"I don't want to go upstairs," Camilla protested, burying her face in Niccolò's shoulder. "I want to have fun!"

"Tough," Niccolò replied simply, climbing the stairs that led out of the bar and ignoring the curious looks from the clientele. "It's late."

Cee scowled at him, curling her cold fingers around the collar of his shirt deliberately, making him jump, looking down at the girl in his arms. "Camilla," he warned, a teasing glint in his eye. "Careful."

"What?" she asked innocently, a wicked grin on her lips. "What did I do?" Niccolò shook his head at her antics, pulling her close to shield her from the cold outside air as he crossed the foyer to the lift.

"Press the button for me, carissima." Cee shook her head defiantly, ignoring his gentle tone.

"Say please." Niccolò sighed, unable to help the tiniest of smiles; she was such a child. "You look so pretty when you smile." Cee tapped his cheek playfully, squirming as he tightened his grip on her.

"Thank you, bella. Please press the button for me." She reached down, calling the lift for them, before settling back into his arms.

"You're so comfortable," she murmured, enjoying the comforting feeling. Niccolò, no matter who he was, or whatever he had done to her, made her feel safe.

"Pretty and comfortable," he mused, watching as she closed her eyes, looking like she was about to fall asleep. "What every woman wants." She giggled despite herself, her fingers brushing over the nape of his neck.

Niccolò realised a problem as soon as he stepped into the lift, his girl curled into him; his arms were occupied, and his keycard was in his front pocket.

"I'm going to need to set you down, piccola," Niccolò told you, sparking a tiny protest.

"But you're so comfy," she whined, staring up at him with her big, dark eyes; he remained unchanged, setting her on her feet to swipe the card.

"Sorry," he shrugged, not looking the least bit sorry as Cee slipped her hand into his; she had him wrapped around her little finger and she didn't even know.

Camilla was humming as he pulled her out of the elevator and into their apartment, attempting to lead her to her bedroom, but she pulled herself free abruptly, backing away.

"I'm not tired," she protested, wobbling a little as she stepped back, eyeing Niccolò with trepidation. "I don't want the nightmares." Niccolò frowned, taking in her defiant stance; he hadn't known about any nightmares.

"More nightmares?" Cee shrugged, turning on her heel and heading back towards the kitchen; Niccolò followed her, his forehead creased with worry. "Camilla?"

"The nightmares," she repeated, reaching up to a cabinet for a glass. He was tempted to reach it for her, to lean over her for it, but held back a respectful distance, letting her fend for herself. "The ones about Caterina."

"How often do you get them?" Cee glanced over her shoulder at him as she reached for the bottle of whiskey.

"Every night." Niccolò moved forward, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her back as he moved the whiskey out of reach, making her pout.

"Enough, carissima, let's get you to bed." Cee closed her eyes, leaning into him; she could feel his chest pressed into her back, his forearm tight across her torso to hold her in place. Niccolò felt her nod reluctantly as he gently pulled the glass out of her hand and ran the tap, collecting a glass of water for her.

"Drink," he ordered, not moving from their intertwined position; he could get used to this. Obediently, Cee lifted the glass to her lips and downed it, letting him take the glass from her hands when she was done. "Molto bene."

Niccolò left the glass on the side, taking a second just to pause, to stay where he was with Camilla in his arms: safe.

"I didn't know you liked hugs." He didn't reply, staring at their reflection in the window above the sink, watching Camilla meet his eyes in the glass; she was watching him curiously. He stayed silent, letting her wriggle her way out of his arms and disappear off down the corridor, wobbling in her high heels.

Niccolò stood there, gripping the edge of the sink for support; how many times had they been seen together, photographed together? She had no idea that someone was stalking her, taking pictures of her while she slept - and he'd let it happen, in his property.

He couldn't close his eyes; if he did, the images that were now sitting in the glove compartment of his car flashed through his mind.

She'd have to sleep in his room tonight; they'd managed to get in to her room, maybe even bugged it. Niccolò checked his watch as he turned away from the window, heading towards her room: 4.30.

He knocked politely on her open door, warning her that he was there; she was struggling to reach the zipper at the back of her skin-tight dress.

"Can you help me?" Niccolò felt his jaw tighten as he exhaled sharply.

"Come to my room first," he murmured, casting an eye around the room for anything that looked out of place; he'd do a full sweep for cameras in the morning.

Cee nodded blearily, stumbling after Niccolò; at some point, she'd managed to wipe off her lipstick and her makeup, but she couldn't quite remember when. She slipped into his room, waiting impatiently for him to help.

His fingers brushed the back of her neck, pushing her hair to one side; she shivered. He paused, as if about to say something, before abruptly pulling the zipper to the small of her back, the cool air touching her bare skin.

Shrugging off the dress, Cee stripped down to her underwear, taking the shirt that Niccolò offered to her to wear; his body was tense, standing rigid as she buttoned up the shirt halfway, his gaze fixed on her face.

Cee climbed into his bed, tugging on his arm to follow her; slowly, he approached the edge of the bed.

"Camilla." His voice was hoarse, strained; she pulled his hand, waiting as he lowered himself to sit at the edge of his bed. "Camilla, you're drunk." She didn't reply, waiting for him to unlace his shoes; he was delaying every second, his mind telling him this was wrong, but he let her pull him into bed.

Cee was climbing onto him - his hands automatically dropping to her waist to support her weight - her fingers reaching for his shirt buttons, her hair falling over her bare shoulder where her shirt - his shirt - had slipped-

"Stop." Cee froze, her lips dangerously close to his. "I'm not going to take advantage of you." He had his fingers wrapped around her wrist, holding her still, his eyes dark.

"But-"

"Shut up, carissima." Niccolò shifted her, rolling so that their positions were reversed. "I don't want the first time I kiss you to be because you're drunk." Cee searched his eyes for any flicker of doubt, straining against his hands, holding her wrists in place.

"Niccolò-" she whined, but he shook his head firmly.

"When I kiss you for the first time," he warned her, his tone dark, "I want you to remember it."

---

When Cee woke up, she couldn't move.

Pain radiated down her spine, pulsing behind her eyes like a living creature; it was a hangover from hell. She kept her eyes closed, staying very still, her hands clutching at the sheets of the bed to stop the room from spinning.

Whilst training to be a nurse, Cee hadn't entirely buried her nose in books; she'd been out with friends, drank, partied - all the typical social gatherings - but she'd never had a hangover like this. She kept her eyes closed, trying to remember the exact events of the night before - finding nothing but a blank space in her memory.

She felt the mattress shift, felt someone move behind her; her eyes snapped open.

Disorientated, Cee blinked several times, barely managing to focus before she realised: she wasn't in her room. She rolled onto her back, catching sight of a familiar man running a hand through his hair.

"Niccolò," she mumbled weakly, her voice cracking, but it got his attention.

"Hey," he replied simply, turning to look at her over his shoulder, ignoring the fact that she was dressed only in his shirt and he- well, he was only wearing boxer briefs. "How's your head?"

Cee ignored him, trying to pull herself up into a seated position; she couldn't help catching a glance of his muscled back as he sat at the edge of their bed. "We didn't- we didn't do anything, right?" She felt his eyes on her as she groaned softly, lifting a hand to her head, tried to ignore the embarrassment of letting Niccolò see her undressed, hungover, looking a mess.

"I stopped you." Cee turned to him, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink; he was watching her with barely veiled amusement, rubbing a hand across the scar on his chest - where he was shot.

"Stopped me," she repeated, her heart slamming against her ribs as she dragged a hand through her tangled hair.

"Yes," he mused, enjoying her discomfort, a hungry look in his eyes. "I think your exact words were 'I want to see if you taste as good as you look'." Cee ducked her head, rubbing at her gritty eyelids and avoiding eye contact.

"Right," she whispered, slightly mortified, staring down at the blindingly white bedsheets. Niccolò laughed, standing up; she noticed the muscles in his back rippling easily, his broad shoulders-

Cee looked away.

"Stay in bed," he told her, walking around to the end of the bed, watching her blush at the proximity; he noticed each glance that she took at his well-toned torso, every hitched breath - his lips twitched. He forgot how innocent she could be.

Cee watched as he ducked into the bathroom, waiting before she heard the muffled sound of running water before she threw back the covers, climbing to her feet and stumbling across the room to the door. Pulling hard, Cee cursed when she realised it was locked, her head spinning with the effort of getting out of bed.

Of course he'd locked it - nothing was ever easy with Niccolò. She was trapped in his room until he finished showering.

Cee scowled, retracing her steps back to bed and crawling under the sheets; she hated feeling vulnerable around Niccolò, especially now she knew he had planned to kill her. She also hated how, deep down, she clearly had a thing for him - and now he knew.

Groaning, Cee hid her face in the pillow, and abruptly sat up once she realised that the pillow smelled like him.

This is your chance, her mind whispered as her gaze focused on the closed bathroom door. If he has any files lying around, they could save Flo - better yet, if she could get onto his laptop...

Cee bit her lip, glancing between the door and his bedside table. It would be a betrayal of his trust, the first real step towards spying on him - stealing from him. It would be cruel, hypocritical. Deceitful.

But then it would save his sister, and Flo. She could save them without any bloodshed between families, preventing a war between the D'Angelos, or whoever was behind the kidnapping, and the Romanos.

Heart in her mouth, Cee reached across to his bedside table, picking up the sleek, black phone and tapping the home button.

Touch ID or Enter Passcode

Cee drew a blank, realising slightly too late that most people have a password on their phones as well as their laptops; and she didn't have a password for either.

Rolling her eyes, Cee tapped 1 1 1 1, hoping against all odds that Niccolò didn't care much for his phone's security.

Unsurprisingly, she was wrong.

She sighed, moving to put the phone back down when it vibrated in her hand; Cee paused, turning the screen up.

Elias: Leo F causing trouble. Found out about C's apartment. In foyer now.

Cee dropped the phone onto the bed, almost breathless; she'd missed her brother. Almost immediately, guilt washed over her in waves - she hadn't called or texted - she'd left him alone to grieve their sister.

Caterina lingered in the back of her mind, the moment that Vincenzo had fired and shot at the little girl - his niece. The way she'd crumpled, her face a perfect mask of shock. The shuddering breaths Caterina had taken as Vin had dragged Cee out of the room, the gun pressed tightly against her temple.

She shuddered, shaking her head to stop the rising tears.

Caterina was gone.

Caterina was gone, but she still had time to save Flo, and Angela.

The sound of running water behind the wall slowed to a trickle, and then to a stop; Cee looked up, waiting impatiently for Niccolò.

As she waited, she heard the unmistakeable sounds of footsteps - not inside his bathroom, but going past the door, towards her bedroom. Cee looked around, seeing a shadow slip past the door; she frowned slightly, not expecting anyone else to be there.

It was another agonising few minutes before Niccolò opened the door to the bathroom, looking sinfully attractive; his dark hair was still wet from the shower, his shirt loose and unbuttoned, revealing flashes of rough, scarred muscled skin.

Cee found her mouth dry; she cleared her throat hastily. "Let me out," she ordered, fighting the blush that rose to her cheeks. "I want to see my brother."

Niccolò's eyes flashed; he hated orders, but god, she looked like an angel, sitting there innocently on his bed, in his clothes, blushing sweetly.

"Your brother?" Cee scrambled around, scooping up his phone and showing him the text message from Elias; her cheeks were still slightly pink as he leant forward, his fingers brushing against hers as he took his phone.

Cee tried to focus on his expression as he scanned the text briefly, her pounding headache making it hard to concentrate - she would kill for paracetamol.

"He's here now," she pressed, rubbing her temple as if it would relieve some of the pressure. "Please, Niccolò."

For a second, Niccolò was tempted to keep her in his room, make her smile and keep her safe; to lock the door against the D'Angelo bastards and protect her.

But it was only for a second. He wouldn't keep her against her will - unless it was absolutely necessary. Once the target on her back was gone, she'd be free to leave. It had to be her choice.

"No." Cee crossed her arms, her expression furious. Leo was her brother - her own blood - and she wasn't going to stay separated from him. She opened her mouth to protest angrily, when he interrupted. "Have a shower first, and food, and then I'll consider it."

"Consider it?" Cee repeated dangerously, watching him suspiciously.

He shrugged, making no promises. "He could be a threat."

"Not to me - sono sua sorella!" Niccolò was entirely unconcerned by the first Italian woman in front of him; to him, she was a girl. His girl. He would protect her with his life.

"Have a shower first, and then eat something," he repeated warningly, tossing the phone towards her; she fumbled with it, almost dropping it. "I'll consider it."

Cee was tempted to throw the phone out the window.

"Fine," she sighed, "let me out." Niccolò shrugged, a dark smile playing on his lips as he reached into his wardrobe, selecting his suit for the day.

"Say please," he mocked, repeating her words from last night as he'd carried her to the lift. Cee flushed, looking away as he laughed.

She felt something drop in her lap as he passed once again, heading to his bedside table to strap on his watch. Cee blinked, picking up the keycard and glancing at Niccolò, unsure. He noticed her gaze, nodding to the door.

She understood: to unlock the door. She jumped up, swiping the card across the panel by the door. Success.

Cee shot him a smile before she darted down the corridor, racing into her bedroom and slamming the door, breathing heavily.

Somehow she felt relieved that there was a physical barrier between her and Niccolò; and somehow she felt less safe.

---

Twenty minutes later, Cee was waiting impatiently for Niccolò, swinging her legs as she sat on the edge of the counter. At some point, he'd apparently ordered new furniture; two new armchairs had graced the barren apartment, filled some of the desolate desert between the lift doors and the kitchen - and a sofa, for good measure.

They also had a table now, to eat at; she didn't even want to guess how much it was worth. It was shiny, smooth, smelled like varnish and rich, earthy leaves - likely the same price as her college education had been so far.

Cee combed through her hair with her fingers, absentmindedly, still damp from her shower; she perked up as soon as she saw Niccolò's familiar, broad figure appear from around the corner - from her bedroom.

"Why were you in my room?" she asked, a touch of nervousness brushing her tone. He looked at her for a second, pausing long enough to make her heart kick into overdrive, panicking about whether he suspected something - if he'd found something.

Wordlessly, he held up his keycard; Cee blinked. She'd left it in her room. She could've left without him, to see Leo.

Shrugging, she hopped off the counter, heading towards the life, pausing as he caught her arm. "Have you eaten?" he murmured, holding her closer than necessary; he smiled oddly as her breathing hitched.

Cee nodded, not trusting her voice to stay strong; he released her arm, guiding her to the lift. She stayed quiet as he swiped his card, pressing the button for the ground floor.

Abruptly, a couple of memories from last night burst into her mind: Niccolò, whispering in her ear as he carried her towards the lift, Niccolò, pressing the button as she intertwined their fingers, Niccolò, his arms wrapped around her waist with his chest pressed against her back.

She flushed, willing the elevator to move faster.

Niccolò noticed her faintly-pink cheeks, saying nothing - his amused look said it all.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator doors slid open; Cee realised that she was crashing a standoff between her brother and Elias with his team of nine men - all fully armed and automatic - all of them aiming straight at Leo.