NICCOLÒ

8. A Pet Fiero

7:28.

Cee shivered, descending the stairs slowly. It was a chance to get out of the house, she reminded herself, you're not in trouble. You've done nothing wrong.

Her white heels clicked slowly down the grand staircase. She wore white, to surrender. She didn't want trouble. Romano wanted something from her, she worked that out at least, but she didn't know what.

Romano was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, like a true gentleman. Even his suit was immaculate; his top button done for once.

"Mr Romano," she said carefully, reaching the first step and waiting, face to face with him.

"For this evening," he began, sizing her up, his eyes calculating, "you are permitted to call me Niccolò." Cee felt her pulse quicken with nerves. "We have a show to put on, Miss Fiero."

"Camilla," she said finally, grudgingly. "If we're on a first name basis now." She noticed how his jaw clenched.

"Camilla," he repeated, testing how her name tasted on his tongue. "Please." He gestured towards the front door, offering his arm.

Cee felt the stirrings of unease and anger. How dare he pretend to be this gentleman when Flo was gone? How dare he offer her his arm when he had hurt Luca with the same skin that she refused to touch?

"You will disrespect me if you do not," he warned casually. Cee stared at his offered arm for a second too long, before accepting.

"I am surprised," she murmured, as the doors were opened for them, "that you know how to act like a true gentleman." Cee dared to look at him; he looked down, suppressing a cold smile as they walked down the stone steps.

"I am an Italian," he mused, opening the car door for her. "It is in my blood." Cee looked up at him then: into the eyes of a killer, and realised then that once, this man - this cold, cruel angel of death - had been cradled in his mother's arms and that his mother, when he was old enough to understand, had tried to teach him about true gentlemen; to hold the door open, to offer his arm, to be kind. And along the way, this way of life, his weapons business, this insane Mafia world had chipped away his humanity. Only remnants of his mother's love showed.

"Yes," she whispered, "I suppose it is."

He joined her in the back, his eyes turning to the outside world as the driver smoothly drove away.

"Where is Flo?" Her words broke the calm silence between them. For a second, Cee thought that he wouldn't acknowledge her, but then his head turned, his eyes glinting curiously.

"Flo is fine," he intoned, "for now." Cee waited, expecting some demand or threat, but Romano merely looked at her.

"That's it?" she asked, slightly incredulous. "That's all I get?" Romano watched her carefully, making no move to speak. "Flo has been missing for days and I don't get to know where she is?" Her voice grew louder, and his gaze mutated into a frown.

"Lower your voice," he ordered dangerously, and Cee's mouth snapped shut. "If you play along tonight, I will release her." There was a pause.

"Play along?" Cee shifted nervously, running her fingers across the silky material of her dress. Romano sighed, running a hand through his hair. He seemed tense.

"Stay silent. Don't speak unless spoken to, and even then, only when I give permission. Don't snap at anyone, don't even look anyone in the eye." Cee opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

"Act weak," she muttered, "got it."

"Not weak," he replied coldly, "subdued." Cee turned her head to look out the window, fighting the urge to retort. The bright lights of the city flashed by her window, reflected in her eyes.