Niccolò had finished discussing business with D'Angelo, and had moved onto Mancini. Mancini was, by far, the most important of the three men despite his nervous disposition. His clients were all across the world, particularly in Mexico and Southern Europe; it was Mancini's position in Mexico that Romano wanted.

"If we did draw up contracts," Mancini asked, sipping his water, "I would want minimal contact throughout the deals."

"What would that entail?"

"You would have no say in where or when you delivered the goods to me," Mancini's fingers were tapping nervously. "If your men are caught, they would have no way of being linked back to me."

"I can't allow you that sort of position," Niccolò refused, frustrated. "I understand that you don't want anything traced back to you but I cannot risk my men like that."

"I have been running my business for nearly twenty years," Mancini stuttered, his hands shaking. "I have never been exposed from a business deal, and I don't plan on starting now."

Niccolò ran a hand through his hair, tense.

"Perhaps - " Their conversation was interrupted by what sounded like a woman screaming for a split second. Mancini looked startled, almost spilling his water.

"What the hell?" Rossi stood up, his shoulders tensed and ready, his hand reaching to his holster. Niccolò reached out a hand automatically to Camilla's wrist, but his fingers grasped thin air.

"Camilla," he whispered, understanding flashing across his face. He stood up abruptly, his chair tipping back, turning to the glass doors. Another scream echoed through the room, splitting the air.

D'Angelo was gone.

Romano was out of his chair, sprinting across to the balcony before his mind caught up with him. He ripped the glass door across, feeling the cold wash over him and felt anger, fury, blacken his vision.

Camilla was crying, a red mark on her face where D'Angelo had slapped her, her dress hoisted around her waist, her hair dishevelled. D'Angelo was bending her over, one hand around her throat, the other reaching for her underwear.

"You stupid slut - "

"D'Angelo!" Romano snarled, his weapon pointing at his head. "Release her." D'Angelo spun, his eyes comically wide with shock and fear.

"Romano," he attempted a smile, fear dripping from his voice. "I was just having a taste - " Niccolò fired, once. D'Angelo dropped to his knees, howling in pain as his thigh spurted thick, dark blood. "JESUS!"

Camilla backed away, her hand pressed to her mouth to stop herself vomiting. Tears leaked from her eyes.

"Camilla." Her blurred gaze snapped to Romano, felt her lungs gasping for air. He held out his palm to her, beckoning her forward. "Come." She shook her head jerkily, backing into the corner of the balcony, feeling the cold glass press against her back.

Romano frowned, his heart tugging at his conscience. "Camilla," he repeated, more softly, ignoring the two men that gaped now at D'Angelo's state. Mancini retched, and turned away. "Please."

The poor girl squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering quietly, sliding to the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. Tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing slightly with a drop of blood rolling from her cheek. D'Angelo's ring had cut her.

Romano knelt down, reaching out his hand and smoothing her dark hair away from her face clumsily. He didn't know how to comfort a crying girl; he hated tears. "Shhh," he whispered, "I'm here now." Camilla flinched away from his fingers, initially, and then relaxed into his soothing touch, weeping silently.

She was so breakable, he mused pityingly, so fragile. She couldn't protect herself in this world. She needed help.

"Come," he mumbled, scooping her shaking body into his arms. Her palm rested on his chest automatically, feeling his smooth chest, feeling the rhythmic beating of his heart. "Enough business for one night."

Cee let the tears roll down her face, hating the way his touch soothed her. It was his fault, she sobbed internally, he let this happen.

She was so tiny, Niccolò couldn't help but notice. Her hand clutched at his shirt for comfort, like a child.

Niccolò carried her inside, trying to ignore as she tucked her head into his shoulder, his shirt now damp with tears. Two armed employees appeared in the lift, their eyes widening at the sight of the fearless Romano leader's fury.

"There is a man outside," Romano snapped, "I will send a car. Do not touch him." He had chosen this restaurant specifically for its outstanding protection and trained waiters; he hadn't factored in the concept of a potential business partner being a threat to Camilla's safety. It was an oversight he would never repeat.

He stepped inside the elevator, hugging Camilla a little tighter to his chest instinctively as Rossi ran towards the elevator.

"Boss," he breathed heavily, "what about the deals?"

"I will contact you another time," Romano spoke sharply, as the elevator's doors closed.

The elevator was quiet as they descended. Niccolò couldn't help but risk a quick glance at her face. Her eyelids were closed, her forehead resting against his collarbone. Her tears were drying now, slowly. As her eyelashes fluttered open, he looked away, forcing his features into schooled impassivity.

Cee opened her eyes, slowly. Salty tear tracks were left on her cheeks. She stared straight ahead without seeing; she couldn't do this anymore. This world of guns and sexism, the way she was treated.

She breathed in, feeling Romano's musky pine scent calm her swirling thoughts and invade her mind.

"Romano," she whispered weakly, getting his attention.

"Niccolò," he corrected her, stepping out of the elevator. Cee closed her eyes, feeling the stares of the employees and customers alike. She opened them once again when she felt the cool night air wash over her cheeks.

"Niccolò," she mumbled, "please put me down." He glanced down at her, his jaw tense. If she didn't know any better, she would've said that he looked worried.

"Are you sure?" he asked gently, slowing to a halt outside the restaurant.

"Please," she asked weakly, unprepared to fight. Unwillingly, he lowered her feet to the floor, keeping his arm around her lower back to support her. "Don't touch me ."

Niccolò stepped back at her sharp tone, his gaze hardening. Old habits die hard; he found himself angry at her, furious at her disrespect. He closed his eyes, willing himself to reign it in; with considerable effort, he controlled his temper.

When he opened his eyes, she had slipped inside his car silently, like a ghost.

Niccolò walked to his car, joining her inside.

"Camilla," he murmured, trying to catch her attention. She had curled into a protective ball, not looking up. He sighed, giving her the space to calm down. She stayed silent for the short car journey, avoiding his gaze the entire time.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the Romano House. Niccolò turned to her, intent on apologising for D'Angelo's actions, but she had already jumped out of the car.

"Camilla," he called, climbing out of the car fluidly, "Camilla, please." She walked around the back of the car hurriedly, avoiding his gaze, attempting to rush past him inside. Niccolo caught her arms, pulling her into his chest. "Camilla."

"Don't touch me," she spat, pushing him away; he caught her wrist angrily. "Don't touch me, don't touch me - " Her voice grew louder, hysterical, and Niccolò wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, feeling her shake, trembling, losing her aggression as he ran his fingers gently through her hair.

"I made a mistake," he admitted, swallowing hard. It was difficult for him to apologise, to admit to his faults. His pride was his biggest flaw. "I- I am sorry." She tensed in his arms, moving away from him slowly. He let her go this time, a scowl on his face.

"You're sorry?" She laughed hysterically, wrapping her arms around herself to hold herself together. "You're sorry?" Niccolò clenched his fists, but refused to allow his anger to control him.

"Yes," he snapped lowly, his face unreadable.

Cee took two quick steps forward, raising her hand and attempted to slap him; he caught her hand easily, noticing the audience that they had gained. Two of his men rushed forward to restrain her, but he shook his head imperceptibly. It would not do to have her disrespect him like this in front of his family, but she could be excused. This once.

"You," she hissed, her eyes almost manic, "I hate you." Niccolò kept his face wiped of any emotion.

"Are you done?" he asked grimly, holding her wrist tightly.

"No!" she screeched, shaking him off. "How dare you use me like that!"

"Use you?" Niccolò repeated, confusion briefly tinging his voice.

"I am not - I am not some pet," she spat, "that you can parade in front of your sexist friends. I deserve - I deserve more respect." Angrily, Cee wiped her eyes, refusing to cry in front of him again. "You humiliated me, let them stare at me like I was - like some piece of meat!"

Niccolò watched her carefully, guilt and anger rising in his blood.

"And then- " she continued, her voice choked, "you let him- he- he- " Her anger dissolved into tears, but she shook her head, clinging onto her resolve. "My father always taught me that my dignity is my life," she accused him resentfully. "You have taken my freedom and my dignity - vai al diovolo!" she spat as he made a move towards her. "You leave me alone or you kill me."

Niccolò stopped, his face ashen.

"I'd rather die than let you touch me again." She glared at him, her hatred evident on her tear-stained face. Niccolò didn't reply; instead, he nodded his head sharply, standing to the side to allow her to run in.

"Cee?" Luca appeared at the top of the steps, completely bewildered. She ignored him, running past him in a blur of white silk and tears; he spun to watch her leave, confused. Niccolò watched as she left him outside in the cold, his expression dark.

"Cee?" Luca called again, before spinning around, his eyes locking onto Niccolò. "What happened?" Luca was furious, he could tell; he seemed protective of the girl.

"Nothing," Romano replied coldly, forcing a mask over his features. He had to appear strong; his family depended on his strength. If anyone found out that he was not strong enough to save Camilla in time... "We will discuss it later." Luca's fists clenched, itching to wipe his cousin's calm exterior off his face.

"Sir," he snapped, turning on his heel, intent on following Cee up the stairs.

"And Luca?" Romano's voice was dark, cold. "I forbid you from seeing her tonight. Wait."

Luca seethed silently, nodding his head in response, but couldn't meet his cousin's eye. "There is someone coming," Romano spoke, his voice twisted with fury, "the reason my business tonight was cut short." He turned to Luca, a murderous glint to his eyes. "I want you to be with me, tonight."

There was an unspoken communication between them; Luca nodded sharply.

"Yes, sir."

---

Cee hadn't slept.

She was bundled in blankets, curled up in the corner of the greenhouse, staring blindly, three hours after she'd returned to the Romano House. She'd tried to sleep, at first, in the Pink Room, hoping that the childish environment would calm her down; she'd showered, scrubbing at her skin like she could bleach off the memory of Giovanni's touch.

She wanted to burn the dress, burn her underwear, as if that would make it go away. The fear was lingering, just at the edges of her vision - not quite there, but always hovering.

It was coming up to the early hours of the morning when Cee saw light spill out onto the lawn from a distant spot. She sat up, watching as a figure strode across the lawn, a faint glow of a cigarette in their hand. The person paced back and forth for a while, agitated, the moonlight glinting off of their curls, before heading back inside, leaving a door open ajar. Luca.

Cee risked a glance at the Romano House, which stood, dark and foreboding, silent. The light had come from another building, hidden in the far tree line. She wrapped her blanket around herself, stepping out of her greenhouse.

The grass crunched with frost under her bare feet, and she shivered slightly, hurrying across the lawn towards the narrow strip of light.

The door was heavy metal, strongly reinforced; Cee slipped inside silently, wondering what the hell she was doing. The corridor she faced smelled strongly of copper, metallic blood. It was only dimly lit, for the most part, but another door ajar at the end of the corridor gleamed white inside.

She ghosted down the corridor, keeping her blanket wrapped tightly around her, keeping an eye out for Luca's floppy curls.

"Luca?" she whispered, her voice weak. At the end of the corridor, as she drew closer, she could see the edge of a figure, leaning over. She stepped forward, hiding in the shadows.

"Cee?" Luca's voice was loud, shocked. She spun around, clutching her blanket. There was blood, dripping from his fingertips, smeared on his forearms, a smudge on his shirt. Her mouth opened in horror, backing away. "It's not mine," he tried to reassure her, but she felt her heart kick into overdrive.

"I don't- " Her voice broke off, the door behind her swinging open sharply.

"Luca, what the hell- " Niccolò stopped abruptly. Her eyes travelled past him first, focusing on the unconscious Giovanni D'Angelo, tied to a wooden chair. Besides some bruising on his face, he seemed almost undamaged except his hands.

One hand was already bandaged, soaked in blood. The other...

Cee felt herself sway, putting a hand out to the wall to steady herself. His fingers were missing. His first finger and thumb, the ones that had gripped her chin, were missing. Two bloody stumps remained. A pool of blood surrounded his chair.

Her gaze travelled slowly to the man in front of her. Gone was his blazer, his cool demeanour; his hands were covered in dried bloodstains, his shirt spattered with drops of scarlet. He looked almost guilty, his jaw clenched. His hair was dishevelled, as though he had run his hands through it several times; a small streak of red just below his hairline.

"What are you doing?" she whispered, horrified. "What are you doing to him?" Niccolò refused to meet her gaze, accepting a damp towel from another man to wipe his hands.

"Cee- " Luca tried, but she turned on him with a fury.

"I didn't ask you!" she cried out, her voice shrill with panic. "Stay out of this!" Luca took a step back. She spun back to Niccolò. "What are you doing?" Tears spilled down her cheeks. "What are you doing, Niccolò?" His fists clenched, his muscles straining beneath his shirt.

"Leave us," he murmured, turning his head. The men behind him locked the door, leaving them in dim lighting, filing out to the lawn. Luca followed them, giving Romano an uneasy glance.

Cee shivered, either from cold or fear, and she couldn't tell which - tears ran silently down her face.

"You're cold," he murmured, reaching a hand forward; she flinched, backing away.

"What are you doing to him?" she whispered weakly, clutching a hand to her heart.

"Business," he said finally, throwing the stained towel aside, "is that what you want to hear?" Cee flinched at his tone.

"This is simply a part of my life," he told her coldly, his hand running through his hair, tugging harshly.

"What- why- " Cee shook her head, her stomach churning. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered, her throat filled with broken glass and tears. "Why?"

Niccolò looked away, frustrated by her tears. "Please stop crying," he mumbled.

"Why- why would you- you hurt him?" she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "Oh my god, oh my god- "

"Camilla-" Niccolò pulled her into his chest, ignoring her struggling arms. "Stop being difficult," he said, exasperated.

"Let me go- let me go!" She shoved at his chest uselessly, kicking at his shin, but he didn't seem to feel it; he folded his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She squirmed in his arms, ineffectually, tiring herself out.

Finally, Cee gave in. At some point, without quite knowing how, she realised his company felt warm, soothing.

Camilla sighed finally, sniffling slightly, before resting her forehead against Niccolò's chest; he loosened his hold on her just enough for her to lift her palm to his chest, curling her fingers into the material - clinging on, unable to let go. He'd saved her from D'Angelo - protected her when it mattered most - and the disgusting, filthy feelings began to slip away as he pressed his hand over hers, clasping it to his chest.

"He's a bad man, Camilla," he told her coldly, quietly, ignoring the way her shoulders tensed at his words, "he deserved to be hurt much more." She didn't reply for a second, shutting her eyes tightly to make the bad things go away.

"I'm scared," she mumbled into his chest eventually, feeling a fresh wave of tears rise to her eyes.

"Yes," he murmured impassively, feeling her grip tighten on him desperately. "I know."