"Hi again, Pietro," Cee chirped brightly, despite having had around four hours sleep and was still working. "Fancy a quick wash?"

"If you're giving me a sponge bath, sì per favore." The man grinned, yawning slightly. Cee chuckled, dipping a towel into the warm water and gently pressing it against his face. Dirty brown water dripped from Cee's fingers, but she worked consistently - checking wounds, occasionally stitching someone up, washing away the blood and dirt.

"Why don't you go to bed, ma'am?" Riccardo suggested, carrying in a pile of blankets for the men still waiting for medical attention. Riccardo was one of the two men that had helped Gabriel across to the medical wing.

"Nonsense," Cee beamed, holding back a yawn. "I'm fine." She lifted Pietro's hand, cleaning the muck and filth from between his fingers, wiping the blood from his palms.

"You're an angel, ma'am," Pietro yawned again, resting back against the armchair.

"You can let the others get off home, now," Cee murmured to Riccardo, carrying her bowl of water on to the next man. "So long as they can walk and clean themselves off. No one that needs medical attention is leaving on my watch, bene?"

"Yes, ma'am." Riccardo passed his blankets out, sending off the ones with minor cuts and bruises.

Cee fought back another yawn, wiping the blood away from a woman's hands.

"How are you?" she asked softly, casting her eye over the woman's minor cuts and injuries. "Good enough to walk home?" The woman nodded, then shook her head.

"My husband," she whispered, her voice cracking, "in surgery. Have you heard anything?" Cee bit her lip, knowing that several men had already been pronounced dead.

"No, ma'am, but lying on the floor here won't help any more than lying on a bed at home a hundred metres away," she murmured, helping the woman sit up. "Get some rest. What's your husband's name?"

"Tommasso," the woman mumbled.

"I'll send someone to fetch you from your home if there's any news for him," Cee promised, smiling at the woman.

"Grazie, angioletto." The woman staggered away, heading out to the houses built beyond the prisoner compound.

"You are popular." Cee turned at the familiar voice. Luca leaned against the doorway, his hands in his pockets, bags under his eyes. He looked tired.

"You need a rest," Cee told him bluntly, worrying creasing her brow.

"I could say the same thing to you." Luca shrugged it off. "Besides, I'm still in charge around here, so you can't tell me what to do." He grinned, but it was forced.

"Did he...did he come back?" she asked nervously, her heart fluttering. They both knew who she was talking about.

"Took a bullet to the chest and lived," Luca laughed weakly, gesturing her to follow him to somewhere more private. Cee followed him out into the entrance, sitting with him on the lowest steps of the staircase.

Luca's eyes were trained on his shoes. "They don't know if he'll wake up, Cee." His voice was so hoarse. He was scared. For his cousin, for their future, for his future. "What if he doesn't, Cee?"

"You don't know that he won't," she argued, gripping his hand tightly.

"But I don't know if he will wake up either." Luca looked up, and she saw grief - pure, unashamed grief - on his face, ageing him. "He's stronger than me," he admitted, rubbing his chin, "a better leader than I ever could be."

"Luca- "

"No, don't." He interrupted her, ripping his hand away from her. "You see him as your enemy, as the man who kidnapped you but you're wrong- you're so wrong!" Luca nearly jumped to his feet, but Cee placed her hand on his shoulder gently.

"He's your family," she murmured softly.

"He's more than that." Luca turned to her with desperate eyes. "He's so strong, he's unbreakable, he's invincible; no one touches my family - our family - because they fear him, his strength, what he can do.

"He protects us all, even if he seems harsh and cold, because he does what he has to do to keep us all safe!"

"I know," Cee surprised herself, knowing that she believed every word Luca said. "He takes care of what is important to him."

"Exactly!" Luca ran a hand through his hair, in the same way that his cousin used to. "He is a true Romano, the true leader of our family." His eyes seemed glassy with tears. "I could never, never take over from him."

His voice echoed around the stone entrance hall, cold from the night air. Cee shivered slightly, trying to keep herself calm for Luca's sake. She hesitated, knowing that she shouldn't say it, knowing it would give false hope-

"He'll make it." Her voice was low, condemning a man to life. "He will."

---

Cee woke up, light streaming in through a window to burn her eyes. She groaned, ducking her head beneath the blanket, before noticing she wasn't in a bed. She blinked.

She was curled in an armchair. Someone had kindly draped a blanket over her.

"Morning, ma'am." Riccardo noticed she was awake first.

"Good morning," she muttered, stretching out her arms with audible clicks. "How is everyone?"

"Everyone's out of surgery," he grinned, "they've moved onto broken bones and burns."

"That's good news," she sighed, tipping her head back and closing her eyes for another minute. "Any news about Tommasso?" Riccardo nodded, his face turning grim.

"Bad news, ma'am. Didn't make it," he said quietly. "Couldn't stop the bleeding." Cee opened her eyes slowly, staring into space.

"Right," she acknowledged weakly, "that's not good."

"Can I get you anything, ma'am?" he asked, standing in front of her formally, not meeting her eye.

"No," she yawned.

"Ma'am," Riccardo's voice shook, "you saved my team's lives last night." Cee blinked, looking at him in shock. "Thank you."

"Just doing my job," she mumbled eventually, throwing off the blanket, suddenly suffocated. She stepped over a couple of sleeping bodies, heading towards the medical wing. "I'll see you around," she muttered to him as she passed.

Cee was wandering around the rooms, keeping an eye out for Niccolò, when she heard a voice calling her name.

"Miss Fiero!" Dr Jordan beckoned her over, a stern look on his face. Cee felt her heart sink. She knew she wasn't qualified but it was a desperate situation.

"Dr Jordan," she mumbled, staring at the floor.

"I heard you did well." Cee looked up, confused. "Good job, kid." He didn't smile, but his eyes softened slightly. She beamed.

"Thank you, sir." She headed off, about to retrace her steps, before she turned back. "Dr Jordan?"

He looked up from his clipboard. She took a deep breath. "Which room is Mr Romano in?"

He gave her a suspicious look. "Room 1, Miss Fiero." She darted away before he could ask any questions.

Two heavily armed men stood guard in front of the door, leading to Mr Romano's current room. Cee took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and marched towards them confidently.

"Hi- " she started, nervously, but the door swung open before she could say another word.

"Come in," Luca said heavily, "it's not like he'll mind." Cee swallowed, fighting the urge to slap Luca for his pessimism.

She stepped into the room, her heart sinking.

"Oh," she whispered, stunned, taking in the bandages wrapped around his torso, his split lip, the bruising across his chest. He looked smaller, younger, while he slept; no longer burdened by the weight of his family, his usually-tensed jaw was relaxed, his forehead crease-free.

"Can you watch him?" Luca asked dully, turning to her. "I have to check on the others." She nodded in response, stepping closer to his bedside.

It was so strange to see his intimidating form stretched out, defenceless on the bed. Cee traced every inch of his skin with her eyes, taking in the tiny cuts and bruises with a professional eye. He looked battered, like he'd gone through a war backwards.

She studied his face, brushing the curls away from his forehead with a feather-light touch. He was paler than usual, she noticed, likely due to blood-loss. Her eyes caught on a scar, just above his top lip.

His body was littered in silver scars, etched into his skin like threads of lightening; the cuts he'd received in the last two days would join his gallery of markings.

"Hi," she whispered nervously as she sat down, slipping her hand into his instinctively - like she would with Dean. "I hope you don't throw me out of the medical wing this time." She almost giggled to herself, realising the irony behind her words.

"Sorry," she apologised quickly, unable to fight the smile on her lips. "This is so not the time for jokes."

Had he been awake, she was sure he would've glared at her then. She told him that, and then sat, thinking quietly for a second as she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, gently.

"There were a few casualties," she chewed her lip, "but less than there could have been. Gabriel didn't make it, but the other one did, the one that Luca said you liked - Elias, I think."

She tried to think about what he'd want to hear. "Luca's coping," she confessed finally, "but he needs you. You're his idol, you know. He thinks you're invincible." She looked down at his sleeping face, a crease forming between her eyebrows. "I hope he's right. I-" Cee cut herself off, and then tried again, in a lower tone. "I don't like seeing you like this.

A nurse tapped on the door, waving for her to come out.

"I think Dr Jordan might be coming to have a check on you," she told him, tucking the sheets around his torso more comfortably, keeping her hand into his. "Squeeze if you can hear- "

Cee cut off, her heart spinning out of control. His strong fingers, so much larger than her own, closed slowly around her palm. "Mr Romano?" she breathed. "Squeeze if you can hear me."

A weak movement, but it was there. "Dr Jordan!" Cee shouted over her shoulder, "Dr Jordan!"

---

Cee paced back and forth, running her hands through her hair repeatedly. Dr Jordan and his team had descended on Niccolò like vultures, checking his vitals, shoving her out of the room.

She had heard nothing, except that Luca had been rushed in ten minutes ago. Flo had persuaded her to change out of her filthy clothes, spattered with dried blood, but she couldn't convince Cee to have a nap, or even a shower.

"Have something to eat, Miss," Flo pleaded, sitting on the stairs, watching Cee pace back and forth across the marble floor. "You're getting too skinny."

Cee huffed a laugh, trying to calm her agitated heart. "I'm too worried to eat," she refused, joining Flo on the stairs.

Flo rolled her eyes. Miss Fiero was too kind for her own good.

"At least have a hot chocolate," she tried, "or Mr Romano will fire me for not taking care of you." Cee laughed, resting her chin on her knees.

"Maybe later," she compromised, staring into space.

The sound of shoes on marble caught their attention; Luca was striding towards them, a wide grin on his face.

"Luca!" Cee called, standing up to meet him, but before she could ask anything, he swept her off her feet: hugging her and swinging her around in circles like a child. He laughed into her hair, setting her down lightly.

"He's okay," he exclaimed, his accent more pronounced with the excitement, "he's awake."

"That's such good news!" Cee squealed, clapping her hands together excitedly. "I told you so!"

"Come on!" Luca caught her wrist, dragging her along, but Cee caught sight of herself in a mirror and shook him off.

"You go and talk to him," she smiled, running a hand through her hair. "I need a shower first."

---

Niccolò glared at the doctors, daring them to lay another hand on him. His chest burned, as if he was breathing fire instead of air, but he refused to lie in the medical wing while his family was in danger.

"If you move now, you risk tearing the stitches, Mr Romano," Dr Jordan warned quietly, gripping his clipboard tightly enough to snap it in half.

"That is a risk I am willing to take," he growled, his voice tense with pain. "Leave me." Luca rolled his eyes, daring to disrespect him now that he was Niccolò, the cousin, rather than Mr Romano, the Don.

"What happened?" Luca asked finally, relaxing his formal stance. Niccolò shook his head, breathing heavily to distract himself from his torture.

"Someone tipped off Caito," he conceded, a cold, familiar look in his eye. "Someone on the inside." Luca's jaw tensed.

"Cazzo," he hissed, pacing the room. "Who?"

"Who do you think?" Romano snapped, his fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Luca turned to his Don, a horrified look on his face.

"It wasn't her." Romano scoffed. "I mean it, Niccolò, it wasn't!"

"You cannot prove her innocence," he replied coldly, indifferently - as if he wasn't conflicted himself. She'd stayed with him in this damned medical wing - even when she thought he was unconscious.

"Cee wouldn't have, even if she had the opportunity- "

"She spoke to the Caitos at the ball- "

"She didn't know about the delivery- "

"Do not interrupt me!" Romano roared, losing a grip on his temper. "You will respect me, or you will die; blood or no blood!" Luca went pale, his hands shaking with anger. "Where is Fiero now? Hiding her face in shame? She is the only reason that members of our family died today."

---

Cee hummed as she wrapped a towel around her body, her wet hair dripping to the bath mat. Washing all the dried blood away from her hands took longer than she'd thought, but she was nervous at the thought of seeing Niccolò again.

Would he even want to see her? She shook the thought away, squeezing excess water from her hair and smearing a hand across the condensation on the mirror. Her eyes blinked back at her, wide with nerves, shadows smeared underneath.

He'd be tired, she thought, his body would be exhausted. Perhaps you could offer him a massage- Cee squeaked, surprised at her inner voice. There was no way she had a mini crush on the Romano Don. Absolutely no way.

She shook her head, pulling on her bra and panties, letting her towel drop. She wasn't his type, and he wasn't hers. Sure, she'd dated a little, but they were all sweet, scrawny boys with glasses and a pile of books in their hands. She wanted a boy that was ambitious, planning his future with her in it, having a fine balance between work and home life.

Romano wasn't like that. He was all about extremes; the strongest, the richest - he would never put anyone ahead of his work, and neither would she, once she qualified.

Cee pulled an oversized tshirt over her head - after all, she wasn't trying to impress Romano - and searched around her her jeans; they were filthy. She grimaced, deciding to throw them out. Before she could search her wardrobe for a fresh pair, her door slammed open.

Cee jumped, shying away from the door. It couldn't be intruders, she told herself, not now, everyone is on high alert. Her bathroom door was shoved at, but she had locked it, luckily.

She screamed as the door was battered in, splinters flying across the floor, curling into a ball in the corner. A man stepped over the remains of the door, pointing a gun at her head.

"Move," he ordered, ignoring her state of undress. Cee shook her head, whimpering slightly. The man seized her arm, jabbing the barrel into her ribs painfully. "Move," he repeated, louder, shoving her towards the Pink Room.

He took her down the stairs; several people stopped, staring at her in shock without making a single move to help. Cee held back the tears, keeping her gaze on the floor. Niccolò would help her, she told herself reassuringly, he'd know there was a mistake. And Luca, he'd notice if she disappeared.

Ignoring her bare feet, the man took her through a door she'd never noticed, locked by a key code; he forced her to descend the stairs in darkness.

"What's down there?" she begged, her eyes watering. "What's down there?" The man didn't reply, closing the door, leaving her in complete darkness half-way down the wooden stairs. Cee darted back to the where she knew the door would be, but not even a sliver of light crept through; she hammered on the door with her fists, screaming for help.

"DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!" she screamed, her voice hoarse. "Don't leave me!" The blackness rushed in, filling her lungs, choking her; Cee lunged for the handrail, running down the staircase, and missed. She tumbled down the stairs, her body assaulted by the harsh edges and concrete floor.

Winded and dazed, she lay there for a second, feeling something wet and sticky slide down the back of her head. Blood. It had to be blood. She touched her fingers to the cut, trying to check, but she couldn't even see her fingers in front of her face.

---

"You'll regret this." Romano looked up from the files on his desk, a sharp pain ripping through his chest; his face remained passive.

"Is that a threat, dear cousin?" His voice was icy, back to the old Romano.

"No, sir," Luca glared at the Don. "Just a promise."

---

The cold concrete was almost soothing now against her feverish skin. She could feel sweat on her forehead, tremors wracking her body; how long had she been like this?

She couldn't eat. She couldn't crawl up the stairs when it arrived.

The first time the door had opened, Niccolò had been there, blocking out the light with his muscular silhouette - she'd run to him desperately, but he'd pulled her off emotionlessly, told her to admit she was a spy - but when she wouldn't, he'd left. He didn't come back for hours - and the pain in her head got worse.

She had tried desperately to reach the light before it vanished, when food was delivered, struggling up the stairs, calling for help -

Now the light hurt her eyes. When food came, she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face; it burned too brightly.

It might have been more than a day, she couldn't tell, but she though it had been night, because it got so cold: her fingers were numb for a while.

Light spilled into the room, burning her skin, her eyes; she whimpered quietly, too weak to turn her head.

She would die here.

---

"Niccolò, it's been nearly two days." The Romano Don looked up from his desk, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" he snapped, throwing down his pen.

"Let her go." Romano circled to the window, ignoring his cousin. His reflection stared back at him, soulless, empty. He clenched his fists.

"She betrayed us," he said coldly, watching Luca in the glass. "She betrayed you, she betrayed me."

Luca shook his head slowly. "I don't believe that."

Romano looked down at his hands, a smear of blood on his left palm. They were the hands of a killer. He could not afford to put his family in danger, not for one girl.

"She is a spy, cousin," he replied quietly, "whether you believe it or not."

"If I found the mole- " Romano looked up sharply. "If I proved there was another spy- would you let her go?"

Niccolò shrugged, unmoved. Luca was getting desperate to save one backstabbing Fiero he had a minor crush on, it was of no importance. There was no other spy.

"Promise me," Luca insisted, his jaw tensing, "swear it on my mother's grave."