Life isn't fair.

Sometimes the universe pushed you, as far as you could go, stretching you until you finally snapped, but fate would just keep pushing. The universe was cold and unfeeling, and it didn't give a damn about who got hurt; existence is a delicate balance between pain and apathy.

Niccolò knew he was, physically, striding through the hospital doors, covered in blood with his girl, his Camilla, unconscious in his arms. Physically, he knew he could hear someone shouting, knew he could feel the stares on his back, but his mind was set apart, watching the scene like an outsider through a glass wall.

He watched as the stranger with his body lay her down, gently as he could, on the gurney wheeled out for her amidst the shouting and the doctors, running about. He watched silently as they whisked her away, running through the corridors; the moment was over as quickly as it had begun. Now he was left in the middle of the emergency room, Camilla's blood drying into his clothes, alone.

"Sir? Can you tell us what happened?" Niccolò's mind snapped back into reality as he looked down at the doctor in front of him. She tipped her head to the side, repeating the question, an impatient look on her face.

"She was shot." Luca's voice came from over his shoulder, interrupting Niccolò's silence; he couldn't even say it out loud. Camilla had been shot. His Camilla. Luca shouldered past his cousin, watching the uneasy expression on the doctor's face; she looked scared. She should be. "Any other questions?"

The woman shook her head slowly, backing up a step. "No," she replied hesitantly, her eyes flickering past Luca to the two men, waiting by the glass doors, eying her up suspiciously; the Romanos gave off a certain vibe - and right now, mixed with the tension over that girl's condition, the doctor didn't like her odds.

"Really?" Luca asked, pressing forward, his voice cold as he stalked her. "Don't you want to know that her name is Camilla Fiero? Her date of birth? Hell - her blood type?"

"Enough." For a second, Luca didn't realise the Don had spoken; he turned back. Niccolò's eyes were dead, lifeless as he stared at the doctor. "Enough." Niccolò, generally, would have made some form of a threat, to assure Camilla's priority case, but for a second, he wasn't the Romano Don, looking out for yet another victim of his enemies. He was a broken man; his eyes were dead. The doctor scurried away.

"Niccolò-" Luca attempted to start, but he was interrupted.

"Get Leo Fiero here." Niccolò turned, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, to walk towards the glass doors. "I'll wait outside for him." For once, Luca didn't question his cousin.

Niccolò kept walking, kept pushing forward until he was finally outside, and the cold night air hit him with a rush of sobriety; something in his chest was tugging, painfully - because he knew that when he'd let them take her away, she hadn't been breathing.

Abruptly, he staggered, reaching out to the red-brick walls of the hospital for support and crumpling, sliding down to the floor, staring dead ahead. Even at this time of night, cars were pulling up, searching for parking spaces with the street light glinting off the exteriors; the whole world was still spinning, restless even in the darkness, even though it felt like his world had stopped.

He'd give anything to walk in on her, asleep in his bed, dressed in one of his shirts - but this time, he wouldn't walk away. To feel her hand slip into his, to see her smile sleepily over her breakfast.

Overhead, Niccolò heard the distant drone of an airplane engine, echoing through the empty sky.

He could see it in front of him, just a breath away from reality; Camilla, curled in his lap, watching a movie with him as he poured her a glass of red wine and waited for the ice cream to defrost - they would be celebrating that she'd finally become qualified as a nurse - and she'd accidentally order him around - "Turn it up",- and he'd glare at her, only for her to roll her eyes and rephrase with a smile - "If it pleases you, your highness, please, would you mind turning up the volume?"

Other images flashed in front of his eyes: Camilla, kissing him in the restaurant just before she disappeared, Camilla, hugging him in the rain after she'd disappeared, Camilla, curled up in her greenhouse, Camilla, dancing in a red dress.

Camilla, running towards him, ready to take a fucking bullet for him-

They were supposed to have a happy ending.

Niccolò didn't realise a tear was running down his cheek until he felt it drip from the edge of his jaw, landing somewhere on his jacket - his blood-soaked jacket. He stared at the dark fabric for a second, trying to regain some form of control, but his eyes drifted to his hands. The brown and red smears of blood weren't poetic - it didn't stay crimson.

He was used to blood - used to watching people die. Maybe over the years he'd become desensitised to violence, death and loss, but in that moment it was as if he'd stepped off a cliff, plunging towards the icy sea below.

Some part of him was still hoping she'd recover, hoping the bullet hadn't struck anything vital, but the more rational part of him already knew. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the shock on her face, her wide eyes, her disbelief.

Of course it wasn't fair, his mind whispered, berating him. Life isn't fair. Not for him or Camilla.

He hadn't cried since his aunt's funeral, but now he was fighting to remain calm, a practised, false expression of calm sliding over his features like a mask.

After the funeral, everyone had told him how brave he was - to have been in the car crash with his aunt, to survive, alone, to call for help whilst he was staring at her lifeless body - and he'd nodded and thanked everyone for coming and kept his thoughts to his damned self.

Once everyone had left, he'd sat, alone in the dark, in his office, nursing a glass of whiskey. Funerals were supposed to be a celebration of their life, but Diana's had been a mess of passive aggressive enquiries about the Romano famiglia and his future plans. Luca has found him then, stuck in silence, a statue in the darkness.

He hadn't said a word about Niccolò's red eyes, or pointed out that he'd had far too much to drink.

Niccolò stared blankly ahead at the cars rolling in and out of A&E; even the headlights reflecting, bouncing off windshields and the neon lights of the city couldn't break through to him. He'd been in this city for years, only returning to the Romano House when absolutely necessary; keeping an eye on a potential Fiero spy seemed important enough to leave his hotel businesses for a month or two.

But even though he'd been here for so long, a native to the electric currents beneath the roads and the shadowed alleyways, he'd never felt like this. He loved the city that never slept, the constant movement, the perpetual ebb and flow - it reminded him of the vitality he held onto - but with Camilla in a hospital bed and her blood staining his jacket, the city was ruined.

He couldn't go back to Magenta if she didn't make it - how could he? How could he sleep in the same bed where she'd stayed the night, or watch the news where she'd picked a movie for them to watch? How could he sleep knowing her ghost would walk the corridor and tip toe into bed with him every night?

Niccolò watched as a woman rushed into the hospital, her eyes sliding straight past him, wearing a coat over pyjamas - she looked ill with fear as she sprinted past the double doors. Maybe her husband had been in a car crash, or her daughter had drunk herself into a coma.

He was invisible, watching the world go past - it should have stopped the moment her heart had stopped beating.

Niccolò looked back down at his hands, remembering the phone conversation that led to this moment - Leonardo Fiero accepting his offer of help, Luca nodding encouragingly - a business deal to end all business deals. Camilla's father, ruined by gambling and debt, his empire in shambles, his sexual exploitation system collapsing around him as the police closed in due to an anonymous tip off (likely Vincenzo Fiero, in retrospect).

He remembered Leonardo's desperation, his own barely concealed excitement - ravenous for power and wealth and now -

Well. Now it didn't seem to matter. He couldn't undo what he did, his initial abuse towards Camilla, his distrust in her family, hurting her repeatedly - but, selfishly, he was still glad it happened. Still glad he met her, still glad she'd stayed.

He was a selfish man. She made him happy - and the moment he'd realised, he knew he'd never be able to let her go; the universe has a funny way of breaking us all apart eventually.

-

Inside the hospital, only a few metres away, Cee lay in the gurney, choking on her own blood slowly. The doctors were still trying, attempting to drain the blood from her lungs and open her airway, but her heart had already stopped.

Cee stared at the ceiling, her mind impossibly blank. Dying, she thought decidedly, was actually very painful. It wasn't the quick sleep that you think it will be - it had been slow and painful as she slowly ran out of air, losing blood faster than oxygen.

She couldn't remember why she was dying, only that she definitely was dying; the doctors' voices above her were muffled, speaking through glass.

Glass.

Cee's breathing hitched painfully as she realised her lungs must be filled with glass - slicing her open, filling the cavities in her chest with powdered, sharp sparkles.

"She's losing blood too quickly."

She? They were talking about her, about her blood, leaving her body.

Cee tried to open her eyes to ask them how she was dying, but her eyelids were sewn tightly shut, painfully digging into her skin.

"She's gone into shock."

Shock? Was she in shock? All she could feel was pain, clear and clean, like ice cold razors were shoved sharply into her chest - and then-

Nothing.

Cee stared blankly into the blackness, knowing her eyes wouldn't open. Her whole body had gone numb, like she'd been dipped into the Arctic Ocean in the middle of winter; but there was no more pain; no more choking; no more fear-

"No heartbeat. Starting CPR." Was that the same voice or a different voice? Did it matter if it was a new voice - how many people were standing around her?

Cee stopped fighting abruptly. She didn't want to open her eyes anymore. It was too painful to struggle, too painful to continue.

Niccolò would understand, Cee thought, feeling someone pushing down, repeatedly, on her chest - but the feeling was fading fast. He would understand that she couldn't hold on. He wouldn't want her to hurt -

But he would want her to be alive.

Cee felt panic shoot through her body. She couldn't die - not yet - not without doing everything; she'd wanted kids, a job - her first home. There were too many things to do - she hadn't even qualified as a nurse, she hadn't said goodbye to Leo, or Luca, or Flo, or Niccolò.

With considerable effort, Cee pulled herself back into her own body, really felt the compressions tightening on her chest, letting the pain roll over her like a tidal wave.

Niccolò would want her alive. Alive. Not dead. She couldn't leave him, not like this. Not without knowing what could have happened, what could have been.

Not without both of them understanding exactly how bright they could have burned.

Cee willed herself to move, to twitch, to inflate her lungs one more time - and if not for her, for Niccolò. To live for Niccolò, breathe for him, because he could love her and she could love him.

To live for Niccolò's rare smiles, or kind side. To live.

Life isn't fair. It's never fair, but this once, Cee prayed, wished with every fibre of her being, every ounce of her soul, for it to be fair. For the universe to take pity, to tell her it wasn't her time.

She chose to live.

She chose to live, even when her heart didn't restart, and her lungs didn't breathe in. She chose to live, through pain and the few shattered moments of true, undeniable paradise.

She chose to live, but the universe chose to ignore her.

---

Some people believe they can 'feel' when a loved one dies.

They think they'll know in their heart, that a sudden, sharp pain will tilt the universe, when a mother or father, sibling, partner or pet takes their last breath. They're wrong.

When someone you love desperately, to the point at which you can't imagine a life worth living without them, dies, you can't tell. The universe doesn't send a sign, doesn't pretend to care. They're just gone.

Gone without a goodbye, never to be seen again - and you didn't feel it happen.

When Leo screeched to a halt outside the hospital, he still hoped, and fully believed, that the last of his family was still alive.

He hadn't felt the universe ripple with the aftershock of tragedy, hadn't felt his sister kiss his forehead as a ghostly spirit; he felt blind terror, gripping his insides like a virus, terrified that Cee was hurt.

Leo didn't register the crumpled figure, lying broken by the hospital entrance with his back to the wall; he threw himself through the double doors, approaching the reception desk.

There may have been a queue, but Leo didn't even notice; the smell of bleach permeated the air, drowning him in antibacterial aroma. His world was blurring, his mind spinning faster than his mouth.

"Camilla Fiero," he asked urgently, gripping the desk with both hands, his knuckles white. "Where is she - what room?"

"Are you family?" The receptionist barely looked up, typing the name into the database and blanching as Leo fiercely replied; "Yes - what room?"

"Sir, if you would just take a seat, a doctor will-" The receptionist was unsurprised when the angry visitor let out a stream of expletives at her, and thumped his fist on the desk. "-be with you shortly."

"Where is she?" Leo demanded fiercely, ready to pull out his hand gun and threaten any nurse in his way.

"A doctor will be with you shortly," she repeated, tapping a couple of keyboard keys to call someone over. "Please feel free to take a seat or wait-"

Leo had already stormed away, slamming open the doors for the second time and striding out a couple of paces, staring angrily at the bright lights of the city.

"Leonardo." Leo's head snapped to the side, glaring viciously at the owner of the familiar voice. It took him a second to place the voice, and even shorter to recognise the face, but his temper flared.

"What did you do?" Leo demanded, grabbing the Romano by the collar and lifting his broken body off the floor. "What the hell did you do to her?"

Luca pushed the Fiero's hands away roughly, fighting the urge to rip Leo to pieces; the man was grieving, after all. His emotions must have been running wild with pain.

Luca couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a sibling; a true sibling, not just a cousin, like Niccolò or Angela, but your own sister, twice. So he controlled his mouth and his breathing, remembering the immediate flash of pain he'd felt when the doctor came out to talk to him privately.

"What happened?" Leo glared at the younger cousin furiously, daring him to answer.

"It was Domenico Caito," Luca explained hoarsely, his throat rough, his eyes red. "She took a bullet for Niccolò, saved his life."

Leo's mouth opened and closed silently before his mind caught up. "She- she was shot?"

For a second, Leo was back at the Fiero warehouse, looking down at his youngest sister Caterina, almost unable to look at the gory mess that the bullet had made of her stomach.

But then he shook his head, repeating slowly: "She was shot?"

Luca nodded slowly, clenching his jaw to stop himself from tearing up.

"They didn't tell you how she died?"