The cold air was relaxing, cooling down her flushed cheeks and calming Cee's heartrate. She'd expect this kind of overprotective bubble wrap treatment from Niccolò, not from her brother. Leo was supposed to be sensible, rational - not agree with Niccolò and keep her locked in a cage.

The man on duty, guarding the café from any unsuspecting civilians, looked at Cee curiously, lowering his cigarette with his only arm; she recognised him immediately.

"Hey, Stefano," she mumbled, trying to give a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "How's the arm?" He grinned cheekily, waving his cigarette at her and leaving a twisting ribbon of thin smoke through the air.

"I'm fine, Miss. Cigarette?" he offered, balancing his own between his fourth and fifth finger, pulling out the carton with his thumb and forefinger. Cee felt proud of him; he'd managed to adjust pretty easily to life with one arm - luckily he hadn't lost his dominant hand. "Miss?"

She blinked, snapping back to reality and eyeing the packet warily. "I've never had one," she admitted, looking at the pack like it was about to bite her hand off. "Training to be a nurse, and all."

"Really? Never?" Stefano plucked one out of the packet, giving it to her to hold. "Try it," he suggested, pushing the packet back into his pocket, before freezing. "I mean, unless Mr Romano wouldn't want you to."

Cee almost laughed. Niccolò would hate it; he was a hypocrite for smoking when he was stressed, but she could just imagine him snatching it off her and grinding it beneath his shoe instantly.

"One can't hurt," she insisted, knowing that she was only doing this to spite the boss. Stefano still looked slightly unsure, but handed her his lighter anyway.

She flicked the lighter twice, holding the cigarette to the flame like she'd seen Luca do; the end glowed amber. Stefano nodded to it as he took back his lighter; "Are you going to take a drag or just watch it?"

Cee smiled bitterly, putting it between her lips and breathing in the smoke; it felt heavy in her lungs, but warm. As she breathed out, she had to fight the urge to cough, her eyes watering. Stefano, who had been watching her intently, laughed, smoking his own.

"An acquired taste," she choked, watching the smoke drift upwards. "Not for me."

"Not even to annoy Mr Romano?" Stefano teased, scanning the street for any sign of life. Cee sighed, glancing inside bitterly at the three men. "Putting yourself at risk seems to be his pet peeve at the moment."

"I don't mean to," she replied defensively, looking away as Niccolò caught her eye, her cheeks blushing pink as he beckoned her in; she pretended not to see him.

"The only way you could annoy him more," Stefano murmured, staring across the street, "would be to spy on him."

Cee felt her heart stop, the air in her lungs freezing; she stared at Stefano, her mind spinning out of control. Did he know? Did Stefano know?

Stefano was still staring across the street, his jaw clenched as he took a drag from his own cigarette. If he knew, Niccolò would find out soon enough. If Stefano knew, she would die.

If Niccolò found out, she was dead; she was going to die.

"Camilla." Cee realised blankly that Niccolò was standing in front of her, his smirk fading. "What's wrong?" For a second, she didn't reply, watching the black spots in her vision grow and grow, threatening to block everything from sight and swallow her whole; then she heard shouting.

"Che cazzo, Camilla?" She felt Niccolò grip her wrist tightly, prying the cigarette from her fingers, saw him throw it to the ground, grind it under his shoe. "You don't fucking smoke."

"I won't do it again." She was hearing her own voice, like she was watching her own reflection; she wasn't saying the words herself, but they were coming from her mouth. And then she was hugging Niccolò, as tightly as she could, with her arms around his neck, trying to tell him that she was sorry, that she didn't want to hurt him, that she hated when he was angry with her; every part of her was screaming for her to tell him, to confess about the letter and the USB and the phone call, to let him see every part of her as she was - confused, scared, and desperate to help the people she loved.

And then suddenly she realised: she really liked Niccolò. He was the only one that made her feel safe, despite the moments when her heart felt like it was going to stop beating.

So she let go.

Cee stepped back, her breathing rapid; she knew she was blushing, knew that she shouldn't want him - the murderer, the criminal, the kidnapper. She could feel his eyes on her; he knew that something had changed.

"Camilla," he murmured, his voice husky, stepping closer until there was nothing between them; she refused to meet his eye, lowering her gaze to his chest. She could barely move, barely breathe or think; maybe this time, he would kiss her.

He was so tempted to - she knew he wanted to - but she ducked away, abruptly, keeping a foot of distance between them; saved by the ringtone, as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. "Camilla-" he said darkly, warningly, his eyes hungry, but she was turning away, heading back inside.

"You should get that," she mumbled over her shoulder, a hot blush staining her cheeks as she pushed the door open, heading inside. Elias and Leo were watching her, each with a completely different expression on their face.

Elias looked thrilled, like Christmas had come early, eagerly glancing over her shoulder at Niccolò - speaking quietly on the phone, his eyes still on the Fiero girl.

Leo, on the other hand, looked like he was strongly considering his chances against Niccolò - despite being unarmed, smaller, less powerful and sitting across the table from the country's best hitman: coincidentally, Niccolò's personal security detail.

"What the hell was that?" Leo asked immediately as she sat down across from him, his scowl murderous. "Since when have you guys been close?"All hints that Leo and Niccolò had been finally warming to each other, bonding over their mutual desire to protect Camilla, had disappeared; back to square one.

"Nothing," she retorted defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. "I owe him one for not shooting you."

"For not shooting-" Leo started, his tone incredulous, but Elias hushed him, his eyes locked onto Niccolò's approaching figure.

"We've got to go," Niccolò ordered the hitman, ignoring the two Fieros. "I'll drop Camilla back first - meet me at the warehouses in five." Elias nodded in response, standing up immediately; Cee rose from her seat, reaching for Niccolò automatically. He guided her through the empty café with his hand resting at the small of her back, her fingers clutching his suit lapel for comfort.

"What's happening?" she asked softly, as they exited the coffee house, pausing outside the car they'd arrived in. "Where are you going?" Niccolò pulled her hand away from him, opening the car door at the same time and waiting impatiently for her to climb in, refusing to answer her questions.

As he slammed the door, Cee caught a glimpse of her brother running out of the café, his expression filled with confusion; she rolled down the window.

"I'll see you soon," she promised as Niccolò ducked into the back and the car sped away from the curb. She turned to the Romano Don, a half-frown creasing her brow. "Niccolò," she murmured, catching his attention immediately. "What's wrong?"

"You don't need to worry about it," he dismissed automatically, but his shoulders were tense and his jaw was clenched; the look in his eyes was almost wild, filled with either rage or excitement, and she didn't know which.

Quietly, Cee reached across, slipping her hand into his and holding on for support; she didn't know whether she was trying to reassure him or herself. Maybe he'd found out; maybe he knew that she was going to steal from him and give away his information - maybe this was the calm before the storm. She held his hand because it might have been the last chance she'd have.

"Really," he said seriously, the terrifying predatorial look gone from his eyes. "I'm not in any danger."

"Then tell me," she replied earnestly, searching his face for answers she couldn't find. "You can't always keep me in the dark." He sighed, the conflict visible in his eyes, before he nodded, agreeing reluctantly.

"Luca found Anton." She nodded, her heart rate picking up; the spy had been caught in the spider's web. "I'm going to see him, find out who he was working for."

"I want to come," she replied immediately, but he was already shaking his head.

"I don't want you within a five mile radius of him," he told her seriously, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand and making her shiver. "You're going to stay in the hotel, where it's safe."

"Niccolò-" Cee tried, but he refused to listen.

"This isn't up for discussion." Niccolò turned away, watching the hotel came into view as they turned the corner.

"Okay," he heard softly, felt a gentle squeeze to his hand; he looked down at her curiously. She was attempting to smile reassuringly, for him; little did she know why he didn't want her there.

Of course he wanted to keep her safe - that was one of the reasons - but he didn't want her to see this. She'd known Anton, read to him in the medical wing; watching him suffer wouldn't make her happy.

That being said, Niccolò would enjoy watching Anton suffer; he was a rat - a filthy traitor, the scum of the earth. Niccolò was going to find out who he worked for, what they wanted with Camilla, and then send them Anton's removed tongue; the police would find his body in a week or two, at the bottom of a river.

Niccolò kept his face impassive, unreadable, as they pulled up outside Magenta, Stefano and Elias immediately jumping out the front - they had work to do. Cee paused for a second, looking at Niccolò; he thought he could hide his emotions from her, and for the most part, he could, but she knew what he was thinking when his fingers tightened around hers for a second: he didn't want to let her out of his sight.

"I'll stay right here," she promised, leaning over cautiously and kissing his cheek: everything she was doing was an apology now. He didn't respond, merely looked straight through her with his blank stare, his jaw clenched. "Stay safe." He didn't know that she didn't want the chance, the opportunity, to be alone in his apartment - to steal from him.

When he didn't reply again, Cee slipped out of the car, masking her slight disappointment; she only made it a few steps towards the hotel entrance when she heard the car door open again - Niccolò had an unreadable look on his face as he strode towards her.

Cee opened her mouth to say something, but before she could think, his hands were on her waist, slipping under her brother's blazer, burning through her shirt. Her breathing faltered; she stared at him wordlessly, her eyes wide with shock - he was so close. She could pull him into her, kiss him - kiss Niccolò.

"Let me take you out tonight," he murmured, reading her mind effortlessly and pulling her against his chest, close enough to feel her heart racing. "Just the two of us."

"Sure," she breathed, lowering her gaze to his lips accidentally and blushing, turning her face away immediately. What she was doing was wrong - so so wrong. Niccolò deserved better, deserved someone that wasn't going to throw his trust away for whatever reason.

"Camilla." Cee looked up, feeling his hand against her cheek, gently nudging her chin up until she was looking up at him. "I want to kiss you, carissima."

Cee held back a gasp, feeling her blush rising in her cheeks and her legs suddenly turn weak; her hands were resting against his chest, feeling his strong, toned body - she wanted him to kiss her too.

"Niccolò," she whispered, unconsciously leaning forward; he pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead, making her eyes flutter closed.

"Niccolò," Elias called from the car - he'd returned from inside Magenta. "We have to go." Cee didn't even have to look to know that he had his typical evil grin on his face, enjoying the irritated look that crossed Niccolò's face; she blushed, pulling away.

"I'll see you later," she promised; a Fiero never breaks their promise. Niccolò scowled, letting her escape from him once again. Now that they had the spy, he was one step closer to ending it - ending their sick games, finding out why they wanted Camilla dead.

He watched her disappear inside, saw her glance over her shoulder with a nervous blush; she could feel his eyes on her. Niccolò nodded once to Stefano following behind her, the only member left of her team of personal protection - normally, he would insist that Elias should stay behind too, but he needed a second opinion on the spy's information. Elias was a hitman, an assassin, but he was also a skilled interrogator - no one could lie to him.

As the revolving door swung around to enclose her in glass, Niccolò ducked back inside the car, in the front this time, his blood already boiling and his eyes narrowed: he was ready to kill.

"Ready?" Elias asked once, casually resting his hand on the gear stick; he could tell how tense his boss was. Depending on the interrogation, the Romano Don would either be satisfied or ready to burn down the city.

"Drive," Niccolò ordered flatly, reaching forward for glove compartment; he'd left the photographs of Camilla there, knowing that no one else but Elias or himself would have access to this car.

Elias glanced over his boss's shoulder as he navigated the city streets effortlessly; the Don was staring at each image, as if he was trying to commit each one to memory - with every polaroid he flipped over, the colder his expression grew.

The photographs still had bloody fingerprints, left by Cee's little servant friend and Luca's crush, but Niccolò didn't seem to notice, turning over each photograph one by one; abruptly, he stacked them together and pushed them into his pocket. They would pay for spying on Camilla. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was spying. Rats had no loyalty, no integrity.

The Romano warehouses were slightly further out of the city than the Fieros'.

Niccolò had always run a tight ship; the main warehouse body was always filled with inconspicuous, legal materials - drugs usually stored above a false ceiling and weapons generally in the basements. Despite multiple police raids, they had never found anything - and they never would.

The Romanos had a couple of police officers on their payroll; enough to give them at least a day's warning before any raid occurred, to clean up any...accidents.

There would need to be a considerable clean up after this interrogation.

Niccolò almost smiled, thinking about how close he was; he could almost taste his revenge. Anton had spilled information - information that had caused an explosion in Camilla's apartment. Information that would now be extracted from Anton.

Elias pulled up outside the warehouse, an odd expression on his face. Niccolò didn't enjoy torturing people; he didn't dislike it either. He was entirely indifferent, usually - but this time was different. Niccolò was no longer impassive. Everything about him screamed danger, every controlled, fluid movement revealed his wild, malevolent wrath; even if Cee hadn't meant to, she'd changed him. And Elias wasn't sure it was for the better.

Elias climbed out of the car, following Niccolò towards his warehouse; light spilled out onto the concrete where a door was open, waiting for them. Niccolò's silhouette was swallowed by the fluorescent glow as he walked in: a man on a mission.

Elias closed the door behind them: locking it out of instinct. Anton wouldn't escape this time.

---

Only a few miles away, Cee had just walked into their apartment.

Niccolò was finally allowing the apartment to become furnished and homely; at some point, he'd allowed a soft carpet to be added, underneath the sofa, and someone had brought up some flowers for the kitchen table. It didn't seem barren, no longer a wasteland of sharp lines and cold glass; it felt like home.

Cee drew closer to the elegant bouquet, sitting innocently on the glossy table top; amidst the emerald leaves, the hypocritically pure petals, brushed with gold and blushed pink - not quite pure white - a small card was nestled. She was tempted to stroke the leaves, to see if they were as soft as they looked; she picked up the card absently.

A little encouragement, it read.

A small photo, a polaroid of some type, slipped out of her shaking fingers, fell to the table top; Flo's bloodied, beaten, terrified face stared up at her.