Snatching my sarong from the other chair, I wrapped it around my waist before I followed Nickola back inside.

"What does he want?" I asked him, as we made our way up the steps.

"Ahh," he stalled, not wanting to break the news to me, "it's probably best if he speaks to you."

I couldn't help but scoff, "I've been married to the man for two days and already I know that can't be good."

He gave me a sorry smile and refused to speak as we neared the French doors of Patrick's office.

Nickola opened one up for me and gestured me through, showing manners that Patrick was yet too.

"You summoned me," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.

I wasn't going to let him feel good about himself, even if this was an apology for his actions earlier. No way. He ruined my time in the sun and for that, I wanted blood.

"Yes," he said, raising from his desk chair, "my men have a hard enough job without being distracted by you."

What? That's no apology. There wasn't even a sorry.

"What?" I hissed, not understanding what he was excusing me of, "I haven't spoken to anyone except for Nickola when he came out to fetch me."

"Oh so, your display was what, just by accident," he snapped, gesturing to my body.

I looked down and gasped when I realized what he meant. He thought I had dressed in a bikini to entice his men. Seriously?

"You pig!" I shouted, "I was sun baking because last time I checked, I lived here now!"

"Yes, and all I'm asking you to do is not parade yourself around like a -."

"Prostitute!" I screamed, watching him freeze under my fire, "you really are the charmer, aren't you Maestri? No wonder you had to have an arranged marriage. I don't know who would have married you otherwise."

He dropped his head back and gave a bitter chuckle, only fuelling my anger, "if that's all you've got then you're not going to survive five minutes."

"I've got my pride," I growled, only causing his chuckles to grow, "and my own mind for that matter and I know that I don't appreciate it when people call me a dirty little hoe."

"I never called you that," he argued, raising his hands as if he was innocent.

"You implied it," I snarled, before dropping my hands, "but hey, you wouldn't believe me anyway."

"Does that really hurt you?" He asked, almost interested, "does it really hurt that I don't trust you?"

"Yeah, it kind of does," I snapped, "because last time I checked, I'm not your business partner, Patrick!"

"No, worse, your my wife," he snapped, making me scoff, "do you know what would happen if I trusted people at face value, just by my gut? Lots of people would die, do you understand?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and crossed my arms, challenging him myself.

"I have nine years, ahead of you Eliza," he growled, moving around from his desk, "nine years more experience of running a business and seeing how disloyal and unholy this world really is. You've only seen the world behind daddy's cash -."

"And you haven't!" I snapped, not realizing that we were only inches apart.

"Look at me. Does it look like I have?" He growled, causing my eyes to look into his again.

God they were so damn dark. Not even the guys' eyes were that soulless. There was nothing but black in them.

He sighed, closing his eyes, showing some sign of restraint. I refused to. I refused to be manipulated in this way or disrespected for that matter.

"You know what, Patrick," I growled, "drop dead!"

With that, I stormed out of the study. It was a move that I had perfective over the years when arguing with Pappa. My feet did not stop till I was behind my bedroom door and I slammed it closed.

"Bastard!" I screamed to the empty room, "How dare he speak to me like that? Your display was what just by accident. I could kill him!"

Pacing was the only thing that seemed to work. God, he made me so angry!

"No, worse, you're my wife. Yeah, well, your my fricking husband!" I groaned, kicking the wall.

Pain shot through my toe, making me scream out and bite my lips to hold in the pain. Why did this keep happening to me? I wasn't a bad person, was I? I didn't deserve this crap.

Look at me. Does it look like I have?

His eyes. Even Oscar Maestri's eyes weren't that dark. What did he have to do to get them like that? What did he see?

I shook the thought out of my head, determined not to feel a thing for him. Not sorry, not sympathy.

After that heated argument, there was only one thing I could think of to cool me down. Shower.

I paced over to my wardrobe, fished out my silk robe and some underwear from my draws. I didn't need anything else. After today, I didn't feel like seeing anyone.

I felt my skin plump when the water touched it. Already, I could feel it rehydrating and noticed the soft tan where my bikini was. I would probably have to fix that later. But, oh wait, I can't wear a simple bikini without being accused that I was trying to get every man in this house to look at me.

When I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes, I groaned, rubbing them. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, feeling an ache in my heart that I felt so strongly yesterday. Loneliness. I had never felt so alone before. In a house full of strangers, that were so close to Patrick, who the hell could I turn to? No one, that's who.

I didn't get out of the shower till I was more prune than human. I gave my hair a quick dry and gave my body a pat down before I slipped on some simple Bonds underwear and a sports bra. I pulled on the robe and only just had it tied when I walked into my room.

Knock, knock.

I groaned. Couldn't he just leave me alone?

"Don't you know what drop dead means, Patrick? It means, piss off!" I yelled at the door.

My blood boiling at the sound of snickering.

"It's not Patrick," said the voice, drowning out all my anger.

I didn't know the guys' voices enough to know which one it was. But hey, it wasn't Patrick.

"Oh, just wait a minute," I called out, kicking my clothes under the bed so that he wouldn't see and tying my robe tighter.

I was surprised to find Nickola behind the door, remembering how anxious he was to speak to me before.

"Hey," I huffed, leaning on the doorframe while trying to pretend that I didn't wish he was here. I wasn't in the mood for talking.

Screaming maybe, but not talking.

"Hey, I just wanted to see if you were okay," he said, surprising me once again.

"Why?" I asked, "Won't you get into trouble just for talking to me. Patrick already thinks that I'm trying to get into all your pants."

He chuckled under his breath, laughing more at Patrick than at the idea of me being such a woe.

"I guess we got you into some trouble," he stated, already knowing the answer.

"It's okay," I told him, "I'm a big girl. I can make my own trouble. Do you want to come in?"

I didn't know who was more surprised by my offer. Me or him.

He looked so uneasy and was already checking the hall just encase Patrick or even Garrick was around.

"I'm not going to force you to sleep with me, Nickola," I reassured him, backing away from the door, "It's just you're the first person's that's asked me if I was okay since the wedding."

He nodded, accepting the answer and accepting my offer. He stepped into the room and shut the door as I flopped down on the bed.

"I can't even imagine what must be going through your head, right now," he admitted, taking a seat on the small stool at my dresser.

"Imagine being married to an absolute bastard. You'll be pretty close," I told him, making him chuckle.

"I would love to reassure you that he's not usually like that, but, he kind of is," he admitted.

I scoffed, "Thanks for the heads up. Here I was thinking the honeymoon period was almost up."

He snickered, "You two sound like a married couple to me."

"How are you loyal to him?" I blurted out before I could stop myself, moving to the edge of the bed.

I watched as his face dropped, clearly not expecting the question.

"He's an absolute ass and I'm surprised he hasn't been shot. I mean, I caught him screaming into his phone to someone Russian."

"Oh," he muttered, sitting up, "You probably shouldn't have."

I frowned, "Why? What's going on?"

"I'm not allowed to say. I mean, I shouldn't say," he added, correcting himself.

"What?" I asked, more frustrated this time, "It's not like I'm not familiar with the whole Mafia scene. I know Patrick's a gangster. Hell, I'm a gangster's daughter."

"But, you're not a gangster," Nickola questioned, already knowing the answer.

His eyes said it all. He was humouring me, showing me the fish but not giving me the fish. I guess in a way, he was doing me a favour. Being a sort of...Friend?

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

He coughed, "I like my balls where they are, thank you."

I scoffed, shaking my head.

Typical.

"Look, if Patrick wanted you to know, he would have told you. Simple," he shrugged.

"Encase you haven't noticed, Patrick and I, aren't on speaking terms. Yelling terms, definitely. Speaking terms, no. He wouldn't tell me."

Nickola shrugged, "well, that's that, then."

I groaned, frustrated once again, "I hate this. I hate Patrick, I hate this family, I hate everything."

"That's a lot of hate. You shouldn't put that out in the universe," he advised me.

"I hate the universe."

He hissed, cringing, "Oo, you're so gonna get bad karma."

"I hope so!" I yelled, pacing around the room, "look where I am. I'm married to a complete ass who only speaks to me when we're arguing – oh and thinks I'm an untrusting, gold digging whore."

He snorted, breaking me from my rant.

"What?" I snapped.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, "But, I bet that's the last thing he thinks of you."

I scoffed, "You don't know you're Boss very well because that's what he said."

He frowned, "he actually called you that."

"Not in so many words," I muttered, dropping my head.

"So no –."

"He said it, okay!" I snapped, the frustration suffocating.

"Lizzy, I think you need some sleep," Nickola told me, standing now.

"What I need, is people to stop telling me what I need," I snapped, "I feel like I can't breathe. I'm slowly suffocating. There's no one I can talk to."

"I have ears, you can talk to me," he told me, shrugging.

I couldn't help but scoff, "No, I can't. I know how the inner circle works. It's an all-boys club. How do I know that you're not going to just go running back to him?"

He frowned, but a smile was quickly forming on his lips, "Wait, now you're calling me an untrusting, gold digging whore."

Before I knew it, I laughed. I actually laughed. Someone, in this house, brought a smile on my face.

"Oh, that got you laughing," he laughed too, a little surprised, "look, I get it. But I promise that whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. You have my word."

I smiled, believing him.

"Okay, Nickola. I trust you. Strictest confidence?" I questioned again.

He smiled and nodded, "Strictest confidence."