was muted.

Cee sniffed again, her heart feeling dull and heavy in her chest; it weighed her down. How were people supposed to continue living? Every day, she wished that the seconds would stop ticking forward because it was one more second without Caterina - every day grew further away from her.

She was so angry - but anger was hot, and her heart felt cold - so she drifted through days in a blur, lost in her own world; it had been two weeks since her rescue, but it felt like two minutes.

Elias watched the girl, kneeling at the graves of her family. Unbeknownst to her, an agreement had been made. Unbeknownst to Leo Fiero, Niccolò had no intention of keeping to that agreement.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat. She made no move to acknowledge him; he tapped her shoulder.

"I heard you," she said bluntly, her voice hoarse and choked with tears, without turning around. "What is it?"

"Mr Romano and Mr Fiero want you," Elias informed her, sounding almost bored. Cee rolled her eyes; she hated their childish negotiations, their stupid games. Caterina was dead because of their games; there were more important things in life and death.

When she didn't stand up, Elias shrugged and hauled her to her feet, his grip on her upper arm tight enough to bruise. "Hey!" she protested, tripping over her feet.

"Orders." Elias didn't bother looking down at her, dragging her out of the church grounds and towards the black car, parked waiting for them.

"I can walk," Cee struggled, brushing herself off as he let go. He raised an eyebrow, making no comment as she clambered into the car.