NICCOLÒ

35. Inner Child

A soft light was filtering through the blinds, brushing across Niccolò's eyelids, highlighting his strong jawline; he lay there for a second, keeping his eyes closed, and let the slight warmth sink in. He hadn't slept so well in weeks - although his arm felt numb.

Shifting slightly, Niccolò lifted his free hand to his face, wiping sleep from his eyes; he stopped at the sound of a gentle moan. Turning his head, he realised his arm was still wrapped around Camilla, her head resting on his chest. She was fast asleep, her expression peaceful: one arm was thrown around his waist.

He remembered carrying her back to his room the night before, sliding her into his sheets and stripping down to his boxer briefs before he joined her. She hadn't wanted to sleep alone after those pictures, and he was almost relieved - any excuse to keep an eye on her.

At some point, they'd shifted closer together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing until Cee was falling back asleep. He could get used to it.

Trying not to move too much, Niccolò reached out for his phone, resting on his bedside table: it was nearly seven in the morning - later than he usually woke.

"Niccolò?" Camilla's voice was sleepy and confused; he turned his head to her, dropping his phone immediately.

"Did I wake you?" he murmured, watching her eyes open and flutter shut repeatedly as she nodded, eventually deciding to keep her eyes closed. "Go back to sleep, cara."

"Mm," she mumbled, her palm now resting on his chest. Niccolò watched her, watching her eyelashes brushing against her cheeks, her hair glinting in the morning light, and for a second, he felt like he could love.

When Cee woke again, she was alone. The blinds had been closed fully, not a crack of light shone through the material, and the sheets had been carefully tucked around her; she smiled to herself.

Niccolò wasn't the type to wait around until nine o'clock to get going, or the type to make her breakfast in bed, but she knew his tiny gestures meant a lot, and she wouldn't change him or his impatience.

---

Niccolò glared at the rising numbers of the elevator; he was rising too slowly. Anton had refused to talk - again - and two of his employees had been arrested at midday, meaning he couldn't meet Camilla for lunch as a surprise.

The arrests were pretty meaningless: both on suspicion of assault. Whilst Niccolò had quite a few high ranking officials keeping an eye out for him, sometimes the police force were pressured into a crackdown against organised crime, due to spikes in crime rates. The chief of police couldn't exactly tell his force specifically not to arrest Romano's men but it was frustrating: some jumped up new boy playing dress up clearly hadn't got the memo that Niccolò Romano was untouchable.

He worked damn hard to ensure that he was untraceable - none of his drugs could be traced back to him, none of his workers, none of his offshore accounts. And this young, dumb kid who'd clearly only just earned his badge had held him up for nearly half an hour trying to pin something on him for bailing the two men out.

Niccolò almost slammed his fist into the mirror again - he really needed to get that fixed - but he was finally at the top floor.

"Camilla?" he called, before the doors had even fully opened. Their apartment looked almost exactly the same as when he had left it, except now a small figure was curled on the sofa, looking up from the book in her lap.

"Niccolò." She sounded surprised, but a small smile appeared on her face. He strode over, leaning over and tilting her chin up with his hand to kiss her hard, taking her breath away. Niccolò broke the kiss, abruptly realising that his anger had dissipated the moment he'd seen her.