"...'she might have fancied too much.'" Cee finished, softly dog-earing the page to keep her place. "That's the end of the chapter, Dean, and I'm fairly sure it's all I have time for today. I'll be back again tomorrow, as always."

It was the end of her second week of reading to Dean. It made her feel far more at home. The various nurses were getting used to her, she knew all their names now. The two other men in the room were beginning to listen in now: Stefano and Anton, the twins.

Cee carefully slipped her hand into Dean's and squeezed. "Squeeze back if you can hear me," she whispered, like she always did, like clockwork. Nothing happened.

Cee sighed, beginning to pull her hand away when she felt a faint twitch. She jumped, looking towards Dean eagerly, but his eyes stayed closed and his hand stayed limp. She had imagined it.

"Oh, Miss Fiero, you're not leaving us hanging like that, are you?"

"I must, I'm afraid. I'll be back again," she smiled, walking over to squeeze Stefano's free hand. Stefano liked her a lot more than his twin.

The most important part of her reading was never the stories, although those were important to. It was the humanity of it; a caring voice, a touch, to people who had very little to hope for. Cee made a point of offering it to everyone, freely, when she read to Dean now.

"Bring another blanket, Miss, please?" he pleaded quietly, a spark in his eyes. Cee nodded, rolling her eyes. "You're a doll."

"Do you take requests, Miss Fiero?" Anton asked bitterly, trying to make her uncomfortable. "Playboy magazine, for example?"

"Once Pride and Prejudice is finished, I'll take requests - only," she warned, trying to stay polite as she poured Stefano another glass of water, "if they're classics. Dean likes classics."

"Don't tell me you'll be back after this bloody book is done." Cee turned to him, biting her lip. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his bandages still there, but no longer bloody. He'd been burnt - horrifically - down his right arm and leg. It was the only way she could tell the two apart.

"Lay off, Anton," Stefano retorted sharply. She didn't mind his attitude, he had a right to be angry; he still couldn't walk.

"We shouldn't be talking to her," Anton snapped, struggling up to a sitting position. Cee rushed to help him, helping him adjust the pillows behind his back. "Don't touch me!" She just rolled her eyes. Men, she thought. "She could be a spy."

"Water, anyone?" Cee asked brightly, changing the subject away from their suspicions. It reminded her far too much of their boss; she hadn't seen him recently, and she didn't plan to.

As she helped Stefan sip his water slowly, she heard the door open. "Just a second, Robin!" she called to the nurse, wiping the spills on Stefano's chin. He struggled with his everyday tasks now, with only one badly burned arm.

As Cee turned around, the jug of water and stack of plastic cups in her hand, she noticed the sudden silence. The sound of the jug shattering on the ground echoed around the room, and Cee faintly noticed that it was no longer in her hand.

She was slammed against the wall by her throat, the back of her head colliding painfully with the wall. A low hiss of pain erupted from her throat.

"Explain yourself," Romano snarled, his grip tightening on her neck. Cee met his hateful gaze with one of her best death-glares, struggling to remove his fingers from her throat.

"Get the fuck off me," she spat, digging her nails into the back of his hand, but he didn't even seem to notice.

"I won't ask again," he growled, shaking her roughly. "Talk, or you die." Cee felt his other hand gripping her waist tightly as he held her forcefully against the wall, his nose skimming against her cheek; her breathing hitched and she hated herself for it. He was too close, too much - the skin at her neck hurt, her lungs burning-

She fell to the floor, crumpling immediately. He must have dropped her in disgust. She choked for air, tears streaming from her eyes.

"I read," she whispered, "I read the book." Romano strode over to Dean, seizing the book brusquely.

"You read," he mocked her, dropping it on the ground like filth.

"To Flo's brother," she forced out, her head aching. She let her eyelids close, sinking her head down to the floor. It would be so peaceful to give up, to just drift away.

A sharp, tugging pain forced her head up. He held her by the hair, fisting her once-beautiful waves like a noose. "You will not come here again," he promised, his eyes dark with hatred. Cee had never seen his eyes before. She had been too scared. Now she had no choice.

His eyes were so dark, almost black, that his pupil seem to be swallowed by his iris. If eyes were the window to the soul, then his soul was filthy black.

He threw her to the ground again, and she caught herself this time by her palms, which immediately stabbed with pain. She turned her hand towards herself, immediately noticing the shard of glass embedded in her skin.

Blood, bright scarlet blood, bubbled around the glass, spilling down her palm, staining her sleeve. She fought against a cry, but when she looked up, to send one last poison-filled glower at Romano, he was gone. The door swung shut slowly.

"Christ," Anton whispered. "He doesn't usually hurt women." There was a long pause, only filled by the sound of her heavy, wild breathing.

"You need that looked at," Stefano murmured, nodding at her hand. Cee picked herself up.

"I'll be fine," she mumbled, her head spinning, heading to the supply cupboard in the corner. The cupboard was methodically arranged: it didn't take five seconds to locate tweezers, antiseptic wipes, a needle and thread.

"Miss, you should really get a nurse to- "

"I am a nurse," Cee announced, cutting Anton off.

The brothers watched in silence as she pulled the glass out with her tweezers, pressing gauze against the wound to blot most of the blood, swiping it with antiseptic. Looking at it again, it was just about alright without stitches - thank God. Cee didn't think she'd be able to stitch up her own hand without crying. She taped a pad of gauze down, securing it across her hand with a bandage, just to be sure.

Cee cleared up carefully after herself, scooping the glass shards into the bin, wiping the water away with paper towels. She tucked Dean in, again, just to reassure herself that he would be fine. She picked up the precious copy of Pride and Prejudice from the floor, wiping off invisible dust from the cover, and marched determinedly to the door. She paused, without turning around. "I'll get that blanket for you, Stefano," she murmured, leaving without saying a proper goodbye.

---

Cee was sitting at the window again, her head spinning. She could barely breathe. Her throat was black and blue, the clear imprint of his fingers now marking her skin. She'd always bruised easily, but she hadn't realised quite how rough he had been; the cold, crisp air was helping clear her head, but only slightly.

Her father had promised she'd be safe. She'd be a guest. Mr Romano wasn't even human, he couldn't understand rules, he couldn't understand civility.

Cee sighed, her hand reaching tentatively for her throat again. It was so sore. Her hand was worse, but pain was temporary. She had dealt with worse before, she just didn't realise she would deal with it again.

She shouldn't have to deal with it, she told herself, she should be a guest, a respected guest.

But telling herself that was pointless.

Cee looked down at her lap, playing with the radio that she'd brought when she'd arrived; it was her only connection to her family. It was small enough to fit inside the palm of her hand, easy enough to hide from the Romanos.

"If you need to escape," Leo had whispered, "press the emergency button."

She considered it; pressing the red button hidden on the side of the device, leaving the Romano House for good and getting away from this world. But she remembered the look of hatred her father had given her when she'd left them four years ago, the disappointment he would feel. She remembered Caterina's stress-free, pure smiles.

She couldn't send Caterina to her death.

"May I have permission to enter?" Three taps. Cee half-turned, hiding the device in her hand, confused.

"Uh - sure, yes!" A much younger girl, only around sixteen or so, stumbled into the room. The tray she carried was almost bigger than her - she was practically a child. Cee watched her for a second, confused.

"Dinner, Miss Fiero, is- "

"Where's Flo?" Cee asked, rising from her seat. "Is she not well?"

"I - er - is spaghetti alle vongole. Please." The girl placed the tray near Cee, too scared to draw any closer and turned to leave, but Cee reached out, noticing how the girl flinched.

"What's your name?" she asked softly, trying not to scare her.

"Anna, Miss Fiero. Anything else?" The girl was pale, sweating slightly.

"Yes. Where is Flo?" Cee stepped closer. "Is she okay?"

"Miss Fiero, I don't know- "

"Anna, please. Where is Flo?" Her voice was getting agitated. What if Romano had done something to her? Hurt her, even?

"I'm not supposed to talk to you, Miss," Anna pleaded, "please." Cee let the girl escape, but paced back and forth across the pink heart-shaped rug.

She stopped, suddenly. In Anna's hurry to get away, she had left the door unlocked.

Cee felt the elation bubble inside of her, felt the freedom wash over her - she could leave. She could get out of this stupidly pink room, escape to the greenhouse even; but she had something to do first.

---

"Flo?" Cee hissed, peering into the pitch-black kitchen, only interrupted by the red gleam of dials and buttons. "Flo?"

She had waited until late at night - so late that she had managed to make her way downstairs in between the third guard change of the night. The kitchen was empty. Flo had said she would be there for me, Cee thought to herself nervously, stepping further across the tiles.

As her eyes adjusted, Cee noticed a dim glow of light from further back. She scurried silently across the kitchen, hovering just out of sight. She could hear women's voices, quiet and calm, chatting in Italian.

Should she risk being caught? Would they turn her in?

Her choice was made for her when someone sharply opened the door, coming face to face with Cee.

"Please," Cee whispered, "please help me. I just want to know where Flo is." The woman turned to the three others, still gathered around the table, and gestured furiously. They gathered at the door, looking at Cee.

She looked desperate, bedraggled and thin in the harsh lighting. A woman stepped forward.

"Where is Flo?" Cee pleaded, once more. "Is she okay?" The woman looked at the floor, just in front of Cee's bare feet.

"We do not know," she said simply, her voice bitter. "She is gone. Please do not get us any more in trouble."

Cee could feel their eyes on her as she hugged herself, trying to keep it together.

"Grazie," she whispered softly, "I am sorry."

The Romano women watched as the ghost girl floated away, her steps silent.

"Che macello," one murmured, "poor girl."

"Peccato," another agreed. "She will die in this house, I am sure of it."

Cee slipped out of the kitchen, her throat tight with tears. If something had happened to Flo...

She collided, hard, into what felt like a brick wall; stumbling backwards, Cee stared up at the man with wide eyes. Luca stared back, the bruising around his nose fading now, a look of comical shock on his face.

"Luca?"

"Cee?" he hissed, glancing around. "What are you doing here?" Before she could even answer, they both heard the murmur of distant voices; Luca grabbed her arm, pushing her back into the kitchen and closing the door behind them silently.

The two of them stayed silently, crouching in the dark to hide from the men. As the hum of conversation faded, Luca turned on her in the dark, only illuminated by the glow of dials.

"Why are you up?" he whispered, noticing how her arms were wrapped around herself, to hold herself together.

"Flo's gone missing," Cee explained hastily. Maybe he could do something, find her. "I haven't seen her since last night, and no one knows where she is."

"Who's Flo?" he asked blankly, earning himself a glare.

"The girl that brings me food!" Cee protested, her eyes shining with worry. "Her brother's in the medical wing!"

"Florence?" Luca blinked. "Right. I'll keep an eye out, but for now, you have to go to bed."

"I need to look for Flo," she insisted, whispering as loudly as she dared. "She's my friend." She was more than just a friend; Cee felt a fierce protectiveness now.

"Go to bed before Niccolò finds out," Luca argued, a resolute expression fixed in place. Cee knew there was nothing she could do to change his mind, especially not in the early hours of the morning.

"Fine," she hissed, slipping out of the kitchen once again and disappearing up the stairs, racing along the corridors and threw herself into her room. Safe.

Her body froze. A dark figure stood, by her window seat, hands clasped behind his back. Power, shadows, radiated out from him, suffocating the room. She risked a quick peek at the back of his head as he looked out the window at the night. His hair was almost shaved at the back, so short compared to Luca's mop of curls. The only Romano curls this Romano had were at the top of his head, twisting over his forehead, glinting in the moonlight. His shoulders were so broad. He was impossibly larger than life, towering over everything, crushing her like a bug under his shoe.

Fear shook her hands, and she clenched them by her sides, not even flinching at the pain.

"Miss Fiero," he acknowledged her presence. His voice grated on her nerves.

"Mr Romano," she seethed, her hand still on the door, ready to run.

"I must admit," he mentioned indifferently, "I forgot about the state of your...room." He was lying. It was deliberate. To humiliate her. She didn't bother to reply. She hoped he could feel her angry stare burning into his shoulder, branding him for life. "It was, of course, intended for your sister." Cee's nails dug into her bandage, causing a searing pain to shoot up her arm, grounding her. He glanced at her coolly; she hated the effect he had on her. "Caterina, no?"

"Don't say her name," Cee hissed. "She is not a part of this world." She watched, twitching, as he inspected the room, lifting the sleeve of a blouse hanging in the wardrobe and letting it drop with a disdainful look. He looked handsome - in a way that a bird of prey looks handsome to a mouse.

"And yet," he remarked with distaste, "you are."

"No." Cee shook her head, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood. "But I won't explain myself to you." He appeared in front of her, so suddenly that she jumped back, her arms coming up to defend herself.

"Careful, Miss Fiero," he threatened softly, "I don't tolerate disrespect." She stayed silent this time, her arms lowering as he circled back towards her window seat, inclining his head.

"Where were you?" he asked suddenly, making her flinch.

"Looking for Flo," she answered immediately, her heartrate spiking. It was easier to tell the truth, she knew.

"Flo," he mused, "how interesting." He was looking down at her, his jawline seemingly impossibly sharp in the shadows.

"Do you know where she is?" she asked nervously, as he circled her, looking at her from every angle, her breathing uneven as it seemed for a second he might reach out, touch her.

"Maybe," he shrugged, dismissing her question. "That's not important." Cee tried not to cry with relief, but he obviously saw something change; his eyes sparked with interest.

"You will accompany me to my family's annual cocktail event tomorrow evening," he intoned, considering her sharply; Cee met his dark eyes defiantly. "You will do exactly as I say, you will not speak out of turn."

"Flattered as I am," Cee's voice oozed with sarcasm, "I will have to decline." Mr Romano lowered himself on to the window seat, his arms flexing as he faced her room, completely casual. As if he wasn't scaring the living daylights out of her. He shrugged, his dress shirt doing nothing to diminish his broad shoulders.

"On Florence's head be it." He allowed his words to sink in; then stood to leave, towering over her once again.

"You have Flo?" Cee's voice was coloured with shock, her heart beating faster. "Is she safe?"

"Camilla," he drawled, dragging out her name into a long, velvety warning. "That depended on you acceptance of my invitation." He paused, looking directly at her. She met his dark eyes, her defiance faltering. "I do not believe you chose well for her."

"Mr Romano, please - I will accompany you - send Flo back, let her go- " Cee begged, forgetting her pride - Flo was more important. She took an unconscious step forward, reaching for his sleeve pleadingly; she searched for mercy in his expression, for forgiveness. HIs eyes caught on the bandage, on her hand - she flushed as he lifted her hand gently, turning it over. Stupid, stupid butterflies erupted in her stomach.

But the moment disappeared as soon as it had arrived.

"Flattered, as I am," Mr Romano repeated, his eyes empty of any feeling as he let go of her palm, "I am no longer feeling so generous."

She watched him leave the room, as silent as a deadly cobra and just as dangerous, before she let herself cry.

At first, she knew why she was crying. She cried for her family, whom she didn't think she'd see again. She cried mostly for Caterina, for the life that she wouldn't get to be a part of.

Then she was crying for Stefano and Anton, the twins, and then for Dean - and then she was just sobbing, curled on the floor and letting her whole body shake.

She cried for herself. For her freedom. For her flat in the city with the creaky floorboards and the leaky faucets and the windows that always got jammed. For her medical books and dreams, now collecting dust in the corner of a bedroom she wouldn't see again.