"Can I ask what happened?"

At first, Niccolò said nothing. There was a pause, filled only by the gentle hush of conversation and piano music. He seemed stuck in thought, absently brushing his thumb over the back of her hand; Cee reached for her water, suddenly nervous. It wasn't her place to ask - and he didn't have to answer, but she'd kept pushing.

She swallowed quickly, turning back to Niccolò. "I'm sorry, you don't have to answer, it's-"

"Camilla," he stopped her, catching her eye to make her freeze. "She raised me." Cee stayed quiet this time, hating the embarrassed flush that rose to her cheeks.

"Sir, madam." A waiter stopped at their table, inclining his head respectfully. "May I take your order?" Cee glanced down at her forgotten menu, her eyes widening; she hadn't even had a chance to look.

Niccolò caught her nervous expression, but nodded to the waiter. "For starter, the seared scallops, for my date, and the venison carpaccio for myself - the seabass and the salmon for main." While Niccolò ordered specific wines for each course, some of which she could not pronounce - and were older than her - Cee tried to appear calm and collected despite the funny butterflies sparking in her stomach.

"You ordered what I would have chosen," she whispered, as soon as the waiter turned away, looking down at her hand, still encased in Niccolò's.

"I know," he shrugged, watching her casually. "I know what you like."

"Oh," she mumbled. "What were you saying?"

"My aunt Diana raised me," Niccolò repeated calmly, the only sign of discomfort being the slight tightening of his hand around Cee's. "My parents died when I was young - killed by traitors to the family."

Cee flinched at his words. "Oh, Niccolò."

"The rats slit my mother's throat in front of my father, to break his heart before they stopped it." Niccolò paused, noting the horrified look on her face. "I don't have to tell you, if you don't want."

"No, no," she protested weakly, "I just- I can't believe someone would do something like that."

"I forget how innocent you are." Niccolò stared at her for a second, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, nervous under his scrutiny. "I was sixteen, at the time. Angela had just turned one."

"So young," she murmured, biting her lip as she studied his face, growing angry that anyone would take away a child's parents. He shrugged.

"My aunt took me in, raised me as her own. I never considered myself an orphan." Cee felt her own heart crack under the strain, under the pain he'd endured for so long. "She died in a car crash." Abruptly, Cee realised that Diana's death had been traumatic for him. Niccolò still hated driving - Elias had mentioned it before - and now he valued family more than anything.

"When did she die?" Cee asked softly, feeling the tension in Niccolò's forearm increase; she trailed her fingers across his skin reassuringly, trying to alleviate his pain.

"Five years ago," he stated finally, once he was sure his voice was level, even. "That's when I truly felt like an orphan."

"Niccolò," Cee whispered unintentionally, her soul throbbing for him, aching for his suffering.

"I set up the orphanage in her memory," he revealed emotionlessly, his expression cold. "So that they could feel they have a home with James, as I did with Diana." The moment Niccolò had felt emotion rising in his words, he fought it back, supressing it with cold, unfeeling force; he didn't expect Camilla to slip her arms around his shoulders and soothe those painful, stabbing feelings to a gentle, bearable ache with one hug.

Cee felt him tense at her touch, initially; embarrassed, she tried to pull away, to save her dignity, but his arm slipped around her waist, holding her tightly against his chest. "I think it's amazing," she whispered, her hands resting on his shoulders, her eyes focused on the collar of his shirt; she knew he was watching her, but if she looked up, she knew she'd lose track of her thoughts.

"I'm not a good man, Camilla." Niccolò forced himself to retract his arm, to encourage the angel nestled into his side to move away. "Whether or not the orphanage is a good thing, it doesn't redeem me."

Cee tilted her head forward, letting her hair shield her face from him; he was right. It didn't excuse the drug dealing, the danger he put people in, the torture and pain he caused others. He should be in prison - but that didn't define who he was. Niccolò was a good man, in a bad situation, and he'd adapted to survive; just because he'd been born into a mafia family did not mean he was a mafia man.

Niccolò merely observed her, letting her think; he knew they were on opposite ends of a moral scale - Camilla with her desire to heal and help, him with his wars and bribes and drug deals and everything else. He wanted her - god, he wanted her - but he couldn't have her. She'd have to give up everything, to choose a life with him; she'd run away from her own family's business to escape it all. He couldn't ask her to join his world.

"Excuse me," he said abruptly, politely, moving away from the table, his hand automatically reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. Cee looked up, shocked - she wanted to call after him, but he was already half way towards the door.

---

Cee sighed, listening to the clink of glasses and cutlery. It had been ten lonely, quiet minutes - enough time for him to calm down over whatever she'd said (or not said?) - and now the waiters were giving her looks of pity.

"Ma'am." Cee looked up from her lap, fighting to keep a fake smile plastered across her face. The waiter was looking at her sympathetically, pitying her - the girl whose date walked out before the starter. "Are you ready for your starter?"

Cee expelled the breath she was holding sharply, glancing at the empty space beside her. "In five minutes, please." He nodded politely, backing away; she waited for another ten seconds before deciding enough was enough.

Cee pulled herself to her feet, wobbling slightly at the unexpected heel before marching determinedly towards the door - following Niccolò.

The cold night air slapped her across the face, making her shiver, wishing she still had her coat. Scanning the area, Cee quickly latched onto a figure a few feet away, standing by some elaborate water feature, dripping with shadows; an amber glow lit up his jaw. Niccolò.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Cee moved towards the large silhouette, her resolve disintegrating with every step.

"Niccolò." At first, he didn't turn, looking up at the moon - almost full, but not quite perfect: a tiny bite taken out of the light.

Cee shivered again, waiting for a response - any response; she'd meant for her voice to come out harsh, demanding that he came inside instead of ignoring her - but it had come out soft and uneven, unsure.

Then he turned.

His eyes fell on her small frame, shivering in the dark, her dress shining like the moon itself; absently, he lifted his second cigarette to his mouth, breathing in the smoke as if it would distract from her - everything he thought about was her.

"Camilla." Even in the darkness, she was almost breathless at the sight of him. She knew how he clenched his jaw when he was stressed - or frustrated - and how his dark, cold eyes melted just a little when she was around.

"Are you okay?" It wasn't what she'd meant to say. She'd meant to say why did you leave me alone after what you told me? Why didn't you tell me more? Did I do something wrong?

It hasn't been what he'd expected either - he'd expected her to be angry, and she wanted to be angry, but apparently her worry for his wellbeing came first.

"I am now." Slowly, Cee moved towards him, until she was close enough to kiss him; she reached up, cautiously, sliding the cigarette from his fingers. Niccolò didn't try to resist her, letting her steal it without a fight.

"You shouldn't smoke," she warned, biting her lip. There was a slight pause, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving away. Her gaze fell to the floor, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Come back inside."

Niccolò watched her, his expression impassive. "Is that a order?"

"Please, Niccolò." Abruptly, Cee felt like crying. She wanted Niccolò, on one hand, but on the other she knew she was betraying him.

"Come here." Cee glanced up, forcing back the emotions that threatened to choke her; his face was serious, watching her. "Don't make me ask twice."

She smiled faintly, stepping forward the tiniest fraction, feeling his hands rest on her waist, her cheek against his chest. She'd give up anything to stay in this moment, peaceful and quiet, the sound of running water trickling through the air.

"Please come inside?" she asked softly, closing her eyes. "I'm hungry." Niccolò half-smiled, letting the angel resting against him for a second longer. He wanted to tell her that he'd do anything for her if she asked - even if she tried to give him orders - but he couldn't.

"Fine," he said gruffly, clearing his throat. "Fine." Before she could blink, he'd stolen the cigarette from his hand, taken a quick drag and dropped it to the floor, crushing it underfoot. Cee glared at Niccolò, tempted to yell at him for being a hypocrite, but he'd already pulled her close, pressing his lips against her cheek and she forgot her train of thought.

"I'm sorry for leaving you," he murmured into her ear, letting her take the lead as the two headed back inside, away from the crisp night air and the lonely stars. "You're overwhelming."

"Overwhelming," Cee repeated quietly, thinking it over; she'd never been described as overwhelming before. Niccolò nodded, looking down at her protectively - like he'd never seen her before.

"I need more smoke breaks to calm down," he informed her, his tone deadly serious despite the teasing glint in his eye as she slipped back into the booth-style seating, following closely behind.

"Why did you get so mad at me for smoking once then?" Cee asked curiously, pushing her hair behind her ear to see him more clearly, to lean in. He shrugged, resting his arm along the top of the booth just inches away from her shoulders.

"It's not good for you," Niccolò told her flatly, only glancing away when the waiter returned with their starter. Cee pressed her lips together tightly to prevent herself from berating him; it wasn't good for him either, the hypocrite - he clearly understood the risks. "Any other questions?"

"Yes," she replied immediately, trying not to smile as he sent her a disgruntled look. "Why don't you like questions?" He took a second to respond, chewing his food thoughtfully and swallowing, taking a sip of wine to chase it down.

"Questioning my orders is a sign of distrust," he stated, leaving no room for argument. "I require absolute faith from my employees."

"And personal questions?" Niccolò looked at her, his eyes boring into hers with a warning expression. Cee waited, knowing that he wouldn't refuse to answer, knowing that any moodiness would vanish if she smiled sweetly. It took a moment, but he looked away, disarmed by her eager smile and sparkling eyes.

"I'm uncomfortable opening up to others," he grumbled, admitting reluctantly. "It doesn't come naturally to me." Cee brought a forkful of scallops, perfectly seared with a hint of lemon zest, to her lips, enjoying distracted look on Niccolò's face as he stared at her.

"People who stare at me usually get hurt," she teased, repeating his words back at him after she'd swallowed.

"Shut up," he muttered moodily, but his eyes were glinting with fondness. "Are you enjoying your food?" Cee almost laughed, knowing he changed the subject deliberately.

"It's amazing," she answered truthfully, "do you want to try some?" He shook his head, leaning back to taste his wine, observing her the entire time.

"You're going to eat all of it," he stated casually, picking a strand of her hair from her shoulder and twirling it around his fingers gently, careful not to pull it and hurt her. Cee froze as soon as she felt the light movement, the stupid butterflies fluttering around in her stomach again. "You're still too skinny."

She rolled her eyes, relaxing as he played with her hair - just lightly. "I didn't come on this date to be criticised." She felt him pause, felt his hand still.

"Date?" Cee looked up, her heart rate spiking suddenly. Was this not a date? Maybe she'd misread the signals - he had kissed her though, after all - but that might not have meant anything to him.

"Dinner," she amended, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry," she mumbled uncertainly, after a pause. Niccolò considered her, keeping his expression deliberately blank and impassive.

He wanted her - they both knew he wanted her - but he'd already made up his mind. He wouldn't force her into a world she didn't want to be a part of; but then again, the idea of not dating Camilla, the idea that she wasn't his, made his fist clench under the table.

"Niccolò?"

"It's fine," he replied absently, barely acknowledging her.

He wanted Camilla - heart, body and soul - so yes, he decided, he did want to date her, but he wouldn't. It was too difficult for him to open up to anyone, and Camilla, of all people, didn't deserve that.

Cee stayed quiet as the waiter collected their empty plates, trying not to focus on the modern-art style clock facing her, mocking her with its countdown. Stefano had told her to escape at 8.45pm. It was now 8.15 - she had half an hour to make a decision. Either she told Niccolò, refusing to go with Stefano, and the two hostages died as soon as she didn't show up. Or she went with Stefano, exchanging herself for the two hostages and hoping that Niccolò would forgive her.

She couldn't let anyone else die for her - not after Caterina. No more children would die for her, no more friends.

"What's your wildest dream?" Cee asked softly, realising that she might die tonight. Niccolò's enemies had beaten - possibly even raped - Flo, and Cee was going to them empty-handed, without Niccolò's financial information or a list of prisoners or anything. There was no reason for them to treat her with kindness, and if she was going to die, she at least wanted to know about Niccolò's future. "The one thing you want to achieve in life?"

"What's yours?" Niccolò deflected her questions easily, challenging her.

"To work at a paediatric hospital," she replied, slightly impatiently. "You?"

"I can see that happening," he replied simply, the corner of his mouth twitching at her frustration. "You looked after Rosa's baby for her back at the compound."

"I love children," Cee explained quickly. "What about you - what do you want to achieve before you die?"

Niccolò paused. He wanted to continue funding the orphanage, continue expanding his empire - but those weren't his ultimate goals. He'd never had any specific goals before - but looking down at the Fiero girl, her attention solely on him and him alone, he had a thought.

"To have a family of my own." Cee blinked, searching his expression for any sign of sarcasm, but he'd returned to his impassive expression once again, as a defence mechanism.

"Yeah?" she replied softly, encouragingly.

"A wife and children, to provide for," he expanded slightly, almost hesitantly; he'd never wanted this before - but saying it out loud, he knew it was true. He wanted the domestic life, to have his world centred around the few people he loved rather than the world of his work.

Cee noticed the vulnerability in his voice - an uncertainty that she'd never heard from him before; her heart melted. "Why haven't you settled down already?" she asked, gently pulling him out of his own thoughts and back to the real world; his expression, to anyone else, would be unreadable - but she knew he was covering up his emotion.

"I haven't found the right person," he said lowly, his voice rough, "and it isn't a vulnerability I can afford to have in my lifestyle."

"Family doesn't make you weak," Cee replied quietly, her thoughts drifting to her own family. Her parents had been each other's rock, respective sources of comfort and support; her brother was the only one she had left, and it made her stronger. She had to live for him. She had to live for Flo, for Luca, for Niccolò - at some point, some of the Romanos had become her family: not by blood, but by choice.

"I would worry I couldn't protect them." She met Niccolò's gaze, her heart going out to him; he'd been so hurt by the loss of his parents that he couldn't bear to lose anyone again.

"You can't protect everyone," she told him, making his jaw clench.

"I can protect you," he responded forcefully, his tone filled with conviction. "But I couldn't protect a family of five or six - it's hard to keep track of so many individuals."

"How many children are you planning on having?" Cee teased, making him smile - making the sparkles in her stomach go crazy. "If you want a family, you should have one. Don't let your overthinking stop you."

"It's hard enough to keep track of you," he admitted, "and you live with me." Cee shifted uncomfortably, knowing she was about to disappear off his radar once again.

"You don't need to keep track of me," she mumbled, "I can handle myself." Niccolò rolled his eyes, watching her run her fingers over her skirt nervously.

"I don't keep track of you because I don't think you can handle yourself."

"Then why?" She couldn't help asking, watching Niccolò consider her for a second.

"A combination of reasons," he replied eventually, watching how she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her necklace - from him - sparkled in the dim lighting.

"Such as?"

"Mostly as precaution," he shrugged, "but also because I want to."

---

Author's Note

I'm so sorry that my updates have been so few and far between recently but on the plus side I am half way through my exams and hopefully everything will be relatively normal soon!! I'll be updating once a week when I'm less stressed xo