NICCOLÒ

3. The Younger Cousin

Cee barely slept.

It was the feeling of being watched, of being observed like some alien experiment, that made her shiver. Sure, her father had kept watch on her while she was away from home, she knew that. She had a target on her back. But those men watched her to keep her safe. The Romanos were watching her to make sure she was trapped.

She felt like a fly under a microscope. That's all she was to them: an insect, a nuisance. Or maybe a fly in a web, surrounded by security cameras.

Maybe she would die here. Her father certainly wouldn't fight a war for her. Not against the Romanos.

"Miss Fiero?" Two light knocks on the door. "I have a breakfast tray for you, Miss, may I have permission to enter?"

"May I have permission to leave?" Cee muttered under her breath. "Yes, come in." A young woman walked in, balancing a laden tray on one arm and holding several hangers with the other.

"Toast, scrambled eggs, coffee, Miss Fiero." The woman balanced the tray carefully on the bedside table. "And I have some clothes, Miss Fiero, sent from your family." Cee didn't miss the slight bite in her voice at the mention of the Fiero family.

"You can call me Cee," she told the girl, "I'm not a proper Fiero." The girl nodded her head respectfully, refusing to meet her eye.

"It's what Mr Romano told us all to call you, Miss Fiero."

"Mr Romano doesn't have to know." The girl frowned, her eyes flicking from side to side to check they hadn't been overheard. "What's your name?"

"Florence, Miss Fiero, but everyone calls me Flo."

"Everyone calls me Cee," she forced a smile to Flo, "please. I won't tell." The girl shook her head sharply, backing away.

"Sorry, Miss Fiero. I won't disobey orders." Cee sighed as the girl practically sprinted away, not forgetting to lock the door again. So much for making friends.

She nibbled at the toast. Coffee wasn't her drink of choice, made her anxious. If she needed caffeine, Red Bull would help her get through her early morning classes.

The clothes were comforting though. They smelled like home, a soft smell of washing detergent and vanilla.

"Miss Fiero?" It was a different voice this time, a man's. "May I have permission to enter?" Cee frowned at the phrase Flo had used earlier. Perhaps it was a custom the Romanos had.

"Yes," she called, her voice slightly too soft. A young man entered the room. He was dressed smartly, like a lawyer in a city firm, or a banker, but without a tie or jacket. Cee eyed him suspiciously, recognising him from last night suddenly.

"Miss Fiero." Luca crossed the room in two paces, bending his head formally and smiling. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Please, call me Cee," she smiled softly. He had the Romano curls; floppy, wild, dark corkscrew curls. It made him seem younger, more innocent somehow, despite the family name.

"Cee," he agreed. "If you would allow me, I'd like to show you the house, and possibly grounds, of my family home." Nothing was phrased as a question. Mafia families never liked to offer anything - they stated things, waiting for acceptance. His voice had just the tinge of the true Italian accent: perhaps he had once lived there, unlike Cee. She'd only visited her grandparents once or twice, while they were alive.

"I'd love that," she smiled genuinely, "I didn't expect to be allowed out of this room for the next two months." Luca grinned.

"We cannot lock you up here forever, Miss F- Cee." He noticed her untouched breakfast. "Was there a problem with your breakfast? Would you like something else? Porridge? A cooked breakfast?" Cee shook her head.