"So you've found the kitchen and the dining room," Patrick started as he led me towards the archway by the stairs.

"They're very nice," I told him, not recognising my own soft voice.

I knew it was a stupid thing to say but it was all I had. Every time he looked at me, I was transported back to my sixteen-year-old body where words couldn't function.

"This is the library," Patrick told me, gesturing to the large room.

It was darker than the other rooms, with the only light coming through was from the three, rectangle windows that looked out to the drive. Bookcases covered the walls of the two level room as well as red carpet on the floor. On the first level, two half circled lounges sat in the middle of the room making up a full circle with a round coffee table in between. On the second level were two red arm chairs that sat closely by a fire that could warm up the whole room.

"What's this room for?" I asked him, "I mean, other than reading."

"Meeting sometimes. When a business partner is more of a friend than a business associate," he told me.

I giggled, shaking my head.

Good old Mafia life. Even your closest friends were just a stepping stone to more money. Even husbands, come to think of it.

"What's next?" I asked, seeing all that I could.

He tilted his head towards another arch way.

"This way," he said, before walking towards it and me following.

What I found, strangely surprised me. I was not expecting to find a bar in this place. The red carpet continued till the steps to the second level. On the first level were three circled high tables and three stools to each one. The floor of the second level was made out of wood, a great contrast with the red carpet. There were three more high tables and of course the huge circled bar that safely guarded the alcohol behind it.

"Whoa," I breathed, walking up the steps, "what's a Mafia's house without a bar?"

"You're surprised?" he questioned.

I shrugged, "A little."

He nodded, but didn't say anything. He wasn't very talkative. His face said it all but even that was tough to read. He had a master of a poker face. I guess in our world, you had to have one. But not in a marriage.

Just as I went to start a conversation with him, he buttered in, "Would you like to see the rest of the house?"

I nodded, coming down the steps and following him back out to the void. He turned right and straight up the stairs we went.

"This is my study," he told me, opening up the French glass doors.

I pocked my head through, not feeling comfortable enough to go in. This guy had class, I had to say. The carpet was a nice light grey matching the stone walls of the house. Light rained in from the other French doors that led out onto the balcony. A large wooden desk sat to the side of the room with a large black swivel chair behind it. It was filled with paper work that still hadn't been done but neatly organised, like everything in the room. A large filing cabinet sat in the corner and a large leather lounge sat along the far wall opposite to the desk.

I took a step back but froze when I hit something hard. My head looked up and found Patrick staring at me once again. His brows were drawn together as his eyes continued to look at me.

"What are you looking for?" I asked him, "I'm not going to betray you, Patrick. I'm not lying to you either."

"I never said that you were," he said, his deep voice rumbling, "But do I need to be worried?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, a little offended.

"We both know that you hate this marriage. What's stopping you from running?" he questioned.

I frowned, taking a step back. I didn't hide my anger, I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to see what I looked like angry so that he would know never ever to make me look that way again.

"Do I look like I'm going to run?" I snapped, watching his eyes harden, "I know I didn't want this marriage, I didn't try to hide that. You should find that reassuring."

"And how's that?" he asked, almost challenging me as his crossed his arms over his chest.

"It means, I'm an open book, I'm easy to read and most importantly, I'm a terrible liar. If I was planning to run, don't you think you would have figured it out by now?" I snarled, burning my eyes into his skull.

To his credit, he didn't try to avoid my fiery gaze and he took it like a man. But, there was no apology in sight.

Pointing behind me, he continued, "Down there is where my men stay –."

I scoffed and shook my head, "Typical –."

"I ask that you do not go down there," he told me.

"Why?" I snapped, "Worried that I would be unfaithful to you?"

"Perhaps," he admitted, honestly, "But also, my men have a right to keep their lives private to you. If they wish for you to be in their rooms or personal life than that's their business, not mine. I'm just asking you to respect their privacy."

Though I hated how the question sounded, I understood the reason behind it. He was right. His men did have a right to their privacy. Believe it all not, I was still much a stranger to them as they were to me.

"I'm sorry if this is hard for you to understand Eliza, but trust can't just be given in this house, you have to prove that you are trust worthy," Patrick told me, laying out the line.

A part of me respected him for it. The other part hated him so much more because of it.

"And my word, isn't enough. Me saying, that I don't plan on running, isn't enough?" I asked.

"It is for now because that's your decision for now. But your decision might change in the future," he said, already sounding as if he could read me like the back of his hand, "But, no your word is not good enough because it means nothing at the moment. You are still Nicholas Uccello's daughter –."

"And your Oscar Maestri son!" I snapped, before he started talking about my father, "What makes you think that I can trust you, huh? You haven't proved your loyalty to me, you haven't proved your trust."

"Not making you sleep in my bed, would be a start," he argued making me scoff.

"You pig!" I shouted, "I wouldn't have jumped into bed with you anyway, I'm not that type of person."

"Good, I'm pleased," he growled, his eyes still rock solid.

I scoffed, losing my patience with him and the ability to continue this fight that he would probably win. Why do guys always cheat?

"Whatever, like you even care," I snarled, walking around him heading in the direction of my room.

He snatched my arm before I could escape, bringing my feet to a stop.

"I mean it, Eliza," he whispered in my ear, sending them to a burning temperature, "I need to know that I can trust you."

Looking back, I gave him the coldest look I could master. My stomach began to turn as the anger filled my body when I looked at his cold hard face. He was acting like he had a right to ask me those questions, like he had more to lose. Perhaps he did. But I didn't like being called a dishonest person as much as I didn't like being called a bitch or a slut.

I pushed myself out of his grip, surprised that he had let me. His eyes didn't leave mine for a second until I turned and stormed down the corridor in search of my room.

The bastard. How dare he? How dare he? Excusing me of using him? God, does he have a nerve? How dare he call me an untrusting bitch? No way, no way. I had been call many things in my life. Most from bitches at school. Rich Bitch, was at the top of the list. But never, never had anyone ever said that they didn't trust me.

I didn't know why it bothered me. But the fact that someone thought that I couldn't be trusted was like a knife sticking in my chest and slowly turning. In this world, trust was one of the most important things. It's what Pappa had drilled into my head from the day I could walk. Let people know that you can be trusted, he used to say, if people can trust you, they will be loyal to you. How the hell can Patrick be loyal to me if he couldn't trust me? How was I supposed to prove that I could be trusted? Hell, why did I have too?

I didn't owe this guy anything. I didn't owe him my life. I barely owed him the right to order me around.

God, what would it take just to forget about everything? Just to lie down and not think about anything.

The very thought brought me back to the days at home when I would lie by the pool's edge and forget about everything for a few hours. A smile spread across my lips when I remembered the pool outside. I think it's bout time I checked out my backyard.

With a new lift in my step, I skipped over to my chest of draws. I found my white bikini and towel before moving into my ensuite to find some sun screen. It was in the top sink draw before I snatched it and took my sun glasses from where they sat on my bedside table.

I threw everything on the bed then stripped, not thinking about locking the door this time. I was in my bikini under a minute, not giving anyone a chance. A light bulb went off in my head when I remembered about my pink sarong that I tied around my waist.

Once I had everything, I opened the door and headed into the hall. I slowed my pace once I neared the stairs, hearing Patrick's voice echoing out from his study doors.

"I don't care what it takes. This job needs to be done without any hitch," he paused, "yes, I understand that sometimes things go wrong...look, I'm putting twenty of my men in arms way, I want to know that your pulling your weight. Now, are we clear!"

God, who the hell was he talking too? I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that call for love or money.

"I'm so glad we understand each other," he said in a completely different tone, "Uvidimsya zavtra Egor."

Was that Russian? Patrick spoke Russian? Lizzy, your losing the point, I reminded myself. Right pool time.

I tip-toed down the stairs, trying to be as stealthy as I could. I took a hold of the doorknob of the French doors that led outside before I looked back. No one had stopped me.

When I opened the doors and felt the sun hit my skin, I felt a tiny bit more free.

The pool yard was beautiful, just like the rest of this place. The doors opened out to the stone pool yard. Two deck chairs sat at this end of the splotch shaped pool and another two at the other end, as well as a stone fire place and a spa that was a level up from the main pool. A small fountain flowed from the step of the spa in the pool adding to the luxury. There was a small stone wall, a barrier to the small trees and plants behind it. Finally, the main feature, was the rock fountain, a nice touch.

Flopping my towel, sun screen and phone on one of the chairs and untying my sarong, I took two steps to the edge of the pool. Sitting down, I put my feet in and moaned at the coolness.

"That's so nice," I groaned, loving the weightless feel of my legs.

I watched my feet as I swung them in the water, admiring the different colour and way the sun's light glistened along the water's surface. It was beautiful, I couldn't help but admit it. To bad it was owned to such a bastard.

At the very thought of Patrick, I shook it away with a groan and took my feet out of the water. Already I could feel my skin start to burn, so I skipped over to the chair for the sun screen. I suddenly felt the need to always look my best when I was around Patrick. The man was a God, there was no denying it. So, to make him feel bad about being an ass to me, I needed to double my level of attractiveness. A groan escaped my lips at the thought of the effort needed to do that. Who had the ability to care?

Once my skin was lathered in the stuff and some music was playing, I made my way to the other end of the pool. There was a large, circled step that stood out under the water. I put my feet in, finding the water come up to my knees. I freely walked around that step, determined not to get my hair wet. It was hard enough washing it this morning.

I smiled when Pocketful of Sunshine by Natasha Bedingfield came on and found myself singing along.

"I got a pocket, Got a pocketful of sunshine. I've got a love and I know that it's all mine. Oh.oh, oh," I moved my head at the beat of the music, laughing at the memory of that Easy A, movie, "Do what you want, But you're never gonna break me, Sticks and stones are never gonna shake me."

Zoey and I used to sing it all the time to the point where it just got annoying for both of us. We swore never to sing it unless desperate times calls for desperate measures. I was currently having to get to know a bastard of a husband in a house that wasn't my own. Yeah, I'd say I was desperate.

I had been lying out there for about an hour before Nickola came out from inside the house. He wore an anxious smile, but smile still the same, causing me to turn off the music and sit up in attention.

"Hey," I greeted, not wanting him to hate me like Patrick clearly did, "come out for a dip?"

"No, no," he chuckled, trying to hide his awkwardness, "I'm out here because I lost scissor, paper, rock."

I frowned, "I don't understand."

"Patrick wants to speak to you," he told it to me straight, "and he hates to be kept waiting."

I scoffed, hating him just a little bit more. The bastard couldn't even let me have some time in the sun in peace. What would I have left by the time he was done with me?