"Why are you spying on my boss?" Cee thought for a second her world was imploding. The walls seemed to race inwards, her lungs seemed to shrivel up, the glass shattered; the illusion broken. Everything was falling apart, blasted apart by an explosion, and all she could do was stare, her mind broken.

"What?" she gasped out, her heart hammering faster with every second; Stefano was staring at her with such a cold look in his eye - he knew, he knew, he knew - "I'm not- " - he was going to tell Niccolò - "- a spy."

Stefano looked at her steadily, watched how her eyes darted to her bedside table and back to the incriminating evidence, how her pupils were dilated with fear and how nervous she looked. He lifted his hand to his belt, resting his palm against the cold grip of the gun. "Sit down," he instructed her coolly.

"I'm not a spy," she repeated helplessly, desperately considering running for the door - but he had a gun and she had no excuse; she sat down on her bed, trying not to cry.

"You know what I think," Stefano replied, walking around the bed and shutting the door, trapping her. "I think you got this letter, called the number and they asked you to get something, right? Find something?"

Silently, she nodded, her heart breaking. "What did they ask you to get?" He sounded - not quite angry, but wild; it was a bitter kind of anger, a darkness.

"Financial information and stuff," she mumbled, "but I haven't got it - I didn't steal any information - I wouldn't betray Niccolò like that!" There was silence, following her earnest outpour of emotion; she wouldn't betray Niccolò. She wouldn't do that to him - she couldn't - he protected her now.

"How can I trust you?" Stefano eyed her suspiciously, his thumb ready to flick the safety off at a moment's notice.

"You can't," she admitted truthfully, leaning forward, "but you can come with me - I know what I have to do."

"Which is?" Cee took a deep breath; Stefano was right to be suspicious - she had hidden this from the whole family, but now was the time to put it right.

"I'm going to tell Niccolò the truth - tell him that I hid this from him, that I'm sorry, but I didn't do anything. They have Flo and Angela and I was scared - you can take me to him right now, I won't betray him." Cee kept eye contact with Stefano the entire time; her voice didn't waver once. He had to see that she was telling the truth - he had to know that it was the truth.

It was at that point that Cee realised two things: the first being that the Romanos, despite all their illegal activities, cruel punishments and overprotective paranoia, were the closest thing she'd had to a family in a long time. Leaving her parents and her siblings behind years ago had left a gap: Luca felt like a brother, Flo was her sister and Niccolò - he didn't fit into the family concept but he was the closest she'd ever been to falling for someone. She belonged with them.

The second thing was that Stefano's expression had gone past cold and was now channelling sub-zero Arctic temperatures.

"Did they tell you the story of how I lost my arm?" His voice was dark, controlled. Cee shrank back, suddenly afraid. Something was wrong; she shook her head slowly. "Then I'll tell you."

Stefano reached out, gripping the back of the small chair tucked underneath a desk identical to Niccolò's in the corner of the room; she'd barely even noticed it before. Cee suddenly found the texture of the sheets on her bed fascinating, staring at the soft fabric. The legs of the chair screeched against the floorboards, like nails on a chalkboard or the squeal of tires on tarmac right before a car crash.

"It was supposed to be a routine job," he began, his eyes clouding over slightly, his tone bitter. "A batch delivery - good coke. Good quality." Cee shivered, winding her arms around herself. "See, Anton and I - we're pretty identical. We used to be, at least - if we swapped jobs a couple of times, no one noticed - but on this particular occasion, I didn't realise Anton had stepped in to be on that delivery."

Stefano looked down suddenly at the stump of his left arm, ending just below his elbow; still clearly painful for him. "We used to be identical." Cee didn't interrupt him as he descended into a thoughtful silence, his eyes narrowed at the floorboards. "The plan was that I wouldn't be going on that delivery - but Anton didn't know that. When the team leader started asking questions, he stepped in - pretending to be me to get me out of trouble. He left with the delivery, with my team, in my place.

"As soon as I heard, I tried to get to the delivery van, to stop him - but by the time I got there, it was almost too late. He wouldn't leave - kept asking too many questions - and that's when the bomb went off."

Cee stayed silent, horror rising in her stomach. "See, we were just outside the van arguing when it blew. Dean - remember Dean?" Stefano smiled grimly, bringing his gun out from his belt and holding it lightly in his hand. "He came out to see why we were fighting - so he survived. Just."

"You..." Cee whispered, trying to vocalise her theories, but failing. He'd known about the bomb. He'd known about the bomb before it had gone off. Which meant...

"Don't interrupt," he snapped, pointing his weapon at her; she flinched, but he'd already pulled it back, smiling sadistically. "I lost my arm for my brother - to save his life." He paused, leaning back. "If he hadn't gone in my place, neither of us would have been hurt." Cee stared at him, her fingers clutching at the sheets of the bed like a lifeline. "Of course, I was the one to plant the bomb in the first place."

"Why?" she managed quietly, her voice cracking. "How?" This time he didn't seem to mind the interruptions as much, just shooting her a glare.

"I can't tell you why - not yet. But I can tell you how." Stefano paused, tapping his gun against his leg as he thought. Every twitch of his fingers could mean the end of her life. "I was sneaking out at night, to meet with my employers - and Anton caught on once or twice, following me - but I was careful. The people that were paying me - they gave me the bomb, the parts, the knowledge. All I had to do was get it into the van - they'd do the rest.

"So I took Anton's place, in one of his maintenance jobs. I put the bomb in the van and voila," he mocked, "instant success." His expression turned sour for a second. "So why am I telling you all this?" Cee closed her eyes tightly, focusing on maintaining her breathing when in reality she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.

"I don't know," she mumbled, fear freezing her to the spot.

"Because you can't go to Niccolò." He smiled ruthlessly, a far cry from the man she'd once nursed back in the medical wing of the Romano House. "You won't be able to tell anyone anything if you have a bullet in between your eyes."

Cee barely felt the first tear slip out, but she felt the burning pain in the back of her throat that reminded her that, for now, she was alive.

"Okay," she whispered, "I'll do what you tell me. Please don't hurt me." Stefano gave her a disgusted look, and she immediately wiped the tear away, trying to seem braver than she was.

"You haven't managed to get the information." He paused, watching their reflections in her window as he shrugged. "No matter. As long as you show up at nine pm tonight, they will still have a third hostage, and I'll get paid. Of course," he grinned nastily, "they won't be too happy with you."

Cee swallowed tightly, feeling her head spin. "Okay," she murmured, trying to remind herself of her options - but what could she do? If she didn't agree, firstly Stefano would kill her, and secondly, his employers would kill Flo and Angela. Her self-preservation, something that Cee hadn't even realised she had, kicked in. "Okay. I'll be there."

Stefano scowled at her, standing up in an attempt to threaten her - but she'd been threatened by the Romano Don before and ended up with a scar across her hand to prove it; she didn't flinch. "I'll be watching every move you make and listening to every word you say," he warned her, "if you even try to tell the boss, your friends will be dead before you can blink - and you'll be next."

"I won't," she assured him, her voice strong. Cee felt the certainty of her statement ring around the room: she wasn't going to risk Flo's life - or Angela's - on the off-chance Niccolò could rescue them before they were executed. The only way to guarantee their safety was to just play along. "But Niccolò has asked me to dinner tonight - and I don't know how to get from a restaurant to the address I was told."

"Sneak off at quarter to, I'll be outside with a car," he dismissed, waving his gun haphazardly. "Are we going to have any problems, Miss Fiero?"

That's when Cee looked him in the eye, for the first time since he'd revealed he was a traitor. His eyebrows raised slightly, in shock - he hadn't been expecting the resolve in her eyes. "No," she answered, truthfully. "No problems at all."

---

"I don't know what to tell you, Niccolò," Luca protested, following his cousin across the deserted car park. It was nearly early evening; the light was beginning to fade, despite the fact it was only six in the afternoon. "If Elias can't get him to talk, no one can."

Niccolò turned on him, a furious expression on his face; Luca staggered back instinctively, gravel crunching under his feet. "That rat," the boss sneered, "was hiding something - and until I know what it is, Camilla is in danger."

"We know that," Luca reasoned, watching his cousin's shoulders rise and fall heavily, "but for now, she's safe back at home - we'll stay, to try and get him to talk. Go find Cee." Niccolò attempted to control himself, to bring his anger back down to a manageable level; Luca watched his closest relative stare off into the distance, at the harsh, cold lines of the skyscrapers in the city, the tension fading slightly in his torso.

For a second, the two Romanos stood there in silence, listening to the faint sound of sirens and traffic, the cold air beginning to bite. They'd grown up together, even when Niccolò's parents were still alive - but when they'd died, they'd become closer than cousins. Raised by Luca's mother, they were brothers.

"Go find Cee," Luca repeated, turning away. "I can get Elias to drive you - if you want."

"No," Niccolò snapped. Luca paused, looking back at him; his expression was dark, brooding, as he finally looked away from the city. "I'll drive myself." Luca knew better than to question him while he was in this kind of mood: he'd always been cautious to drive, preferring to be a passenger or avoiding it if possible - Luca suspected it was to do with Niccolò's aunt's accident.

Niccolò didn't bother saying goodbye as he stormed away, heading towards his car; if Anton would just talk - Camilla would be safe. If he knew the names of the traitor's employers, he could destroy them, burn them to the ground. Camilla wouldn't have a target on her back anymore - at least, not specifically.

Niccolò climbed into his car, slamming the door harder than necessary and clenching his fists around the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, faint scars standing stark against his skin. There would always be other targets on her now; he wasn't stupid. Anyone that the Romano Don was interested in became a target; his family, his business partners - and now her.

For a second, Luca watched his cousin's silhouette as the shadowy figure slammed his fist against the wheel; the tires screeched as the car pulled away sharply. They both knew he needed to cool off.

Lights, neon reds and blues, flashed across the windscreen, glinting off the body of the car; the city was descending into evening. Usually the bright lights, the excitement of the city, would make him smile - but not tonight. Niccolò was seconds away from deliberately crashing his car just to feel something other than anger; he was beyond furious. Camilla was still in danger and he could do precisely niente.

"Cazzo," he spat, running a hand through his hair harshly, tugging slightly to feel pain. Everything had been running smoothly, besides one or two slight hiccups with deliveries, and now- well. Niccolò always got his way - always - and he didn't intend this time to be any different. Camilla was his, and no one else could touch her.

By the time he'd driven to Magenta, Niccolò was losing his mind; his world was tearing at the seams, his anger was burning through his veins - he was burning up.

He barely registered the fact that he'd climbed out of his car before he was heading inside, ignoring the people that scattered out of his way; he'd grown used to having this effect - of people parting like the Red Sea just to avoid him, especially when he looked ready to kill.

"Niccolò." The Romano paused, glaring impatiently at the man who'd dared interrupt. Piero Rossi, one of his business partners. Niccolò hadn't seen him in person since the dinner that he'd taken Camilla to - where she'd been objectified, hurt and humiliated; he narrowed his eyes.

"What?" Niccolò snapped, towering over the unfortunate man; he'd picked the wrong day to discuss business.

"Bad day, Mr Romano?" Rossi asked lightly, attempting to lighten the mood. "I came to give you some information."

"Make it quick," Niccolò growled, itching to wipe the smug look off his face; he wanted - no - he needed to get to Camilla. Rossi paused, a satisfied smirk growing on his face.

"Information is not free, Mr Romano, especially concerning your poor sister." For a second, the two men stood there, eye to eye; Niccolò felt shock tense his entire body, before anger washed over him, crashing through his veins, burning his lungs - he lunged at Rossi before he could think.

Rossi hit the floor with a resounding crack as his head bounced off the marble, painfully; Niccolò had a gun pressed against his temple before he could blink, the other hand wrapped around his throat.

"If you had anything to do with it, I'll kill you," Niccolò spat, jabbing the gun into Rossi's forehead sharply; Rossi was no longer smiling smugly - he was sweating, scrabbling helplessly at Niccolò's tight grip around his neck, fighting for his life as the people in the lobby melted away. They knew better.

"Caitos," he gasped out pathetically, after struggling for a minute, losing hope that someone would help him. "One of the Caitos was bragging about it last night - he was drunk - they know where she is."

Niccolò dropped him, stepping away with a look of disgust as Rossi coughed, gasping for air; he lay there on the floor, out of breath, unable to move or roll away. "Get the fuck out of my hotel," Niccolò ordered furiously, glaring at the weak body on his floor.

Rossi staggered to his feet, glaring at Niccolò's back as the Don headed towards the elevator, towards Camilla; he ignored the terrified look on the face of the receptionist, the echoing complaints of Rossi as he was escorted, promptly, out of the building. How dare he come to Camilla's home, trying to bargain - trying to extort money - how dare he breathe in the same building she was in?

Niccolò glared at himself in the mirrored wall of the lift, his fists clenched; he looked powerful, filling the space, intimidating - he should feel powerful but he felt useless - weak, because he couldn't protect Camilla.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd drawn back his right arm and drove it straight into the mirror, shattering his reflection into a thousand pieces.