Patrick was silent when he got into the car. He wasn't giving anything away. Was he angry that I had just slapped his father? Was he pissed with his father for speaking to him in that way? Was he annoyed at my father for snapping at him? I had no idea.

"Sorry," I apologised, waking him from his thoughts, "About hitting your father."

He snorted, managing a small smile, "You're not the first person to hit him and definitely won't be the last."

That didn't surprise me.

"You truly are Italian though," he stated, not looking at me.

I frowned, "What?"

"I saw that fire in your eyes. True Italian blood," he said, his eyes shining at me.

I couldn't help but blush under them. He had a right to think that. I didn't look Italian, I didn't even have an Italian name.

"My mother was English," I explained, "I get everything from her."

He smiled at me, his eyes sad but comforting.

"I met her once," he stated, "She was a lovely person."

I nodded, feeling a lump in my throat. It wasn't her death that was painful to take but the story behind it and the memory of my father's betrayal.

"Oh crap, Eliza, I shouldn't have brought it up," Patrick groaned, as I leaned against the window, rubbing my temples.

"I did, actually," I corrected, trying to manage a comforting smile.

He nodded, accepting it but he actually looked sorry. It was a new look on him.

The house was still swarmed with unfamiliar cars, making me groan and sink further in my seat. All I wanted to do was to be left alone. But, I guess that wasn't – what the hell was Zoey doing?

I frowned, sitting up when I spied Zoey, yelling at one of the security guards at the front door.

"What the hell?" I grimaced, getting out the car once it had stopped, "Zoey, what's going on?"

"Oh my God!" she yelled, turning around and wrapping me in her arms.

I groaned, my breathing being cut off, "Zoey, I can't breathe."

"Breathe on your own time," she ordered, pulling back, assessing me, "you're damn lucky you didn't get hit."

"How did you find out?" I asked her, knowing that I didn't tell her.

"Your father, told my father. The normal gossip chain," she huffed, squeezing my shoulders, "But, now I have some idiot telling me I'm not welcomed in your house."

I bit my lip, trying not to smile. The guy was lucky that he didn't get his head punched in.

"Come on," I laughed, taking her hand.

The guy let us through with no argument, bowing his head at me.

"Ma'am," he said, making my tummy flip.

There was something just not right about that.

"Miss Zoey, is a frequent visitor," Patrick told the guy as he followed us in, "you don't need to worry about her."

"I don't need your help," Zoey snapped, turning around and glaring at Patrick.

I froze, my heart torn. Oh crap, this was not going to go well.

Patrick crossed his arms, ready to challenge her, "Your upset?"

"No, I'm fricking pissed," she growled, "You might think that a simple ring means you can control my best friend. But no way in hell can you order me, you got that?"

Patrick hung his head and chuckled, making me drop mine. Oh Patrick, never ever laugh at her.

"You laughin' at me?" Zoey questioned, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Zoey, Zoey, don't," I told her, grabbing a hold of her arms to stop her from punching him.

I didn't doubt that Zoey had the bravery to punch Patrick, I just didn't know what Patrick would do if she did.

"Patrick!" our heads turned to the stairs and a running Garrick, "We got him."

"Where was he?" Patrick growled, changing personalities once again as he paced to the stairs.

"He was killing time at a strip joint," Garrick said with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Of course, where all the good killers go to," Patrick joked making Garrick laugh, "Where is he now?"

"At Paradiso del Re."

Patrick's brothel. My blood ran cold when I remembered what happened to the last person that was held there. I'm pretty sure he ended up dead.

Just as Patrick turned for the door, I panicked, "Patrick!"

He turned around and saw the desperation on my face.

To Garrick he ordered, "Find Piero and Alberto."

Garrick nodded before pacing back up the stairs as Patrick walked over to me.

"I'm going to be back late."

I couldn't help but laugh. It sounded like the most normal thing. It's what a normal husband says to a normal wife when their staying back at work. Technically, my husband was doing the same. But my husband was going to go kill someone.

"Please don't pretend like what you're doing is normal," I begged him.

He frowned, "What I'm doing is normal? At least for me."

My mouth dropped. My eyes softened.

"Boss?" Garrick called, breaking Patrick's and mine's conversation as he, Piero and Alberto paced down the stairs.

"I'm coming," he told them, his eyes not leaving mine.

I gave him one more chance to back out. He didn't. He just turned and followed his men out the front door.

"What the hell was that all about?" Zoey yelled, making me reach breaking point.

I couldn't think any more. I couldn't think about Patrick, our fathers or even the shooting. It was time to chill out with my best friend.

"Nothing," I huffed, making her raise her brows in disbelief, "Want to go for a swim."

I didn't have to ask her twice. We were in bikinis, had our towels, some sunscreen and sunglasses on in less than ten minutes before we were by the pool side.

"I know that your husband is an ass, but he has a really good pool," Zoey groaned as she lied on one of the beach chairs.

I leaned against the pool wall allowing the cool water to relax me. God knows, I needed it more than ever.

"But, how are you doing?" she asked me more seriously, "We haven't really talked since the club. Was Patrick mad?"

"He was furious," I corrected, with a little chuckle, not looking at her.

"Did he do anything to you?" she asked.

That's when I looked at her.

"He didn't hit me, if that's what you're asking?" I frowned, not sure what she was getting at.

When she sighed in relief, I realized that I was right. She thought Patrick would beat me. The very thought sent a fire through my body.

"Zoey, Patrick wouldn't hurt me," I told her.

"How do you know?" she snapped, "You don't know the guy and by what I saw in the club and earlier, I honestly wouldn't put it past him."

"He's..." I didn't know what I was going to say.

Different with me? I know him better? I'm not sure if I did. I felt more comfortable around him. But maybe that was only because I had gotten use to his mood swings. And yet, last night, he was the only person I felt safe around.

"Zoey, I spent the night with him," I admitted, watching her eyes widened.

"What?" she yelled, sitting forward, "Like spent, spent the night?"

I rolled my eyes, "We didn't have sex, we just slept together."

"What, why not?" she yelled.

I frowned, "What the hell? You were just saying that you thought he could beat me and now you want me to sleep with him."

She shrugged, "He's still hot as all hell and you're only human."

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Typical Zoey.

"It just wasn't the time," I answered her first question, "and I've only known him for a week."

"Honey, I think I knew someone for an hour before we were screwing in the bathroom."

"I know," I reminded her, "I was at that party. While you were screwing in the bathroom, I was being hit on by a cute, but drunk guy that kept on calling me Susan."

Zoey snorted, laughing at the memory.

"Hey," my head shot towards the door and smiled when I found Nickola there, "What you laughing at?"

"Nothing concerning you," Zoey bit, turning her body so that she didn't face him.

"Oo, someone's spiky today," he laughed, sitting in the chair right next to her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, turning back around, "Don't you have a job to do?"

"I'm doing it. I'm watching her," Nickola smiled, pointing at me.

Zoey's glare turned on me, making me shrug and smile. I couldn't pretend that I wouldn't like seeing them together even if it was just a pipe dream.

"Anyway, what were you two talking about?" he asked, relaxing, almost enjoying Zoey's annoyance.

"We're talking about Lizzy's sex life, something you wouldn't understand," Zoey snapped.

"Hey, Zoey behave," I ordered, making her scoff.

She sunk into her chair into a sulk, annoyed.

"Why wouldn't I understand? I'm a guy," Nickola stated, proudly, "Now what about her sex life?"

"My nonexistence one with Patrick," I stated.

Nickola's face dropped, "Yeah, okay, let's not do this. I don't want to talk about my boss's sex life. Let's change the subject."

Just when I saw Zoey about to say something, I buttered in, "What do you know about the shooter?"

Nickola's bit his lip, his gaze dropping as he fought the urge to tell me.

"Not much," he admitted, "just that we've got him."

I nodded, accepting his answer. I realized the only reason why I asked the question was because I was scared of what Patrick was doing at this very minute.

"How long have you been working with Patrick?" I asked him.

He shrugged, "four years."

Four years after his sister's death. That would be enough time to know how Patrick...does things.

"So, you know how he works?" I questioned.

He frowned, "yeah. What's with all the questions?"

"I'm trying to figure out if there's any chance that this shooter person will come out of this alive," I admitted, avoiding both their eyes.

"Why would you want to?" Zoey asked, sitting forward, "this person shot at you."

"I'm not dead," I stated, "but you didn't answer the question."

Nickola's dread-filled face told me my answer. He shook his head with sad eyes, making my heart sink.

"No, Lizzy," he said, gravely, "he shot at you. There's no way he's seeing another day."

Patrick was gone for three hours. By then Zoey had already left, the sun had gone down and there was a shift change. Now there were ten more strangers in my house that I didn't know before. And all I could do was worry. Worry about Patrick and what he was doing and what that meant for me in the long run. Was Patrick going to kill every person that tried to hurt me, hurt us? Why? To protect me? Or his reputation?

"How long as she been pacing like that?" I heard Antonio ask Nickola who had been sitting on the stairs watching me from when I started.

"For...thirty minutes," Nickola answered as I began to chew my nails.

"It's quite entertaining actually," he laughed, "watching her go up and -."

"You know I can hear you," I snapped, watching him go silent as a smirk appeared on Nickola's face.

I groaned in frustration, "he should be home by now. What can he possibly be doing that could take him so long?"

"Well, he's -."

"Don't," Nickola stopped him, "its better if she doesn't know."

Antonio shrugged, agreeing.

"I don't like this," I told them, strongly, continuing my pacing.

"Why?" Antonio questioned, "Patrick's not in any danger. If anything Xavier Jorden is the one in danger."

"What?" I stopped.

Nickola's head dropped into his hands, regretting Antonio's decision. Xavier Jorden. Before I knew his name I could half believe that he wasn't real. Now he became a person with a name and a life.

"What?" Antonio asked, not understanding our reactions.

"I didn't tell her his name," Nickola whispered, making Antonio's mouth make an O, "she see things differently to us."

"Oh, yeah, right. Ah...Patrick's buying him a few beers as a thank you for not shooting straight."

I dropped my head back and groaned as Nickola shook his head in disappointment.

My ears pinged when I heard the door click and open.

"Patrick!" I called when I saw him, Alberto and Piero come through, all of them covered in blood.

"Keep her down here!" He ordered as he escaped up the stairs.

I was just about to follow him when Nickola got in my way, trying not to touch me.

"Get out of my way, Nickola," I ordered him.

"Lizzy, you don't want to see him like he is," he warned me.

"Your wrong. I want to see him. I want to see him when he's like this," I told him.

If I could see him when he was at his worse, when he was pissed and murderous, then maybe I could handle this.

"Let her go," Antonio said, surprising both of us.

"Are you serious?" Nickola yelled.

He shrugged, "she's a fast learner, right? Perhaps if she sees him she'll know never to see him again."

"That is the most stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Nickola shouted this time.

He was too distracted to stop me as I ran around him and to the stairs. Just as I got to Antonio, I stopped.

"Thank you," I told him.

He looked me up and down before nodding, "you better know what your getting yourself into before your in too deep."

It was a little late for that.

I jogged up the stairs and didn't stop till I reached the double doors that I found last night. Not backing out, I opened them.

"Patrick!" I gasped at the sight of his shirtless body, covered in blood.

"Get out, Eliza!" He ordered, his face turning heartless, as he pointed at the door.

"God, why is there so much blood?" I yelled, feeling the need for it.

"Get the hell out!" He roared, pacing around to shove me out.

I move so that I was now in the room and far from the door.

"Not until you tell me!" I yelled, "did you kill him?"

"No," he answered, "Piero did."

"Under your orders," I scoffed.

His eyes hardened, "do you have a problem with how I do things?"

"Yes," I answered truthfully, "you can't keep killing people who have done you wrong. It's murder?"

"Murder?" He growled, "you don't even know the meaning of the word."

"I know that it's what you've committed. And if it wasn't Xavier Jorden that died at your hands than someone else has."

"To protect or revenge the people that are close to me, yes," he snarled.

"And I suppose you even think it's heroic," I growled, "it's not!"

"Xavier Jorden was a mercenary. He doesn't shoot to scare, Eliza, he shoots to kill!" He roared.

"But he didn't. He missed."

"Yes, lucky enough for you. But he wouldn't have gotten paid until it was done. And I'll bet he wouldn't miss the next time."

I swallowed, my heart racing.

What Patrick was saying, couldn't be true? It wasn't just that it made Jordan's death a necessary evil but now I truly did owe Patrick my life.

"Now, you may think of me however you wish, but don't you dare stand there and speak to me like I'm the only one," he growled with fury in his eyes.

"Your a murderer, Patrick," I spat, "if my father had known of this he would never have -."

"What? Agreed to you marrying me. Your father is just like me."

I shook my head, not allowing it to be true.

"No. My father is a kind man. He would never -."

"Kill to protect his family. I can assure you, he has. And if you don't believe me, ask Garrick or Antonio or Alberto. They've all seen him kill."

I felt the familiar sting of tears in my eyes at yet another betrayal. I had been too focused on trying to figure out who the hell Patrick was that I didn't stop and think. Who the hell was my father?

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, holding in the tears, "you said yesterday that the last thing you wanted was to ruin my relationship with my father."

"And I still stand by that. But I refuse to be called something that I'm not. I refuse to have my actions called dishonerable when I assure you, they are not. I do not kill because it pleases me. I do it to send a message," he growled.

"And it must be by death."

"Yes, Eliza!" He yelled, reaching his breaking point, "in this world it's the survival of the fittest. Kill or be killed."

I shook my head, not being about to take this any longer. Nickola was right. I shouldn't have come.

"And if you can't handle that. Then I guess you won't be spending the night in my bed again."

At his words, my heart cracked. It was the anger in his eyes and the sadness in his voice. It was the cutting of that safety net that I had felt around him today. The comfort I received from him slowly disappearing.

In my silence, Patrick turned and stormed for his bathroom. The slam of the door echoed off the walls making me jump as the tears slowly dropped. And all I had to blame was myself.