I felt like hell. No, they would have to make up a new word to what I felt like. I didn't know if it was because of my hangover or the memory of Patrick's face last night or even this dress that was cutting off my circulation that made me feel like this.

I was still lying on the floor, curled up in a ball where I left myself last night. There was still a lump in my throat and I could still taste the tears at the corner of my lips. Quiet moans escaped my lips as I struggled to get to my hands. I looked down at myself and found a hungover mess. I avoided all the mirrors, knowing that my makeup had run.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I stripped before stepping into the shower. I felt ten times better when I hopped out of it, my muscles feeling less knotted and tight. I brushed my teeth, ran moisturiser over my skin and put foundation on my face to cover up the dark circles under my eyes.

Walking into my bedroom, I found another pair of shorts, a black singlet and a silky, floral throw over. I through my hair up into a messy bun, pulling out a few strands so that my face wasn't on display so much before putting my necklace around my neck. Just as I went to leave, something caught my eye. It was the light, catching on the small diamonds of my wedding ring that sat on the floor just under the bed. Groaning, I paced over to it and scooped it up. I pulled it on my ring finger, the feeling of being trapped not going amiss.

When I stepped into the hall, the light blinded my eyes making my head pound.

"Oh, I hate hangovers," I groaned, massaging my temples as I made my way to the stairs.

I was getting use to the house and now could make my way around it with my eyes close. Which was good this morning, considering my eyes were barely opened.

As soon as I opened the door to the dining room, I was greeted with whistles.

"Here she is," Antonio called.

"The one with the balls," Alberto praised.

"Shh," I hushed them, rubbing my temples harder.

"How's your head?" I heard Garrick ask as I tried to find my mug.

"It's been better," I admitted, finding the mug and the coffee as well.

There was a small snicker from them, loving the misery I was in.

"You've got guts," Piero stated, "I don't know many women that would go up against a man like, Patrick. Let alone swear at him like you did."

I shrugged, raising my mug as if a, you're welcome, before taking a sip. God I loved coffee.

Looking around the room, I realized that it wasn't just Patrick that was missing.

"Where's Nickola?" I asked them.

All four of them put their heads down, hiding their smiles.

"What? Where is he?" I demanded, fear rising up inside of me.

If Nickola was being hurt because of my stupidity than there was something that needed to be done.

"He's having a chat with Patrick," Garrick told me.

God, I knew what that meant.

Putting down my mug, I headed straight for the door.

"Oh, no, you're not going anywhere near that," Garrick said, wrapping his huge arms around my tiny body.

"Nickola is getting in trouble for something that I did. No way am I going to let my dick of a husband get away with that," I claimed, making the other three laugh.

"Na ah," he said, putting me down, "Nickola could have stopped you, he chose not to."

"No, that's not true. There was nothing stopping me from leaving the house. Nickola was doing what I asked," I corrected.

"Exactly. He was following your orders. Not Patrick's. That's why he's pissed."

My mouth dropped, not believing what I was hearing. What was the difference? Isn't that what Patrick wanted? Didn't he want his men to be my men just as much? Isn't that the whole thing of marrying in our world? What's-mine-is-yours-type-thing.

"That is ridiculously unfair," I snapped.

"Don't worry," Piero shrugged, "You'll get yours soon enough."

I groaned in response moving over to the toaster, looking for some food.

"Why is being married to an ass so hard?" I growled, finding some bread.

"I don't know," I froze at the sound of Patrick's voice, "Why don't you tell me?"

I turned around and spied a very not happy Patrick with folded arms looking at me. Garrick, Piero, Antonio and Alberto all had their faces into their mugs hiding their smirks and Nickola was safely behind Patrick looking as guilty as hell. Crap, why does this always happen to me?

"Are you ready?" Patrick asked me.

I frowned, "For what?"

"You're coming with me, remember? You wanted to spend more time together," he said smugly.

"Going to your businesses, wasn't what I exactly had in mind," I snapped.

"Too bad," he said lightly, making me groan, "I leave in five. Just enough time to get some shoes on."

"Can't I eat first?" I called out as he turned and headed in the direction of the dining room doors.

"You can eat on the road!"

I groaned, leaving my toast and following him out of the room.

"So, where are we going?" I asked, not nicely after five minutes on the road.

The silence was killing me.

"Firstly, we're going to my brothel," he answered, looking down at his phone.

"A whorehouse!" I yelled, shocked.

He frowned, "whorehouse is such an ugly word."

I scoffed, biting my tongue. Of course he owned a brothel, most Mafia lords did. And I bet he didn't mind smoking what he was selling either.

"And why are we going?" I asked, my blood boiling, "Do you need one of them to take the edge off?"

He let out a bitter chuckle, turning me from a low aching angry to burning fury, "Do you honestly think I'm that sort of man that would go that low?" he asked.

"Oh," I cried, "So your women aren't good enough for you? After that little question, I think I'd prefer it if you went for them."

It was true. The very thought of Patrick sleeping with one of them set my blood on fire but him disrespecting them did the job just as well.

"I can't win with you, can I?" he asked, more curious than anything.

"Nope," I huffed, turning my back to him to look out the window.

"For your information, there's someone there that I need to see – someone male, before you jump to conclusions," he added, clearly knowing that I would.

"And I suppose that's why there's a car tailing us?" I questioned, looking at him again.

He shrugged, not giving me anymore information.

"Seriously, that's all you're going to say?" I asked him, before returning to silence.

I groaned, flopping back on the car seat. This was going to be a long day.

In the corner of my eyes, I saw Patrick's land on my hand. Particularly the ring that felt like a leash, never letting me sway too far away. The very attention caused my hand to crawl as my thigh, trying to release some of the frustration.

"Good," I heard him whisper just under his breath but loud enough for me to hear.

My head slowly turned towards him, my face crunching into a scowl. He didn't take any notice of me and just continued to stare out the window.

Patrick didn't even give me a chance to get out of the car by myself. He opened up my door and pulled me out by my arm. Another SUV pulled up beside us and the other's got out of the car, but Patrick just ignored them.

He pulled me into the three story square building.

"Stop, manhandling me," I growled trying to fight out of his grip as he hauled me into a dark building.

He let go of me, only to point a finger at my face, "I will manhandle you until you learn how to behave."

"I'm here, aren't I," I growled, "even if it is under duress."

"Don't you dare start with me," he warned.

"What are you going to do? Yell at me? I mean, that's what you do right? Yell at people when it wasn't even their fault," when he didn't respond, I continued, "I bet you don't even give two shits about those guys, as long as they follow what you say and don't get you killed in the cross fire."

His eyes narrowed at me, "is that what you think of me?"

"Yes, yes I bloody do," I growled.

"Well then it must be true if Great Eliza -."

"Boss?"

He stopped, when a voice echoed behind us. It was the only way to stop us from killing each other. My eyes landed behind him and I frowned when I didn't recognised the man that was standing by a back door.

"We have him," the man said, making Patrick close his eyes and show a little bit of restraint.

I jumped when he took my arm again and pushed me towards the bar. Nickola was already there siting on the stool.

"You, stay there," he ordered me, before looking at the bartender, "Don't give her any alcohol. She's already had enough, last night," I glared at him, refusing to feel like the mutt he was making me out to be before he turned to Nickola, "Watch over her and this time, bloody well do it."

"Yes Boss," Nickola muttered, looking down at the bar.

"Garrick, Piero, come with me. You too, Antonio, Alberto," he said to the rest of his men before pacing towards the back door that led somewhere. A basement, I presumed.

Looking around, I was surprised. It was quite classy considering it was a brothel. There was a stage with poles, I'm guessing for the girls to swing on. This place apparently doubled as a strip joint. Very classy.

Booths and tables, dotted around the space and there were stairs by the wall leading to the next floor. A few girls hung around wearing underwear that barely contained their asses and breasts. They were all gorgeous. Some wore their hair up and curled and others had it up revealing necks and even tattoos. I almost wouldn't blame Patrick if he had slept with one of them.

"You really do have guts, don't you?" Nickola questioned, bringing my attention back to the bar and not the girls behind me.

"I think I'm more stupid than anything," I admitted, turning properly around.

"Amen to that," the blonde cute bartender agreed, "I wouldn't go up against him even if someone paid me a million dollars."

"Well, I'm his wife," I huffed, flashing my wedding ring.

His face dropped, "Ah, do you w-want a drink, o-or something?"

My heart sunk noticing the difference in his attitude towards me. Great, Patrick was right.

Because of our marriage, whenever someone thought of me, they thought of him.

"Just a coke," I muttered, Patrick's warning words in my ears.

"So are you still talking to me?" Nickola huffed, his cheeky smile curling at the corner of his lip.

"Maybe," I muttered, "you still betrayed me."

"No, I told Garrick where we were," he corrected with wide, serious eyes.

"But you knew it would get back to the bastard, didn't you? And that's why you did it," I stated, matter-of-factly, almost proud that I could connect the dots.

Nickola huffed, knowing that I was right. I smiled, playfully nudging him in the shoulder.

"Well, I got you in trouble with Patrick, so I guess we're even," I told him, bringing that smile back on his face.

"You were wrong, what you said before," Nickola informed me.

I frowned, "Which bit?"

"The bit where you said that Patrick doesn't care about his men. He cares, a lot."

I scoffed, not believing a word, "That's why he's been treating you like crap because of something that I had done."

"He has a right to be angry with me. I should have stopped you," he said.

I shook my head, "You couldn't. I was going to go out no matter what."

"And how were you going to do that? You, a small-build woman that has no training whatsoever against me, a man who can take on body builders twice your size."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "That's just a little bit sexist, don't you think?"

He chuckled just as the bartender placed done our cokes.

"Okay, Nickola. Prove me wrong," I stated, "why do you think Patrick cares for his men?"

"Well," he paused, "Oh God, I can't believe I'm going to tell you this. I'm so going to get a bullet in the head."

"What? What is it?" I asked jumping an inch closer to the edge of my seat.

"Ah, okay. Did you know that Piero is gay?"

My eyes widened, almost choking on my coke.

"What?" I hissed between my teeth.

"Well, he's bi, but basically the same thing, right?"

I couldn't get over it. Patrick's tall thin body guard was gay. I mean, good for him if he liked that sort of thing, I just couldn't see it.

"I-I had no idea," I stuttered, still stunned.

"He doesn't like to publicise it. I mean, he's opened about it, he just doesn't scream it from the roof tops," he explained, "Anyway, back when Patrick first started, Piero was working for this guy. He owned a few casinos, bad guy," he took a sip from his drink, stalling, "when, Piero came out, i-it was like he was punishing him."

"Punishing him? P-punishing him, how?"

"It's a funny thing, isn't it?" he chuckled, showing that grin of his, "When you hear of a woman being raped, everyone wants to do things for her. Stand up for her, try to get her help and persecute the guy that did it. But when it's a man..."

I frowned, not knowing what he was getting at. And then it clicked.

"Oh my God," I breathed, not managing another thing, "W-why would he?"

He shrugged, "Perhaps he wanted to show Piero that being gay is wrong."

"By raping him?" I asked, confused.

"Hey, I never said it made sense. Anyway, no one would listen to Piero. Not the police, not the other guys that worked for the sick son-of-a-bitch, no one."

"Except for Patrick," I guessed.

He nodded, "Patrick was an old friend of Piero's from when they were kids. He was the last person he could turn to and lucky for Piero, Patrick listened."

"What did Patrick do?" I asked.

"At the start, there wasn't much he could do. He could only give Piero another job so that he was at least far away from the bastard. But, on one cold night, Patrick, Piero and I think Garrick were out and he was there. He went for Piero first," he tried to convince me, "But Patrick pulled his gun out second."

My mouth dropped. Patrick killed someone. Oh my God! Who the hell was the man I married?

"Your shocked?" Nickola frowned.

"You think? I was just told a horrible story about someone, that admittedly, I don't know but I'm sure didn't deserve that. And that my husband just –."

"Rid the earth of a demon," Nickola shrugged, going back to his drink.

I was stunned. I didn't know if I could see it his way. Yes this man was a demon, but he should be severing a life sentence, not a bullet.

Trying to move past it, I regained my position, "Okay, but Piero was an old friend. Who wouldn't do that for an old friend?"

"Okay, fine. What about Antonio and Alberto?" he started.

"What about them?" I asked.

"They were working for a really, really bad woman –."

"There seems to be a recurring theme –."

"Well, yeah," he scoffed.

"Really bad, how?" I asked, getting some context.

"She ran a human trafficking business."

I choked on the coke again, struggling to breathe.

"A, what?" I croaked.

"You know, human trafficking. Mostly just girls around fifteen who have run away from home, looking for some 'adventure'," I nodded, still not believing what I was hearing, "I'm not sure how it happened exactly. Whether or not they just woke up one day and hated what they were doing or if it was someone they met that made them rethink the whole thing."

"They tried to get out," I guessed, connecting the dots.

He nodded, "And they had until the bitch had their mother shot at."

"She killed their mother?" I asked horrified.

"No. That's the sad part. The bullet hit her in the head but somehow she survived. Permanently brain damaged though."

"But that's good right," I cried, "She's not dead."

Nickola looked at me coldly, "What would you rather? Being an old vegetable or being put out of your misery."

I didn't answer him. I didn't want to.

"Patrick heard about what happened from his father. Maestri knows every cow in this damn city. So, Patrick took the boys in and paid for their mother's medical bills."

"Every single one?" I questioned.

He nodded, "And pays for a living nurse."

I was speechless. That couldn't be cheap. And all for two strangers that he didn't even know.

"Do you need more proof?" Nickola questioned.

I nodded, not sure if I could hear another one.

"Garrick was the first one he recruited. They were friends during college and came from similar backgrounds. Garrick's father was a body guard for one of the Italian Mafia families, I can't remember which one. Anyway, Garrick had this girlfriend in college. Loved her more than life, that's what Patrick says anyway."

Please not had cheated, please not had cheated, I begged.

"They were out at some party. Things started to get ugly with some guy," he paused, "he didn't even see the gun."

"Oh God," I groaned, wishing I had prayed for a different thing.

"Sarah, jumped in front of Garrick, got hit, died in his arms," he stated, no feeling in his voice.

"T-that's horrible," I cried, feeling a fight inside of me.

"Yeah. It sent Garrick's life spiralling. He got into drugs, bad habits, thrown into jail for a couple of months. It was only when he totalled his car that he even let Patrick in."

"He helped him," I guessed.

He nodded, "Picked him up, cleaned him up, gave him purpose. I mean, you just need to look at them. Their brothers."

I didn't doubt him. He didn't really yell at Garrick like he did the others. He treated him like an equal.

"Okay, okay," I groaned shifting on my stool, "what about you? What's your story? Working for someone horrible? Did they kill a relative or a love one? Were you doing drugs and got into trouble?"

His hissed, a smile spreading on his face, "so close. I wasn't the one doing the drugs. My sister was."

"You have a sister?" I asked, a little surprised.

He bit his lip and shook his head, "did. Did have a sister."

"Oh crap," I moaned, not being able to look at him.

"Erika was all I had after our parents died. She could never get past their death," he explained, "so she got into some pretty heavy drugs and hung around some pretty horrible people."

"Who killed her, right?" I asked, a little pissed.

Why was the world filled with such monster?

He shook his head, "no. She OD."

"Oh," I breathed, my whole body shaking.

"But that left me with a whole lot of debt that neither of us could pay off. Unlucky for me, the guys she owed, didn't mind punishing me for her wrongs."

"What happened?" I asked, not knowing if I wanted to hear the answer.

He shrugged, "they kidnapped me. Dragged me to this place under a casino. Patrick saw them drag me in. So, he started asking questions, got me out of there, paid my sister's debts and offered me a job. And the rest they say, is history."