7:28.

Cee shivered, descending the stairs slowly. It was a chance to get out of the house, she reminded herself, you're not in trouble. You've done nothing wrong.

Her white heels clicked slowly down the grand staircase. She wore white, to surrender. She didn't want trouble. Romano wanted something from her, she worked that out at least, but she didn't know what.

Romano was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, like a true gentleman. Even his suit was immaculate; his top button done for once.

"Mr Romano," she said carefully, reaching the first step and waiting, face to face with him.

"For this evening," he began, sizing her up, his eyes calculating, "you are permitted to call me Niccolò." Cee felt her pulse quicken with nerves. "We have a show to put on, Miss Fiero."

"Camilla," she said finally, grudgingly. "If we're on a first name basis now." She noticed how his jaw clenched.

"Camilla," he repeated, testing how her name tasted on his tongue. "Please." He gestured towards the front door, offering his arm.

Cee felt the stirrings of unease and anger. How dare he pretend to be this gentleman when Flo was gone? How dare he offer her his arm when he had hurt Luca with the same skin that she refused to touch?

"You will disrespect me if you do not," he warned casually. Cee stared at his offered arm for a second too long, before accepting.

"I am surprised," she murmured, as the doors were opened for them, "that you know how to act like a true gentleman." Cee dared to look at him; he looked down, suppressing a cold smile as they walked down the stone steps.

"I am an Italian," he mused, opening the car door for her. "It is in my blood." Cee looked up at him then: into the eyes of a killer, and realised then that once, this man - this cold, cruel angel of death - had been cradled in his mother's arms and that his mother, when he was old enough to understand, had tried to teach him about true gentlemen; to hold the door open, to offer his arm, to be kind. And along the way, this way of life, his weapons business, this insane Mafia world had chipped away his humanity. Only remnants of his mother's love showed.

"Yes," she whispered, "I suppose it is."

He joined her in the back, his eyes turning to the outside world as the driver smoothly drove away.

"Where is Flo?" Her words broke the calm silence between them. For a second, Cee thought that he wouldn't acknowledge her, but then his head turned, his eyes glinting curiously.

"Flo is fine," he intoned, "for now." Cee waited, expecting some demand or threat, but Romano merely looked at her.

"That's it?" she asked, slightly incredulous. "That's all I get?" Romano watched her carefully, making no move to speak. "Flo has been missing for days and I don't get to know where she is?" Her voice grew louder, and his gaze mutated into a frown.

"Lower your voice," he ordered dangerously, and Cee's mouth snapped shut. "If you play along tonight, I will release her." There was a pause.

"Play along?" Cee shifted nervously, running her fingers across the silky material of her dress. Romano sighed, running a hand through his hair. He seemed tense.

"Stay silent. Don't speak unless spoken to, and even then, only when I give permission. Don't snap at anyone, don't even look anyone in the eye." Cee opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

"Act weak," she muttered, "got it."

"Not weak," he replied coldly, "subdued." Cee turned her head to look out the window, fighting the urge to retort. The bright lights of the city flashed by her window, reflected in her eyes.

"And if I do that," she murmured, focusing on the condensation on the glass, running her fingers across it, "will you let Flo go? Will you let me into the medical wing?" Romano exhaled.

"It seems you have already found your way into the ward." He paused. "But yes. As a favour to you." Cee breathed out a sigh of relief, refocusing her attention to back inside the vehicle.

"Thank you, Niccolò," she whispered, not noticing the sharp look he gave her.

---

Mr Romano opened her door, offering a hand to help her out. Slightly reluctantly, she took it, noticing the warning gleam in his eye.

"This way, sir," a waiter bowed, "your guests have already arrived." Cee tucked her hand into the crook of his arm nervously, shrinking as the glass restaurant loomed ahead. It looked like a fortress of mirror, shining darkly in the light, shimmering from some flame lit within.

Niccolò turned his head, watching her silently. She seemed to cling to him, her enemy, for protection from the unknown: so breakable.

The two followed the waiter inside, stepping into an elevator that would take them to their private floor. The floor of the elevator was midnight black, the rest of the walls mirrors. Cee focused on her feet, reflected in the mirror. She looked like she was falling into an abyss.

She breathed slowly, deliberately, trying to ignore the fear of the enclosed elevator space.

"I'm scared," she mumbled to her shoes, not expecting a reaction from him.

"No one can touch you," came his impassive reply. When she looked up, his eyes flickered to hers briefly, then to the amethyst around her throat. Automatically, she reached up to it, brushing her fingers against the cool, thin chain as he looked at their reflection. She only just surpassed his shoulders, her dark hair put in stark contrast to her pale dress; they looked good together.

The doors of the elevator opened. Soft piano music drifted through the air, candles lit in the centre of the round table directly in the middle of the room. Three men stood, their chairs scraping back with the movement, openly staring at Romano and Cee.

"Mr Romano," one said finally, bowing his head, "so good to see you." Romano placed his hand carefully against the small of Cee's back, guiding her forward to the table.

"Mr Romano," the other two echoed, watching their interaction. Romano pulled Cee's chair back, placing her at his right-hand side, and waited until she had been seated.

"Gentlemen," he acknowledged, taking his place by Cee. "Please, sit." Cee kept her eyes locked on her fingers, clasped in her lap. There was tension in the room; she could feel it like eyes burning into her shoulders, a certain weight, a strain in the air.

The man to Cee's right was observing her, a sly twist to his upper lip. "You have not introduced your friend, Mr Romano," he stated, mockingly, not taking his eyes off of her; he looked almost familiar, but she couldn't think where from.

"This," Romano's eyes lingered on her face for a second, "is Camilla Fiero. My guest." The man took her hand, pressing his lips to her fingers, keeping his eyes on hers. Cee tried to mask her fear with indifference, but she was certain he could hear her heart racing.

"Enchanted, Camilla," his lips moved against her skin, "Giovanni D'Angelo. A real pleasure." Cee nodded to him, once, but returned her frightened gaze to her lap. She was pretty sure he'd been at the Romano's party.

"Rossi," another said brusquely, nodding to her.

"Carlo Mancini," the third introduced himself, a nervous look to him.

Their starter was a blur, a mix of wine, olive oil and smoke. The men exchanged pleasantries, asking after each other's wives and so forth. Cee did not speak once, nor did she raise her eyes from her plate.

"Ah, but Mr Romano," Giovanni reclined slightly, swirling his wine in his glass, before draining it. "When will you settle down?" Romano leaned forward, rolling his shoulders before considering Giovanni's question.

"When I find the woman for me," he answered simply, calling a waiter over with a slight tilt of his head, to pour Giovanni another glass.

"Not Miss Fiero, over here, then?" Rossi said bluntly, running his fingers along his moustache. Each of the men seemed to have at least a decade over Romano. Cee's head jerked up.

"She's a fine specimen, isn't she?" Giovanni's eyes glinted. "Come on, girl, give us a twirl." Cee looked to Romano with pleading eyes, her heart in her throat. His eyes were blank; he gave a terse nod. Helplessly, Cee stood, spinning once, slowly, feeling their eyes crawling around on her skin, stripping her naked, taking her to pieces.

"Have a seat," Giovanni patted his knee, his lips stretching into a smirk, "I don't bite." She looked to Romano again, begging him silently for help. She didn't want Giovanni's hands on her. But he stayed silent, and leaned his head back to survey the scene.

Trembling, she perched on D'Angelo's knee, dipping her head to allow a curtain of hair to shield her expression.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Mancini remarked passively, looking her up and down. "Tell us." His gaze turned to Romano. "How did you do it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Romano regarded Mancini over the rim of his glass. Mancini was drinking water, curiously, unlike the others.

"How did you get a Fiero?" Rossi asked enviously, tapping his chin. "It's not everyday you tame an enemy." Romano stayed silent, a dangerous half-smile playing on his lips.

"Oh, do tell." Giovanni's hand gripped Cee's knee, making her jolt uncomfortably. "I want one."

Cee felt nauseous. They were vile, evil, disgusting little cockroaches, who wouldn't know respect if they were slapped with it.

Romano chuckled, playing with the edge of his napkin. "It was difficult at first," he mentioned at last, the others leaning in, almost comically. "But she broke easily enough."

Romano locked eyes with Cee now. Her vulnerable, piercing gaze looked hurt; it was an act, he wanted to whisper in her ear, wanted to tell her that she was safe - but he needed their business, and they needed a show of strength.

She was the first to turn away, her fingers shaking.

Their food arrived promptly, but not soon enough for Cee. She shot away from Giovanni the first chance she got. She felt betrayed; why she thought Romano would do her any favours was far beyond her.

She barely ate, unable to settle the swirling hatred and terror inside her stomach. Romano noticed, but he said nothing.

"Now," Romano caught their attention effortlessly once more after their meal was finished, "shall we discuss business?" He turned his eyes to the shaking girl beside him. She looked half-dead, her skin paler than paper. "Camilla." Her eyes darted to his nervously. "You are excused."

Cee only held herself together long enough for her to walk from the table to the balcony, instead of sprinting. She slid back the glass, stepping outside into the cool night, and allowed the warm tears to slip down her face.

This wasn't her world.

Romano wanted this, she told herself, biting her lip to keep herself from whimpering, he wanted to break you. She let herself cry silently, knowing that the men inside could barely see a shadow of her from inside. The stars were out, bright and clear in the sky, watching over her.

Leo had always loved stars. He used to wake her up, in the middle of the night, to drag her downstairs in her pyjamas to watch the meteor showers. They had been close siblings, when they were younger. He had been the best big brother she could have wanted.

The tears stopped. Gently, Cee dabbed the saltwater away, rescuing her makeup as best as she could. She could survive this. She knew she could.

"Oh, Camilla." Startled, she twirled, backing up to the edge of the balcony. Giovanni stood there, a glass in his hand, a predatory smile on his face. "Such a tease."

"Excuse me?" she mumbled, forgetting her promise to not speak.

"Hush," he told her, setting his glass down. "No one can see us, but they can hear us." Cee frowned, her heart pounding. He noticed. "Relax," he told her, a smirk on his lips. "My wife will never find out." Cee shook her head, reaching for the door, but he slid it shut, blocking her way.

"Apparently you Fieros," he sighed, licking his lips, "are very good in bed." Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he reached forward, gripping her chin with his fingers and closing it for her. She jerked her head away.

"Please don't touch me." Giovanni's eyes darkened, and he slipped a hand around her waist, forcing her closer. "No one is here to stop me," he whispered, his other hand reaching to her throat, encircling it lightly. She swallowed, feeling his clammy skin brush hers.

His hand dipped, cupping her ass and squeezing sharply. She jumped, tears rising again to her eyes. "Stop," she warned, her voice shaky, "Niccolò will kill you."

"Your Niccolò," he sneered, touching the tip of his tongue to her earlobe, "won't mind me getting a taste." His hand tightened around her neck; he lifted her dress abruptly, grabbing at her thigh, her underwear - Cee screamed - before his meaty fingers clasped over her mouth.

Tears filled her eyes as he ran his hand over her breasts, clutching at her chest desperately - she struggled in his grip, trying to stamp her high heels into his foot, but he sneered; he grabbed a handful of hair, pressing his chest against her back, thrusting his crotch forwards to grind against her - she bit down on his fingers and screamed bloody murder.