Updates for this story will be sporadic at best, but here, have the second chapter! Again, this story is for Silenceia, who is a wonderful friend and enabler.

Paint Me With Your Colours

The following morning, after suffering through the usual horrors of being dressed and what-not, a new person walked into her prison before the Aunt Petunia-lookalike and her posse of maids could leave.

Harry eyed him with disgruntled suspicion.

What was it Gabbiano had called him? Nebbie? Or something.

He wasn't particularly tall, with black hair and a nondescript face. His eyes, though... his eyes were what caught her attention.

It wasn't the colour, but something else she couldn't put her finger on, she just knew she didn't like it.

At all.

He looked at her like... Like Skeeter had looked at her when they'd first met. Like Harry was the scoop of her life just waiting for her to reach out and grab hold of.

This man was eyeing her similarly, before he plastered a pleasant smile on his face and began to ooze something that seemed to say 'you can trust me, I'm likeable and good, and we're gonna become wonderful friends' and Harry most of all wanted to kick him in the nuts.

This might lead to a possible way out, though, so she restrained her temper and remained in her seat.

Petunia's double fired a brief string of questions at the man, which he answered almost dismissively.

One of Gabbiano's muscle-men opened the door for the retreating maids and then stepped into the room once they'd gone and closed the door behind him. Taking up position in front of it.

Asshole.

Harry turned her attention back to Nebbie, who was still eyeing her like she was a surprise gift.

"Let us get started, then?" Nebbie said pleasantly, motioning at the seat next to her with a mildly inquiring air about him.

In addition to the sickly-sweet atmosphere he seemed to exude. Like rotten fruit.

Harry absently wondered if the make-up on her face would crack if she wrinkled her nose, but then pushed the thought aside, because stuff was happening now.

Not that she was entirely sure what kind of 'stuff' it was yet.

"Get what, exactly, started?" Harry questioned, as calmly as she was capable.

Nebbie's smile widened. "Help your understanding of the local language, of course. As Don Gabbiano informed you yesterday, Lady Henrietta."

Again with that horrible name.

Harry wanted her wand. Sorely.

Voldemort had placed a taboo on his name, she was sure she could figure out how to do the same with this one.

Instead of fantasizing about what she'd do to these people if she had had access to her wand, Harry narrowed her eyes on Nebbie.

He didn't look like any kind of teacher or tutor or whatever the hell rich people used for these sorts of things.

"It'll be quick," he 'assured' her, but Harry didn't trust that at all.

Nebbie sent her what was no doubt a charming smile, but Harry felt like throwing up on his shoes, she was so not charmed, but then there was a... vaguely familiar sensation and she stopped moving entirely.

Not that Harry had been moving much up to that point, sitting down as she was, but now, she was completely frozen.

She knew this sensation.

She knew it intimately and she had never wanted to feel it again.

Harry's temper snapped and she tore herself out of her frozen shock with molten fury in her chest as she fixed Nebbie with a look that she hoped conveyed every single little bit of her feelings right now.

"Get out of my head," she told him in a chillingly calm voice that sounded alien to her own ears. She was so angry there was a rushing in her ears and the lights in the room actually flickered faintly.

Harry was too distracted to notice.

She hadn't even noticed standing up, but she had. At some point.

Nebbie had frozen in his seat. He was pale, sweating and looking on the brink of fainting.

He didn't move, though, and when that niggling feeling in her head, like a worm trying to wiggle its way deep inside her brain, didn't disappear, she felt her magic stir beneath her skin and she forced him out!

Some part of her envisioned slamming a Gringott's Vault door in his face with enough force to smash it.

His face, not the door, obviously.

When she blinked back to the present, Harry was panting hard with exertion and Nebbie had fled the room, taking the body guard with him.

Harry huffed out an infuriated growl and stomped over to the windows to try and walk her anger off. It was the best she could do with her limited options.

.

Two days after Nebbie's brief visit, Harry was taken out of 'her room' for the first time, and that was after she'd done her best to 'behave herself' as Gabbiano had so delicately phrased it.

The bloody git.

Since the moment she'd stepped foot out the door, she'd been flanked by the two bodyguards, and they kept close enough she wondered if she wouldn't get squished between them if they stepped any closer.

Harry irritably bore it and let them steer her in whatever direction they wanted, busy enough by subtly keeping an eye out for a possible escape route.

Trying for freedom right away would be stupid, and she didn't doubt they'd toss her back in her cell with little care for another few weeks, and she'd go insane.

So no, Harry was biding her time, keeping her eyes and ears open.

The hallways and rooms they took her through were all very grand and decorated with things that probably cost more than Harry could even imagine, but she didn't feel impressed.

She'd actually like a word with whoever chose the décor, because this was all awfully tacky.

They took her to a gaudy dining hall, and she wasn't happy to see Gabbiano, but easily enough let them manoeuvrer her into a chair beside him.

"Good morning, Lady Henrietta," he greeted affably, taking his eyes off of his breakfast long enough to look her over. Inspect her. "I was very glad to hear my people had nothing of note to report in the last two days," he continued casually, turning back to his food. "I hope you'll be able to fully appreciate the beauty of your new home and greet our family with a ready smile."

Hell no.

Harry hadn't felt like smiling with anything other than aggression since this whole thing started.

Smiling sincerely at the people who were keeping her here against her will? Trying to force her into the mould of an obedient doll?

She'd pass, thank you.

Harry was provided with her own plate of breakfast and she dutifully picked up the fork and ate.

They apparently wanted her healthy, which was something, but she still hadn't gotten an answer as to why they were so insistent on adopting her or whatever this whole thing was supposed to be. From their perspective, at least.

Gabbiano kept calling it 'our' family. As if Harry had any interest in complying with that.

She felt like scoffing.

When they were done eating, Gabbiano rose to his feet and swept out an arm in an inviting gesture. "Come, and I shall introduce you to some of my closest men," he said.

Harry did as directed, no matter how much it grated.

Soon enough, she'd been seated on a delicate-looking sofa, gotten an equally delicate coffee cup and saucer placed into her hands and she found herself staring pensively at three men. All wearing suits and looking more or less comfortable.

One looked completely at ease, with a mildly bored expression on his face, while the other two were far more attentive and alert.

Nebbie was lurking in the corner furthest away from her, as if hoping she wouldn't notice him, but she was content to ignore that for now.

Gabbiano took the seat beside her, far too close for her comfort.

"Lady Henrietta," he began, reaching out to place his hand on her forearm and she twitched minutely. "Meet my son, Armando," he said, gesturing with his other hand at the bored-looking man slumped in the sofa opposite them, seated between the other two.

Nebbie was still lurking in the far corner.

"Charmed," Harry said in a voice so dry it could peel paint, she was sure. There was also a completely deadpan expression on her face, and she didn't know how anyone could mistake her reply for anything other than the bullshit it was.

'Armando' dutifully turned his attention to her, but spent the next few seconds inspecting her face, before drawling out something in whatever language they were using, and Harry considered if she most of all wanted to laugh or put him on the ever-growing list of people she wanted to curse.

Probably the latter.

She could laugh while cursing him, she decided.

Because that sentence? She may not have understood it, but that didn't mean she didn't recognize the tone.

People had been looking at her and found her lacking her whole life.

Gabbiano ignored his son's comment and instead continued with the introductions. "Then there's Rocco," he gestured at the guy on the left, who inclined his head in a cordial nod, "and Luca, both some of my most trusted."

Harry actually didn't know what to make of this whole... meet-and-greet.

What was the objective here?

Did Gabbiano just want to parade her around? For some strange reason?

It didn't make sense.

And that was about as far as she got, following that particular trail of thought, before it felt like something pressed down on her. Only it wasn't just down, but from all around and for one confusing second, Harry wondered if she was Apparating, but no, that wasn't right.

She was still sitting on the sofa, and Gabbiano had a firm grip on her arm.

It felt like she couldn't breathe, even when she distantly realised she was. Her rib cage expanded, sucking air into her lungs, but it was distant.

It felt like something slimy was crawling up her spine and Harry hated it.

Hated this. Hated this feeling and this whole situation.

Barely biting back a hiss of 'stop it' Harry clenched her teeth and tried to clear her head.

What in Merlin's name was this!?

She was... slowly getting used to it, and when she reached the point where she once more became aware of the room around her, she immediately noticed the way every single man in the room was staring at her and-

Were they responsible for this?

Were they trying to- to break her or something?

She'd have none of it. Absolutely not.

Harry raised her chin in silent challenge and finally raised the cup in her hand to take a measured sip of coffee, even though it was far too bitter.

There was nothing more upsetting than indifference to people who wanted to break you.

The question was; did she challenge them outright? Or feign ignorance.

...Harry was very good at that first one and not very good at all at the latter. Damn it. She had a feeling she should go with ignorance.

If Ron and Hermione had been here, they'd tell her to go for ignorance, she was sure of it.

So Harry sat there, in silence, drinking the stupid coffee and acting like five men weren't staring intently at her while they did... something.

As if she'd ever just roll over and accept defeat.

They had no idea who it was they were dealing with.

-x-x-x-

Harry was taken on another tour of the manor the day after, though by a different route.

She'd been obedient and perfectly polite even, but she was more determined than ever to get away.

She was just biding her time.

So while bodyguard One and Two were walking her through a long corridor lined with portraits on the ground floor, she threw an eye at the windows every now and then, placed at even distances down the way.

Pausing to stare at the various portraits every now and then gave her plenty of time to consider her plan.

If it could pass as one.

Well, she would never know if it'd work or not if she didn't try, so to hell with caution.

If it worked, then good! She wouldn't have to worry about it.

If it didn't... she'd deal with the fallout.

Just before they reached the next window, Harry began to slow, feigning interest in the portrait of a portly old man dressed to the nines peering down at her with a superior look on his face. He looked far too smug and self-important to be called attractive and she didn't know why anyone would want his portrait hanging in their house.

The important thing, though, was that One and Two believed they knew what to expect now and had grown complacent.

They were waiting for her to look her fill and then continue the sedate walk down the corridor to whatever destination they had in mind.

Instead, Harry slid behind and past bodyguard Two and threw herself out of the window with as much force as she could manage.

With a loud crash and a shower of glass, Harry tumbled out into the flowerbeds beneath the window and she rolled to her feel with a triumphant grin, ignoring the shouts behind and above her and immediately tried to run towards... well, away.

Away was good enough right now.

Harry took one step and almost face-planted in the grass and cursed out the ridiculous dress she was wearing.

Hurriedly gathering up the voluminous skirts, she ran the moment she'd gotten enough of the damn fabric to free up her legs for running.

And then she took off.

She'd been here long enough and hadn't enjoyed her stay.

There were more people shouting behind her, but Harry didn't so much as glance over her shoulder.

No, she kept her eyes on the prize and threw everything she had into getting free.

When she was tackled to the grass, Harry felt tempted to let out a frustrated scream because she'd been so close!

She'd manage next time, she thought grimly when they carried her back to the house and threw her back into her prison cell.

Next time.

-x-x-x-

"-found themselves a Sky," someone said and Renato paused in the act of reaching for his glass.

"Excuse me?" he said blandly, turning to the two mafiosi that had been speaking, shamelessly cutting into their conversation.

If they didn't want to get overheard, then they shouldn't be talking about things like that in public.

Or however much a Mafia bar could be classified as 'public' anyway.

"The Gabbiano found themselves a Sky," he repeated, turning to Renato with interest. "Rumour says, anyway. No one outside the Family's actually seen the girl."

"Oh?" Renato eyed him idly, picking up his glass and bringing it to his mouth to take a sip of his whiskey.

Sometimes, people were more eager to talk if you didn't directly ask.

"Poor girl's apparently too frail to leave her rooms. Damn shame that," the man continued, shaking his head. "Had a bad life before the Gabbiano saved her, too," he added under his breath. "You get me?"

Renato tipped his head in a shallow nod and turned back to his drink.

World was a shitty place.

Instead of delving deeper into the latest gossip, Renate focused on the bar around him and made plans for the hit he'd just been commissioned for. He knew a good information broker not far from here, which would be a decent starting point.

-x-x-x-

Harry was back to being locked in her cell as 'punishment' for her escape attempt.

It'd been a week, and she hadn't set foot outside the opulent room they'd chosen to jail her in. But unlike before, she didn't spend her days mostly alone.

It wasn't an improvement.

After the Petunia Double and her maids left every morning, she was joined by one of the three men Gabbiano had 'introduced' her to. Mostly, she was kept company by the man's son, whatever his name had been.

He spent the hours lounging on the couch and talking to her in a language she couldn't understand, while Harry did her best to ignore him.

It wasn't easy, considering all of them kept up with the... pressure. She didn't know what it was; it didn't feel like magic and she had already established these people were muggles, anyway.

And while it wasn't a joined, concentrated effort like that first time, the prolonged exposure was wearing on her until her grasp on her temper grew... strenuous.

Curiously enough, Nebbie hadn't showed his face again, and she could only be glad for it.

One less menace to worry about.

Didn't change the fact Harry was starting to feel like a chained dragon.

Gabbiano paid her another visit, and it was one of his comments that made something finally give.

Harry was alone, it was evening, and there was a beautiful sunset outside the windows she was pacing along.

It was a lovely view, but she was preoccupied.

She only acknowledged the maid bringing in her dinner with a glance, not pausing in her quest to wear down the thick carpet.

It wasn't until the woman left that Harry turned to eye the food tray.

With a snort, she walked up to it to take a look, see what Gabbiano was trying to feed her with today.

She was just glad it looked like she'd be able to eat alone.

Lifting the silver cover, Harry eyed the entrecôte waiting for her, looking to have been expertly cooked, but it wasn't what she ended up staring at.

Together with the dish, she'd been provided the appropriate cutlery and Harry slowly reached for the steak knife.

It was quite a bit different from normal cutlery knives.

Gabbiano's earlier comment rang in her ears and Harry considered it.

He'd praised her hair.

Harry liked her hair. It was a daily reminder of her dad, but also Sirius, because she'd been growing it out since she'd been around thirteen.

When she'd been old enough and away often enough to be able to put up a fight with Aunt Petunia. Her dear old Aunt had always kept her hair short, finding the unruly locks less than desirable and had always told her how much of a bother it was when it got too long.

Narrowing her eyes and considering how much time she might have, she discreetly picked up the knife and strode towards the bathroom.

The moment she was in front of the mirror, Harry eyed herself, grabbed a few of the careful coils and sawed them off with the steak knife, feeling something like spiteful satisfaction warm her chest.

She managed to cut off most of it before anyone came barging in, swearing, to stop her.

Harry grinned at the two bodyguards, who eyed the knife in her hand with a small measure of wariness.

But no, this had been a statement and a way to hopefully lessen the amount of torture she had to suffer through every morning, and she was fully aware everyone here would be unhappy with her actions, but she didn't care.

She felt like... like she'd reclaimed a part of her they'd tried to take away and make their own.

Harry's hair was supposed to be wild, and the most she ever did herself was put it in a pony tail.

She liked that. It made her think of quidditch practice and Auror work. Baby-sitting Teddy and Victoire, or helping Molly bake.

This? This was oppression and captivity, and she'd cut it off with relish.

"You will regret," one of the muscle-men in front of her grunted in poor English, grabbing her arm in a bruising grip and taking the knife from her, but her goal had already been accomplished. They'd have to even the mess out and cut off the rest.

So Harry bore it with a smile.

.

They neatened up the butchery Harry had committed on her hair, and she was provided with -ridiculously enough- a wig-like thing she would most of all have wanted to flush down the toilet. They clipped it into the hair she still had and it looked almost like nothing at all had changed.

At least it was quicker, and Harry still felt strangely accomplished.

Gabbiano had been unhappy and there was nothing that would take the memory of the look on his face from Harry when he'd seen her with short hair.

-x-x-x-

Renato got to Ravenna by train.

It was the territory of the Gabbiano Family; smugglers, who also did a fair bit of racketeering, and not very high in the mafia pecking order.

Renato had never done any business with them, personally, seeing as he had little need of smugglers and loan sharks.

He had it on semi-reliable authority that his latest target had passed through here, and so he was following the trail.

Finding a decent hotel and getting a room for his stay, Renato set out to case out the town, get a feel for the place, both in general, and the underworld side of things.

He'd spent the better part of an hour at one of the many cafes, getting some coffee and listening in on the local gossip, when he stumbled upon something fairly interesting.

Exiting the cafe, Renato was very nearly run over by a young lady who looked like she'd gotten turned around and separated from whatever bodyguards she surely was used to.

Renato caught her before she fell to the ground in response to the unexpected impact.

The carefully made hair, the make-up and the elaborate, expensive dress couldn't hide the sharpness to her very green eyes, though, and Renato quickly readjusted his first impression.

"Let go of me," she hissed sharply in English, and Renato absently realised he was still holding her upper arms in a firm but careful grip.

"Are you in distress, signorina?" he asked, curious, despite himself.

This was- unusual, to say the least.

On further inspection there were a few drops of blood on her right sleeve.

"None of your business, now let go of me," she snapped back, yanking her arms free, taking a step back to get her bearings, scanned their surroundings, gathered up her skirts and clearly intended to run off again.

Renato was... intrigued.

"You didn't answer my question, darling," he pressed, before she could disappear, and the endearment slipped out at the end, partly to see what reaction it would get him and partly because, well. She sure was dressed for it.

"Listen," the woman said, slowly and clearly, eyes narrowing as they focused on his face with a surprisingly pleasant amount of intent. "I am no one's darling, and if you try to call me that again, I'll strangle you."

She seemed completely serious about it, too, and Renato couldn't help the miniscule little smile that twitched his lips.

"You think I'm joking? Because I'm not," she added with an aggravated growl.

There was a shout some distance away, not close enough to be within sight, not yet, and the woman jumped and swore.

"You in some kind of trouble?" Renato asked, before he could help himself, and some distant part of him wondered why he cared. He'd seen women more beautiful, more... blessed, in certain areas.

Those sharp, green eyes focused on him again, looking him up and down and Renato's Flames all but purred.

"You look like you're one of them," she spat the word, as if it was foul and Renato's eyebrows rose, "all of them seemed fond of suits and you feel the same," she muttered. "You work for Gabbiano?" And she eyed him suspiciously.

Renato smirked. "He couldn't afford me." Which wasn't quite true, but close enough.

Quick as a snake, one of the woman's deceptively dainty-looking hands snapped out to press over the gun in the holster at his side, hidden beneath his suit, and Renato had in turn grabbed her hand.

She smiled, sharp and triumphant, carefully painted lips parting to show a flash of teeth. "So you're the same but not part of 'the family'?" she mused, softly, to herself.

The shouts and activity in the distance was getting closer and she eyed the far corner pensively a second.

"I'm freelance," Renato told her, wondering what she was thinking, because this wasn't panning out like he'd thought it would. Any part of it.

She frowned, looking like she was running that through her head.

The shouting was getting closer.

"If you get me out of here, without them finding me, helping me home," she was speaking carefully, enunciating every word as if it carried weight in a way people usually didn't," I will pay you whatever price you want within reason, in gold, the moment the contract has been fulfilled."

Renato blinked and looked her over again. "That's not really my line of business," he said, though he was busy thinking about it. "And I'm in the middle of a job right now."

"That's fine, as long as Gabbiano doesn't get his hands on me, you can take a month or two to do your part and we're set." She eyed the corner again. "Set your price, do your part, and I will give you twice your weight in gold if you wish it."

She was dead serious about it, too.

Renato hummed.

He wasn't exactly tight for cash, but an amount like that would make a very nice cushion for a rainy day.

"Deal," he said, holding out his hand to shake.

The woman took it, shook it firmly, and grinned with little actual humour. "Deal," she agreed.

"Shall we, then?" Renato asked pleasantly, placing her hand in the crook of his arm and starting down the street at a decent clip.

Running attracted more attention.

"A suggestion, mysterious man I just met," she said conversationally, "I'll double your salary if you get me out of this M- God-awful dress."

Renato side-eyed her amusedly. "Are you trying to get in my pants, madam?" he asked playfully, still trying to get a grip on this woman.

She turned to eye him blandly. "I'd gladly wear them rather than this monstrosity, so yes?"

He had to bite back a snicker. "Oh, we're going to get along splendidly," he told her with a smirk. "I'm sure I saw a suitable shop down this way, dear."

"Right," she huffed, eyeing him warily a second, before she focused on the next part. "I currently stand out like a sore thumb, so let's be quick, handsome."

"Oh, you think I'm handsome? I wasn't aware flattery was part of my payment."

"I could just call you a peacock if that's more to your liking," she fired back, not missing a beat.

Renato pressed his free hand to his chest. "I am wounded," he told her solemnly.

"I don't pay to tend to your fragile ego," she snarked back and Renato was charmed. He had a feeling this would be a very nice gig.

.

She strode off the moment Renato steered them into a clothing store, very determined and shooting him such a poisonous look while she was at it, he pointedly didn't offer any suggestions.

Instead, he watched her grab a couple of pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, some underwear, barely doing more than glancing at them, before she stalked up to the register with a determinedly polite smile.

Renato took that as his cue and slid into the space beside her to pay, charming the woman working the till while he was at it, because if you had to be remembered, it was better to be remembered fondly, and his current company was very memorable.

She was done up like some sort of princess.

"Thank you very much," she said sincerely, accepting the bags with the clothes from the flustered woman, and then turned back to Renato, all business again.

Pity, she actually had a rather attractive smile.

"Hm?" he hummed questioningly, already steering them back to the doors, guiding her with a hand on her elbow.

"Find me a bathroom to get changed in," she requested, grimacing unhappily and then paused. "You want to keep the dress? I'd gladly burn it, but if you have any other ideas, then go ahead."

Renato felt his eyebrows rise again, because this woman was full of surprises.

He glanced over the dress, and it was without a doubt both expensive and of high quality, but it wasn't like he had the time to do anything with that right now, what with not one but two jobs to deal with.

"We'll get rid of it," was what he said, though.

Discreetly. Because it truly was an eye-catching piece of clothing, and it'd give their pursuers a very clear trail to follow.

They didn't talk after that, the woman content to follow his lead while Renato navigated them through Ravenna through smaller streets and alleys on a path that would be confusing to anyone, let alone people who thought they were chasing down a lone woman who had never been here before.

Instead of going in via the front doors, where there were cameras, Renato went around to the back of the hotel he'd checked into just a few hours ago, and took them up the service stairs to his room.

"Better than a restaurant bathroom," he told her easily at the look she fixed him with.

Seemingly seeing the sense in it, she huffed irritably and walked into his simple room, looking like she was half-expecting some sort of ambush.

Renato peered at her with a measure of approval, and then followed, closing the door behind him.

There was a very small table with two chairs shoved against one wall, and Renato walked over to sit in one of them, eyeing his new... charge? curiously.

"How do you wanna do this?" he asked, because it wasn't like he'd done jobs like this before. Usually, his only concerns when it came to clients was to get someone very dead.

And he was very good at it.

The woman looked marginally more relaxed now than she had out in the open, which was something, and she sighed, pulling one hand through her hair, only to come away with most of it in her fingers.

Renato blinked.

...that was unexpected.

She looked around the small room again, taking in everything from the door, the bed, Renato, where he was sitting and the small but serviceable bathroom.

Then, she glanced down on herself with a grimace.

With another huff, she tossed the... wig? Hair extensions? No, actually, he could see some sort of clip now, but he wasn't sure what to call it. Either way, she tossed it on the bed and then walked over to it to put her bags of clothes down.

She dug out a complete set of clothes from the bags, put them in a neat pile, and then hesitated.

"I require some assistance," she said reluctantly, eyeing him with a healthy dose of suspicion, and yeah, they'd just met, didn't know a thing about the other, other than what they'd covered so far, but-

"It's in my best interest to keep my employer happy," he informed her blandly. He preferred his partners to be both willing and enthusiastic participants of anything intimate, and he was perfectly capable of being professional.

She eyed him a second longer, before she nodded, seemingly satisfied with that.

He wondered if she was a good judge of character or just painfully naïve. Either answer seemed possible at this point.

The woman kicked off her shoes -matching the dress- and then turned around to expose the intricate lacing in the back, which made sure the dress couldn't be taken off without assistance, like she'd said.

Renato got to his feet and approached slowly; there was no need to make things harder on himself by rushing.

Who knew how long this job would take to complete? And he'd have to stick close to her to get that promised pile of gold.

Having a friendly relationship would make that so much easier.

Humming softly to himself, Renato reached out and started loosening the lace, making sure his movements were slow and unhurried. Clearly projected.

"You've done this before?" she asked into the uncomfortable silence, keeping her gaze fixed on the small window on the wall in front of her.

"Helped a lovely lady out of her dress? Sure," Renato drawled. "Under these kinds of circumstances? Not really."

She gave a soft, amused snort and relaxed marginally.

It took quite a few minutes to loosen the bodice enough so that she'd be able to get the dress off, but he didn't mind. Laying low for a while would be in their best interest right now and it wasn't like Renato had planned to do anything more serious about his information hunting until later tonight anyway and-

His thoughts quieted and died and he felt all of him still.

Peeling the edges of the bodice aside to check there weren't any hooks or clasps he had to undo, his fingers had brushed against the woman's back and...

Slowly moving the pad of his index finger up her spine, Renato watched colour bloom to life under his touch like flowers bursting to life in response to the sun.

There was something large and black on the skin on the woman's back and he hadn't thought anything of it before he'd touched it and it came to life with colour.

Gold, reds, oranges and yellow. Lots of yellow.

"What are you doing?" she asked when Renato continued to drag his fingers up her back, to her shoulder, watching the reaction with shocked fascination.

...he didn't know her name.

She was his-? And he didn't know her name.

"Seriously, what are you doing?" she asked again, taking a step away from him and turning around on the spot to frown at him.

Her frown deepened at the no-doubt speechless look on his face, but he didn't care, he couldn't- Renato could safely say he hadn't anticipated this.

"Oi, handsome? I thought you said you'd done this before? It's just some skin; nothing to go all vacant-eyed over," she muttered, starting to look vaguely uncomfortable.

Renato blinked and focused back on her face, still covered in far more make-up than was needed, but her eyes were entirely her own.

Instead of saying anything -what could he say?- he pulled off his tie and quickly and efficiently unbuttoned his shirt, almost tearing off the button on his jacket in his haste.

In the same move, he yanked the material aside with one hand and reached for her hand with the other and had pressed it flat to his chest before she could do more than try and yank it back.

He knew, without having to look, that it had... worked, by the widening of her eyes and the way her face went slack.

"Holy crap," she whispered.

-x-x-x-