NICCOLÒ

34. Shatter

The shards of glass attacked, slicing the skin of Niccolò's knuckles; a brilliant, deadly waterfall of light and glitter. It sounded like a windchime as the mirror broke into a spiderweb of cracks and crystals, a sickening crunch poisoning the ethereal symmetry; he saw his own dark eyes, refracted and reflected ten times, glaring at him.

He broke everything he touched, destroyed everything he loved; his demons would catch up to him one day and they would make him suffer. They would burn him alive and record the screams.

A soft chime announced his arrival at the top floor; Niccolò's gaze flickered to the girl, perfect and imperfectly mirrored in the broken glass.

Cee blinked, staring into the elevator with a shocked expression; the man was facing the broken mirror that used to make up the wall of the lift, a furious look on his face - she'd never seen him so angry.

"Niccolò?" she asked softly, uncertainly; she could barely recognise him. A darkness was twisted around him, like the lingering smell of smoke after a bonfire that hung heavy in the air - he was so angry, so raging mad, that when he turned to face her, she took an automatic step back.

Cee flinched as he strode towards her, bearing down on her; she tried to move away once again but he'd already caught her - the last thing she saw was the dangerous look in his eye before he wound his arms tightly round her waist and pressed his lips forcefully against hers.

She couldn't think. He was everywhere: holding her tightly, softly, as if she was going to break, as if he wanted to break her - a contradiction within a certainty - he needed her, and she needed him. Cee let her eyelids flutter closed as she cautiously rested her hands on his shoulders, reaching up to hold on to him; he was her support, she was his downfall.

Niccolò hadn't meant to kiss her - he was just so angry and she was there, and all he could think of was having her, owning her; not to possess her, but to know that she was his and he was hers and he couldn't help himself. For a second, his rage blinded him - he barely noticed that she'd stiffened immediately, that her hands had gone up to defend herself - but it melted away in a heartbeat the moment that she tilted her head just slightly, moving her soft lips against his tentatively.

He felt her fingers lightly dig into his coat as she clung to him for safety, for comfort; they both needed it. He needed her trust, she needed his gentle encouragement. They were puzzle pieces finally matching up, set into place at last.

Cee broke the kiss.

She hadn't been kissed for a long time - but she'd never been kissed like that. She stood still for a second, her breathing hitched, her body pressed against his chest. Liquid electricity ran through her veins, bursting like fireworks behind her eyes - she dared to look up, just slightly. Her gaze caught Niccolò's, and then she was reaching up on tiptoes, and he was kissing her again, gently, as though she was as fragile as the glass he'd shattered in the elevator.

When she finally pulled away, her heart was hammering hard enough to beat out of her chest.

"I could get used to that," Niccolò murmured, his hands still resting on her waist; Cee scowled at him, trying to cover her blush with her palms, but he caught her hands easily, lifting them back to his shoulders.

"Niccolò," Cee mumbled, avoiding his gaze as his lips twitched upwards into a smile, tempted to lean forward and kiss her again. "Are you okay?"

"Don't ask questions," he replied, his tone slightly sharp - cutting through the moment. Cee flinched at his voice, but he couldn't afford to open up to her - not now. She was in danger, and the less she knew, the better. "Let's go."