The shards of glass attacked, slicing the skin of Niccolò's knuckles; a brilliant, deadly waterfall of light and glitter. It sounded like a windchime as the mirror broke into a spiderweb of cracks and crystals, a sickening crunch poisoning the ethereal symmetry; he saw his own dark eyes, refracted and reflected ten times, glaring at him.

He broke everything he touched, destroyed everything he loved; his demons would catch up to him one day and they would make him suffer. They would burn him alive and record the screams.

A soft chime announced his arrival at the top floor; Niccolò's gaze flickered to the girl, perfect and imperfectly mirrored in the broken glass.

Cee blinked, staring into the elevator with a shocked expression; the man was facing the broken mirror that used to make up the wall of the lift, a furious look on his face - she'd never seen him so angry.

"Niccolò?" she asked softly, uncertainly; she could barely recognise him. A darkness was twisted around him, like the lingering smell of smoke after a bonfire that hung heavy in the air - he was so angry, so raging mad, that when he turned to face her, she took an automatic step back.

Cee flinched as he strode towards her, bearing down on her; she tried to move away once again but he'd already caught her - the last thing she saw was the dangerous look in his eye before he wound his arms tightly round her waist and pressed his lips forcefully against hers.

She couldn't think. He was everywhere: holding her tightly, softly, as if she was going to break, as if he wanted to break her - a contradiction within a certainty - he needed her, and she needed him. Cee let her eyelids flutter closed as she cautiously rested her hands on his shoulders, reaching up to hold on to him; he was her support, she was his downfall.

Niccolò hadn't meant to kiss her - he was just so angry and she was there, and all he could think of was having her, owning her; not to possess her, but to know that she was his and he was hers and he couldn't help himself. For a second, his rage blinded him - he barely noticed that she'd stiffened immediately, that her hands had gone up to defend herself - but it melted away in a heartbeat the moment that she tilted her head just slightly, moving her soft lips against his tentatively.

He felt her fingers lightly dig into his coat as she clung to him for safety, for comfort; they both needed it. He needed her trust, she needed his gentle encouragement. They were puzzle pieces finally matching up, set into place at last.

Cee broke the kiss.

She hadn't been kissed for a long time - but she'd never been kissed like that. She stood still for a second, her breathing hitched, her body pressed against his chest. Liquid electricity ran through her veins, bursting like fireworks behind her eyes - she dared to look up, just slightly. Her gaze caught Niccolò's, and then she was reaching up on tiptoes, and he was kissing her again, gently, as though she was as fragile as the glass he'd shattered in the elevator.

When she finally pulled away, her heart was hammering hard enough to beat out of her chest.

"I could get used to that," Niccolò murmured, his hands still resting on her waist; Cee scowled at him, trying to cover her blush with her palms, but he caught her hands easily, lifting them back to his shoulders.

"Niccolò," Cee mumbled, avoiding his gaze as his lips twitched upwards into a smile, tempted to lean forward and kiss her again. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ask questions," he replied, his tone slightly sharp - cutting through the moment. Cee flinched at his voice, but he couldn't afford to open up to her - not now. She was in danger, and the less she knew, the better. "Let's go."

"What?" She blinked up at him with her big brown eyes, making his jaw tighten; she was so innocent.

"Dinner," he reminded her, reining in his frustration; he squeezed her waist tightly to make her jump. It definitely had the reaction that he wanted, but he wasn't expecting the frown to spread across her expression.

"Niccolò," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck instinctively, standing on tiptoes. For a second, he stayed stiff, feeling her body pressed tightly to his; the familiar smell of vanilla and rose buds almost fooled him into thinking he was home, back in the Romano gardens.

"Let's not go out," she murmured into his shoulder, feeling the hot tension rolling off him in waves. "You need to relax."

"Need to," Niccolò repeated, the familiar irritation rising in his chest before Cee brushed it away with a soft kiss to his cheek, refusing to meet his eyes due to her embarrassment.

"I'd like you to relax," she clarified gently, beginning to pull away; she felt like she was being too forward - what if he thought she was throwing herself at him? "You wouldn't enjoy going to dinner - what do you usually do to relax?"

"Relax," he repeated; the word tasted foreign in his mouth. He rarely had time where he wasn't working, but if he wasn't, he was in the gym, pounding out his frustration on a treadmill, or by lifting weights. It wasn't exactly a group activity.

Cee watched him think, trying not to get distracted by his touch, trailing across the small of her back; she could see the frustration in his eyes, in the tiny crease between his eyebrows, in the barely restrained power behind his muscles. "Well," she murmured, coaxing him out of his spiral into further anger, "why don't we cook dinner together and watch a movie? Or something?"

Niccolò looked down at the petite girl, who was staring back at him earnestly, her hands unconsciously resting on his forearms, holding him to the Earth. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat down to watch a film and genuinely enjoyed it, but the moment she'd suggested it, it became the best idea he'd ever heard of.

"Fine," he muttered, hating the influence she had on him. He was twisted around her little finger, and he didn't even mind.

"Okay," Cee beamed, pulling at him lightly, leading him towards his bedroom. "First of all, I think you need to change."

"Are you going to help me, cara? " His husky, teasing tone sent a shiver down her spine as she tugged on his hand, rolling her eyes. She was tempted - but he didn't need to know that.

"I didn't realise you needed help getting undressed," Cee said pointedly, trying not to smile too much and give herself away; this man would be the death of her. "Choose something comfy," she reminded him as he unlocked the door, giving her a quick scowl despite the fond look in his eye.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling off his jacket; she had to look away from his broad shoulders - it was ridiculous, the way his muscles seemed to strain at the seams of his shirt -

Cee turned on her heel, fighting the urge to run back into his arms. Throwing on a loose shirt and shorts, she returned to the kitchen, trying not to glance into his room as she passed. Cee muttered expletives in Italian as she raided the fridge, looking for ingredients. She'd hated cooking for herself after a long day studying, but sometimes it could be therapeutic - sometimes it was easier to lose yourself in absentminded tasks than face stress head-on.

She sighed abruptly. She was trying to distract herself from her imminent deadline - Niccolò would never trust her again after she betrayed him.

She didn't want to. Flo and Angela's lives were at stake - she had no choice.

Muffled footsteps caught her attention; Cee turned towards Niccolò, about to ask what he fancied making when she froze, one hand still holding the door open, the other hanging limp with shock.

Niccolò was still striding towards her, pulling the t-shirt over his head as he walked - completely oblivious - his muscles rippling with every movement; in a teen movie, this would've been in slow-mo, with pink, animated hearts circling around his head like some sort of halo. With his grey sweatpants and his messy hair, he looked almost casual for the first time since she'd met him.

Cee felt herself melting; she pulled herself together abruptly as his eyes travelled up her legs, resting on her shorts for a split-second too long.

"Much better," she approved, trying not to choke on her own desire; his eyes flashed up to hers, his lips twitching into a smile. "Step two - deciding what to cook."

Niccolò didn't even hear what she said - she looked sweet enough to eat in that oversized top; he was so tempted. Then his brain caught up to reality. If someone had been taking pictures of Camilla in her own room, there was nothing to stop there from being a camera in this room too.

Cee felt Niccolò come to stand directly behind her, only a centimetre away. She pretended to keep looking for inspiration, searching for a bell pepper that sparked a recipe, but all she could think about was him.

"Camilla." Niccolò's voice sounded uneven - with anger?

Cee turned immediately, a flash of fear leaping into her throat - not of him, but for him. He was running his hand through his hair, an odd look of irritation on his face.

"I have to talk to you," he told her, fighting back the urge to keep it hidden. She had the right to know, the right to understand why he was so angry. He had to tell her.

"Okay," Cee replied hesitantly, touching his hand lightly, to let him know she was there for him. Looking up at his expression, he looked uncomfortable - a mixture of frustration, irritation and reluctance. "Do you want to sit down?"

"Stop," he snapped, pulling his hand away sharply, turning away, closing in on himself. The moment he said it, he felt bad but his anger was overwhelming. Niccolò moved abruptly, heading to the brand new sofa to put some distance between them; he buried his head in his hands, trying to relax into the faux leather - and failing.

Cee watched him struggle for a second, before rounding the kitchen counter, leaning against it to observe him. He could feel her gaze on him, and he pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could physically repress his frustration.

"Come here," he said eventually, lifting his head. Silently, Cee padded over to him, knowing he needed quiet support. Whatever it was wasn't easy for him to admit.

Niccolò felt her sit close beside him, her legs brushing against him, her shoulders rounded towards him; she was curled into him, waiting and ready. He felt like he was doing something wrong, like he was the one who took the photos - and it was a secret, buried in his ribcage, deep down - and he was about to blow it open.

"Camilla, I swear to you that whoever did this will pay," Niccolò swore eventually, clasping his hands tightly together as his elbows rested on his knees to prevent himself to clenching his fists. "Your safety is my priority."

She stayed quiet, knowing that he just needed time. Niccolò reached a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants, drawing out a square shaped box - but then the box slipped, separating into sheets: a pile of photographs. Cee flinched, a sinking feeling latching itself to her heart, dragging it down.

More polaroids.

Niccolò handed them to her silently, watching her expression dull. Fingers trembling, Cee lifted the first one, looking at her own sleeping face, her peaceful expression. After a second, she began to feel sick, staring at herself, vulnerable. So she handed them back, not bothering to look through the others.

"Camilla," Niccolò murmured, his voice rough as she stood up, taking a couple of paces away to stare out of the window. It was a pretty dismal night: the grey clouds rested like a blanket, held up by the skyscrapers, standing in for Atlas to hold up his burden. No stars tonight.

She didn't realise she was hugging herself until Niccolò appeared behind her in the reflection, gently untangling her arms from her waist, turning her until she faced his chest. "Vieni qui tesoro."

Cee let her head fall to his chest, almost collapsing with exhaustion; it wasn't fair. Pictures like that seemed so harmless, but they felt so private - her bedroom wasn't safe, her sleep wasn't secure, her space wasn't her own. Niccolò's arms wrapped around her tightly, caging her in - or caging the world out.

Exhaling slowly, Cee shut her eyes for a second, letting him hold her, before extracting herself, forcing a smile. Niccolò's eyes flickered to her lips, a soft crease forming - showing his frustration - on his forehead; he knew she was faking a smile, but he let her.

"Dinner?" she mumbled, barely able to look him in the eye.

"You know we could order room service, cara." Niccolò kept a hold on her waist with one hand, gathering her hair in the other absently, running his fingers through it. He'd wanted to touch her like this for so long - and now, finally, he could.

"That's cheating," Cee protested weakly, biting her lip, tempted. Niccolò's taste in food could only be described as luxury; she knew he wouldn't settle for anything less than perfection in this hotel, and she was desperately craving sugar after his shock reveal. "Besides, I have no money."

Cee made to turn away, to head back over to the fridge and possibly search the internet for a recipe, but Niccolò caught her easily, keeping her within his grasp. "I own this hotel," he reminded her, scowling down at the top of her head, trying not to allow the genuine worry to seep into his tone. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't provide food?"

She almost smiled at his grumpy tone, knowing he was only trying to cheer her up. "But-"

"Chocolate-chip pancakes," he murmured, his chest pressed against her back. "And we can watch your favourite movie."

"I thought I was supposed to be cheering you up," Cee mumbled, easily seduced by the temptation of pancakes. "And you don't even like sweet things that much." For once, he was caught off-guard; staring down at the petite Fiero like she was an alien. Cee twisted in his arms, catching his blank, shocked expression. "You don't even have sugar in your coffee and I've never seen you eat anything sweeter than sour green apples."

Niccolò leant down to kiss her, stealing her breath away in the half-second before he pulled away. "Very observant," he remarked, enjoying the flustered look on her face. "But we can order il secondo as well as dessert." Cee stared at him, her breathing rapid and uneven.

It's not like she was complaining - she just hadn't expected Niccolò to kiss her again. Which also meant he hadn't made a mistakes: he'd definitely meant to kiss her. Half of her was torn, genuinely wondering if he had accidentally mistaken her for someone else.

"Camilla?" She was still looking up at him, her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide - until he spoke. Snapping out of it quickly, Cee turned away, fidgeting with her fingers nervously. What was it about him that still made her feel like a thirteen year old kid who was about to have their first kiss?

"Dinner - yes," she blurted out, not noticing the amused look on his face. "Pancakes and something savoury - sounds great."

---

Around an hour later, Niccolò was still awake, watching as Camilla's eyes fluttered shut, her head resting just above his heart. She hadn't meant to lean into him - as she'd slipped in and out of consciousness, he'd gently pulled her closer.

He knew he was staring - just a little bit, and she couldn't complain. There was something mesmerising about the faint freckles at the high points of her cheeks - barely there, but just dark enough for him to notice this close - and the curve of her lips: pouting slightly.

Her eyelids fluttered open: he looked away, clenching his jaw. "Aren't you watching the movie?" Cee mumbled, her eyes already closing again.

"Are you ready for bed?" he countered in a low voice, stiffening as she rubbed her cheek unconsciously against his chest, trying to get comfy.

"I'm not sleepy," she yawned, unable to force her eyes open; Niccolò's hand, resting on her waist, tightened slightly.

"I don't like liars," he hummed, giving into his instincts finally; without waiting for a response, Niccolò lifted Camilla into his arms, and for the first time, she didn't complain, curling into him as he carried her down the corridor to her room.

Cee's eyes opened once more as Niccolò gently lowered her to her mattress; why were they in her room? All at once, images flashed through her mind: the polaroids of her, unconscious, in this room - she shuddered, and caught Niccolò's hand as he turned to leave.

He stopped, turning back to his girl; she looked uncomfortable, unable to look him in the eye as she mumbled something inaudibly. "Tesoro?"

Cee took a deep breath, looking down at their intertwined fingers; her tiny hand was almost enveloped completely by his palm. Maybe it was too forward to ask - and it was embarrassing to admit - but she didn't want him to go, and she didn't want to sleep in a room that wasn't safe.

"Can I stay with you?" Her voice was a whisper, barely louder than the first time she'd spoken, but this time he heard. "Please?"