Cee considered Niccolò for the longest time; if she hadn't known any better, she would have said he looked uncomfortable. The Romano Don had always been in control of everyone situation they had been in together - it was clear he disliked having the power balance shift in her favour.

He was handsome - there was no denying it - he was sinfully attractive, but Cee tried to look past it, to ignore how she was drawn to his dark eyes.

His face was deliberately blank, but Cee was beginning to learn that it was a mask; emotions give you away. He was protecting himself.

"I can't accept your apology," she said finally, letting out a long sigh. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Why?" he asked coolly, leaning back in his chair with his wine glass; he wasn't concerned in the slightest. She'd been wrong: he genuinely didn't care about her opinion it seemed.

She shrugged with one shoulder, pausing as Mia arrived at their table; she served them each a small helping of risotto - the most beautiful mushroom risotto Cee had ever tasted.

"This is incredible," Cee mumbled to herself, sipping at her white wine.

"Mia used to make it for me all the time." She looked up, surprised that Romano had commented.

"When you were a kid?" He nodded, considering her over his wine glass. Cee looked down at her plate for a second, thinking. "When I was little, I used to ask for ice cream at every meal," she told him, risking a quick glance at him. Niccolò didn't smile exactly, but he seemed curious. "My father wouldn't let me - ever - but my mum, Marie, she would sneak me some at night."

Cee flushed - the Romano Don wouldn't care about her childhood. "Sorry," she looked down at her empty plate, "I ramble when I'm nervous." She could feel his eyes on her, resting on her lips, scanning her face.

"I will not hurt you." When Cee looked up, he was watching her steadily, a serious expression in his eyes.

"Right," she mumbled disbelievingly, tracing circles on the table with her fingertips.

"Camilla." She let her eyes flicker up to his again. "I don't benefit from hurting you." Cee almost scoffed.

"You shouldn't hurt people even if it does benefit you." He shrugged, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt; Cee tried not to stare.

"You don't need to be nervous around me," he told her, a slight edge to his tone, "I've told you I won't hurt you. You can relax."

Fortunately, Mia intervened to collect their clean plates. "Thank you," Cee smiled kindly; she beamed back.

"I hope Nico is being on his best behaviour tonight," she said pointedly, a warning to him, "he caused such a scene last time, I nearly banned him from returning." Niccolò shrugged coolly, apathetic. Mia laughed at him, rolling her eyes at his typical act.

"'Nico'?" Cee couldn't help teasing as Mia left.

"She's the only one who has permission to call me that," he mused, casting his eyes over the rest of the restaurant. Everyone seemed happy, smiling and laughing; Niccolò checked the security on the door out of habit, one nodded to him respectfully.

"I have an idea," he said suddenly, standing up and offering Cee his hand politely. She stared at his palm like it was a venomous snake.

"Sorry?"

"Come with me."

---

"Where are we going?" Cee asked finally, breaking the silence in the car. Niccolò looked over at her, the most relaxed she'd ever seen him.

"Patience is a virtue," he raised an eyebrow at her pout, turning back to the road without answering. Cee huffed, scowling for a second before leaning her head back to stare at the stars.

She hoped that Leo was watching the sky from his bedroom window.

"Is Angela your daughter?" she asked absently, trailing her fingers across the soft material of her skirt; the dress had been a gift from her mother, Marie, when she turned 20, even though they hadn't been talking at the time.

"No."

"Sister?"

"Yes." Cee watched Niccolò for a second, from underneath her lashes, trying to pretend she wasn't staring.

All the tension usually present in his shoulders had vanished; he looked calm, still a little impassive, but relaxed.

She ran his eyes over his sharp jawline, his tanned, flawless skin, his muscular forearms, taking him in slowly - enjoying the view. He was attractive in a terrifying way; if she'd seen him on the street, she would have crossed to the other side - but she couldn't help wanting to see more.

He changed gear, his forearms flexing briefly, his eyes still on the road. "People who stare at me usually get hurt."

Cee averted her gaze, feeling her cheeks burn, and shrank into her seat. Was that a threat?

"Sorry," she whispered, mortified. He shrugged slightly, casting a quick glance at her. He couldn't help looking at how the streetlights flickered over her face, casting shadows across her cheekbones and sparkling in her eyes.

"You're allowed," he told her casually, making her heart stop momentarily.

"Oh," she whispered to herself. "Okay." He glanced at her, noting the way her shoulders had relaxed slightly.

They had reached the edge of the town Cee had been admiring before their delicious meal.

Cee stared out of the window, her lips curving into a smile; it reminded her of her city, where she was studying - reminded her of home.

Niccolò pulled up smoothly outside a Gelateria, and Cee turned to him with excitement. "We're getting ice cream for dinner?" she asked, almost bouncing up and down.

Niccolò paused for a second, watching her smile, before nodding. She clapped her hands together, scrambling out of the car before Niccolò could say a word. He stayed impassive, climbing out to join her.

She was practically skipping to the door. He raised an eyebrow at her, making her blush, but she turned away quickly to hide it from him.

Cee darted inside, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of chocolate and the sugary sweet smell of hundreds of different flavours of gelato.

"Hi!" Cee beamed at the man behind the counter, who quickly looked down at his feet without acknowledging her.

Her smile faded slightly, pausing for a second to let Niccolò join. He stepped into the Gelateria silently, looming behind her threateningly.

"Mr Romano." The man bowed his head deeply. Cee frowned. The man, with a name tag that said 'Carlo', waited cautiously for permission to address Cee .

Niccolò nodded briefly, placing his hand at the small of Cee's back and guiding her forward.

"Buenasera, Signora Fiero." The man smiled kindly, "I hope you have a sweet tooth."

Cee blushed, nodding, before casting a quizzical look towards Niccolò. "I do." She hadn't expected him to pay attention to her mini-ramble about her childhood.

"Might I recommend our original chocolate flavour, signora?" She nodded eagerly, drinking in the rows upon rows of brightly coloured, creamy gelato, shining like jewels in a display cabinet.

"That sounds amazing." She smiled, letting it fade before turning to look at Niccolò for permission. "What are you going to have?"

He shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. Cee pressed closer to the glass-covered display, ignoring the questioning look Carlo was giving her.

"You should try something," she mumbled, scanning the rows of gelato for something he'd like; he definitely did not look like he shared her passion for ice cream.

Carlo blinked, looking to Niccolò for orders as the tiny girl gave up on her search - she just about reached the boss's shoulder height. Mr Romano nodded impassively to the shop owner, a silent command, before walking to a booth, expecting Cee to follow behind obediently.

He took a seat, leaning back to survey Cee. Her eyes darted to his chest instinctively, before looking away immediately. Stop checking him out, she hissed at herself.

"Camilla." She blinked, looking up. He was watching her, his expression unreadable; he seemed comically too big for the table and booth. He nodded at the seat opposite. "Sit down."

Hurriedly, she sat down, feeling stupid. She was so nervous, inexplicably. As if he could read her mind, he inclined his head, studying her. "You're still scared," he observed, scrutinising her every move.

Cee shook her head. "Nervous," she admitted bitterly, playing with her fingers. "I've never actually been to a one-on-one dinner before."

For a second, something like triumph flashed behind his dark eyes. "Why is that?"

Cee shrugged, feeling her cheeks heat up. "I've never wanted to date." He didn't reply, watching her darkly.

"Have you?" Cee asked awkwardly, looking down at the table top, struggling for conversation. "Been on dates before?"

"Yes," he answered simply, watching her reaction. She had guessed. There was no way a man like Niccolò Romano wouldn't date; he could have half the population of Europe fall at his feet by simply snapping his fingers.

"I don't know how old you are," she confessed suddenly, "I thought you would be married when I met you."

"Twenty-eight," he murmured, watching critically as Carlo set down the tall glass of gelato in front of them.

"Grazie," Cee thanked him, beaming. Her chocolate gelato was rich and creamy, bitter and sweet at the same time; it was delicious. "This is really good," she mumbled aloud without looking up. "This is really, really good."

He didn't reply. When she looked up, he was studying her, watching how her lips curled around each spoonful of gelato, how her cheeks were still faintly pink from the cold outside wind, how her eyes sparkled.

"Y'know," she said, capturing his attention, "people who stare at me usually get hurt."

"Is that so," he mused blackly, running a hand through his hair. Cee felt heat flood her cheeks - he was effortlessly attractive, like a model pulled out of the pages of Vogue. "You couldn't hurt a fly."

Cee shrugged, licking her spoon. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It could get you killed." He tilted his head, glaring at her again; she felt a blush rising to her cheeks. "Don't you want to protect yourself?"

"I don't need to." She pointed her spoon at him, fighting away her nerves. "And you haven't tried any gelato."

"So?"

"You'll like it," she protested. "Just try a little bit." Niccolò sat back, feeling a sort of resentment flash across his face briefly; her lack of self-preserving instincts really pissed him off.

"Only if you explain why you don't protect yourself properly." Cee sighed, looking down at her lap. She could feel his cold eyes on her, burning into her skin.

"I just don't need to," she mumbled, "I'm training to be a nurse, not a soldier."

"Why did you come here then?" he asked darkly. Cee stirred the melting gelato absently, her mind drifting to Caterina. She came to protect her sister, not to get involved in her family's business, yet here she was: on a date with the Romano Don.

Niccolò was almost bitter, watching as the thoughtful expression appeared on her face. He hadn't had a choice in this world; he couldn't choose to leave, but neither would he if he was given the option - she betrayed her own family.

"Caterina." Cee twirled her spoon between her fingers slowly. "My baby sister." He didn't reply, waiting for her to go on. "She's only five."

Cee sighed, her heart squeezing suddenly. She missed her family. Being gone for four years was easier as the time passed; seeing her parents, her siblings, again ripped open the wound. "I didn't want her to come here, on her own. It's too- "

Cee cut herself off, realising who she was talking to. "Go on," he ordered, leaning forward impatiently; it was the most human he'd seen her.

"Scary." Niccolò drank in her response, pausing for a second; he regarded her curiously, resting his arm along the back of the booth. "She's too young." Cee looked down at her lap, noticing his silence. "She needs to have a childhood," she continued, thinking about her younger sibling. "She needs her parents, a normal life - she's treated like a princess and it should stay like that."

She fell silent for a second, gazing off into the distance. "Her favourite colour is yellow," she told him distractedly, smiling wistfully into thin air.

"What's yours?" For such a terrifying, large, muscular man, Niccolò knew how to make Cee blush.

"Yellow, too." Cee looked up at the man across the table from her, curious at the neutral look in his eyes.

---

About five minutes after they had left the town, Cee felt uneasy, like she was being watched. She shook the feeling off, glancing at Niccolò. His jaw was clenched, his eyes focused on the rear view mirror; his knuckles turning white on the wheel.

"Niccolò?" Cee asked softly. "Is everything okay?" He didn't answer, his eyes flickering to the road ahead and back to the mirror. She could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, suffocating her.

Cee bit her lip, bewildered, and was about to ask again when he replied. "We're being followed," he said curtly, taking a sharp left and pulling up abruptly. Cee flinched as a black car, missing its number plates, rolled up behind them, about fifty metres back.

Niccolò pulled a handgun from the door, loading it in a flash, and turned to her sharply. "Stay here," he ordered strictly, snapping at her. Cee shrank into her seat, planning to hide in the car until the storm passed. He kicked the door open, slamming it behind him.

Cee watched cautiously in the wing mirror, her heart racing, as Niccolò stepped into view. Two men stepped out of the car, from the passenger's seats, both carrying guns.

She saw one of them gesture angrily at Niccolò, his shouting muffled. She strained to hear but he was too far back, and the car made it difficult to listen. Niccolò did not waste time arguing; Cee cringed, covering her eyes and sinking into her seat as his gun fired once.

Three more shots rang out.

There was silence.