I was dying. At least, I felt like it. My forehead pulsed and something cold and solid was being pressed against my body. An invisible force was holding me down and it felt impossible to move. I could hear flapping like a flag in the wind. Maybe in was plastic. It was the smell that got me the most. The stench of tuna and fish. It made my eyes water, my stomach stir and my jaw slack.

Quiet mattering slowly brought me back to the land of the living. I couldn't work out what they were saying, only a few words. Maestri, Caivano and Drago. None of that made me feel good.

Moving onto my hands, I felt tiny rocks under my palm and the cold of the cement spreading through my limbs. The world began to shake a little before my eyes began to focus. It was plastic that was making the flapping. Shreds of it hung from bars that were connected to posts supporting the building. The fresh sea air mixed with the smell of fish filled my nose and touched my skin, causing me to shiver.

The muttering started to become more clear as well as the male voices.

"I'll bet you a fifty, that Maestri comes in less than five hours," one said, making my whole body freeze.

"Five hours, no way. It will take him more than ten," the other one said.

He sounded younger.

"He still thinks she's at his safe house."

"Look, we're dealing with Patrick Maestri, son of Oscar Maestri. Ringing any bells," the older one told him, "this guy hunts and kills for sport."

That's not the Patrick I know, I wanted to growl at them.

I needed a plan. I needed to find Nickola and get out of here. In front of me was a opened rolling door leading out to the docks. Fishing boats floated out on the marina like they were on clouds.

"Nope, I reckon they'll be dead before he even realized what has happened," the younger one said.

I froze. She couldn't kill us, could she? What the hell was going on? Why were we here?

Looking behind me, I tried to see if I could spot them. Silhouettes moved behind the plastic but couldn't see me.

Where was Nickola?

Where the hell was Paige? Why was she doing this to us? What had we ever done to her?

I had two options. Run and hope I find Patrick before they kill Nickola. Or, find Nickola before they find us. There was no option. None of the boys would leave me so I couldn't leave Nickola.

Moving to my knees, I tried to see if there were any doors that could lead somewhere. I found none.

I made it to my feet, swaying on my legs. My heels. They would be able to hear my heels on the cement. Bending down, I took one off with a shaky grip and placed it carefully on the ground. I repeated my steps with my other shoe, winching at the touch of the cold cement on my feet.

Okay, I breathed, find Nickola, don't get caught.

The flapping plastic gave little cover but it was better than nothing. I tried to avoid them, praying that they wouldn't see me.

"Anyway, do we have a wager?" the older one asked, just as I pocked my head out from the plastic.

My heart skipped a beat when I spotted them, ducking back behind the plastic. Oh God, they were really big. I mean, not Garrick and Antonio big, but definitely could kill me with one punch. Another piece of plastic continued to another beam and another around a corner. The problem was getting from behind this piece of plastic to the other without them seeing me.

I tried to time it perfectly as the wind brought them together.

Seeing my chance, I jumped across the gap and safely landed behind the swaying plastic.

Okay, good, that was good, I breathed.

My whole body shook as nerves began to set in. God, what if Paige was going to kill us? What if Nickola was already dead?

Just as those thoughts brought tears to my eyes, I shook them away. No, Patrick wouldn't give up and neither would I. I needed to keep to my plan. Find Nickola, get out of here, be home by tea time and to go to sleep with Patrick tonight. In exactly that order.

I looked up and froze. Two other males came out from behind the plastic, talking amongst themselves, almost at the end of the building. They were wearing suits like the other two but weren't as board shouldered. They hadn't noticed me yet, I still had time to escape.

Move! I screamed at my legs. But they wouldn't.

One looked up. My blood ran cold.

"Hey!"

I bolted.

"Get her!"

No, no, no! My inner-self screamed, run!

The other two men burst from behind the plastic sheets with determination to catch me.

Get to the door! Get to the –!

"Ahh, no don't!" I screamed, as two arms seized me, hugging me to my captor.

"You little bitch!" he shouted in my ear.

"Let go of me!" I screeched at the top of my lungs, trying to fight against his grip.

"She's a fighter, isn't she?" I heard one of them laugh, only fuelling my anger more.

Patrick wouldn't want me to go down fighting. He wanted me alive

"I think it's time to meet the boss," the one that held me purred.

Their laughter made me sick to my stomach. God, what was their boss going to do with me?

"Let go of me!" I screamed again as the body turned around.

Two went ahead pushing through the plastic, calling out, "Hey Boss!"

I couldn't stop, I wouldn't.

"Get your hands off me! My husband will kill you, do you hear me? Kill you!" I shouted as he continued to push me forward.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he groaned, his grip tightening on my arms.

I shook, turned, kicked, anything to get out of his grip. The plastic stopped and opened to a large opened area that was half filled with boxes on crates. I feared what was in them.

"Sorry about the rough treatment!" My head shot to the right at the sound of a male's voice.

My heart stopped at the sight of him. He looked to be my father's age, late forties. His hair was grey but short and had a few wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. His jaw was defined and square and he had a chin dimple. He paced towards us, wearing a black suit that shaped his broad shoulders.

"But we can't have you getting away on us, now can we?" he smiled brightly, looking me up and down.

It could have been anything that gave him away. The kidnapping for one or his name spoken by one of his men. It could have been his age or the strange packages that filled the space. But it wasn't. It was the black hollowness that filled his eyes and the way his very presence made my blood boil and goosebumps raise on my arms.

Sebastian Drago, in the flesh. The man that killed my mother. The man that shot my father. The man that ran Patrick's father off the road. The man that was probably responsible for Patrick's mother's death.

"You bastard," I growled, almost surprising myself.

He laughed, looking around at his four men, "Wow, doesn't she have spirit?"

His men chuckled too, looking me up and down. The looks in their eyes made me shudder. What if they just didn't plan on killing me?

I needed to find Nickola, now.

"Where's Nickola?" I demanded, trying to bring the Patrick side of me to the surface, "If you've hurt him than I'll –."

"Darling, darling," he hushed me, "We've got plenty of catching up to do. Come."

I didn't have the option to say no. My captor pushed my legs forward, following Drago. We went through another curtain of plastic before it revealed an oval table with chairs around it. I was pushed into one, with no say in the matter.

"Again, I apologise for the treatment," Sebastian said again, sitting down in the chair across from me, "But Philip here, has been hurt too many times by girls with pretty faces."

"Well, I should take that as a compliment then," I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at him.

He laughed, rubbing his chin.

I was back at the poker table again. This time, I was betting with my life and Nickola's life. I was searching for his tells. Anything that told me that he had nothing, that he had no cards up his sleeves. Looking around, it seems he had a full house.

"You do have a light in your eyes, Eliza," he told me, lighting a match inside of me, "You're a lot like your mother in that way."

The fire was set. How dare he speak about my mother as if she was an old friend? How dare he say something good about her? He's the reason. He's the reason why I didn't see that light for myself.

"Don't," I growled, "Don't talk to me about her – don't even mention her name."

"Oh, Eliza. Don't be like that. It was your father's fault. He should have known I would have gone after her," he said so simply, like he didn't have a choice at all.

"Who pulled the trigger?" I snarled, "What type of man goes after defenceless women just to prove a point?"

"A very powerful man that had a lot to lose," he stated with a proud, smug smile.

"You bastard," I growled again, shaking my head in disappointment, anger consuming me, "Is money seriously that important to you?"

"It's important to everyone," he corrected, "it's only those who have it that don't think it is."

I frowned, confused, "But didn't you have it. Why did you want more? Why did you need power? Your whole one-Mafia-thing, wasn't going to work?"

"Is that what your father told you? Or perhaps, Oscar Maestri. Maybe Patrick," he chuckled, "Oh, those Maestris, they never saw past their own problems. Always had tunnel version. They couldn't think of the bigger picture."

"And what's the bigger picture? World War three?" I spat.

He laughed, leaning back in his chair, "You've been married to a Maestri for far too long."

"Well, that's what was going to happen. The other Mafias weren't going to leave New York quietly. And you couldn't exactly kill them all."

"Says who?"

"Says the law."

He fell into a fit of laughter, followed by his men. And to think I thought I would never miss Patrick's yelling. Him screaming at me as I told him that he had committed murder. God, what would he say if he knew who I was talking to right now?

"You know what, your mother said the same thing," he chuckled, trying to regain his breath, "Beautiful, Chloe."

"Stop," I begged, closing my eyes.

I couldn't hear her name.

"Just as beautiful as yourself."

"Please, stop."

"She was the only kill that I regretted."

Don't cry, I told myself, don't show that he's getting to you.

"Something about her," he sighed, "I never seemed to get her out of my head. Maybe the way she fought to live, for you."

God, I was going to be sick.

"Please, no more," I begged, but he ignored me.

"I was always jealous of Nicholas for that," he stated, finally getting my attention, "she brought out the best in him."

"You took her from him," I growled, finally regaining my ability to speak, "you killed her."

"I pulled the trigger but I was not the one that aimed the gun," he corrected, anger filling his eyes, "I warned your father, I warned him that he would have to pay the price if he went against me. What did he do? He turned everyone against me? What did he think I would do? He thought I would go after him or you. He didn't think I would go after his wife."

I froze, getting a sense of déjà vu.

Looking me up and down, he said, "much like Patrick."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to let him get to me.

Patrick thought he was doing what he thought was right. He thought Paige could be trusted.

Thinking of Patrick I asked, "what about Oscar Maestri? Did he think the same? Did he ensure that his son would be safe but not his wife?"

He chuckled, probably amused by me asking questions than the memory, "Maria Maestri. Now that was a good kill."

I wished I didn't ask.

"Boy, was she a woman? Now Oscar is tough. But she was tougher. And smart too. I think I rid the world of a devil there."

I was going to kill him. I really was.

"But, somehow, even they found love. That sick emotion," he spat, "I had to put her out of her misery."

God, who was this person? How could anyone be made like him? How could anyone kill two women knowing that they had small children at home that depended on them?

Enough. Paige had got one thing right. This was Sebastian's world. And if I was going to survive I had to play his rules. That meant, starting from the start. Paige.

"So, what did Paige get out of it? Cut into your deals. Share of your empire. Or was it more a romantic set up," I questioned.

"Please," he scoffed, "Paige is just like everyone else. Looking out for herself."

I narrowed my eyes at him in disbelief.

"No, she got your casino."

I frowned. My casino? My half burnt down casino?

"What?" I asked, "how? No way would I sell to her."

"You don't need to. There's a simpler way than that," he told me with a smile that made my frown deepen.

"How? Blackmail me. Threaten Patrick's life. What?" I demanded.

"I kill you."

What? He had to be joking. Hadn't he?

"W-what?" I asked, again.

"It's simple really. Your not here as a ransom. Your here as bait."

I swallowed.

"See, I have you, Patrick comes to save you. I kill the two of you and with no next-of-kin, your businesses go up for sale. I buy them, besides from your casino which Paige has earned. Which means, I own half of the city. I become more powerful than I was fifteen years ago and my plan for world domination would be complete."

"It's not going to work," I blurted out before I could stop myself, "you can't have one Mafia in New York. It won't work."

"Oh no, Eliza," he sighed, "that was the plan fifteen years ago. This is a new era, new time."

I frowned, fearing the answer.

"No, no, no. Your right, destroying the other Mafias would create chaos in the city. But, why destroy them when you can rule them?"

My mouth dropped at his question. How could he possibly think he could accomplish that?

"And how do you think you can do that?" I asked, "I've met two people from the other Mafias and neither one of them look like they would be okay with being controlled."

"Oh Eliza, you're still very young. You have a lot to learn about money and power," he stated, patronising me, "once I have control of half the city, I'll control the docks, all the brothels in the city, a few restaurants that act as a face to the Russian mafia - not to mention Eagle Yeung's deals under your casino. So, I'm in control of the Russian and the Chinese Mafias. Then there's the gangs. Well, did you know that Africa is a great place for an arms dealing business."

Africa. Oh my god.

And Kaleb Falco was hired by an African company

African?

Yeah, strange. There's not even an African contact in New York.

"It really was you all this time. You got Gabriel Bover to hire Xavier Jordan to shoot at us."

"The guy owed me money. Besides, he was already in trouble with the Cartels."

"And Kaleb Falco was hired by an African company to kill my father. Your company."

He nodded, a grin spreading on his lips at his achievements.

"And the hitmen group that bombed the casino was hired by the same company."

He nodded again.

"And Oscar. Who did you hire to push him off the road?" I demanded.

"Actually, Carter James. Do you remember him?"

I froze.

And you should meet Carter James.

Who's she?

He's a he. He's the manger.

A male manages a brothel

Yeah

Guess who just quit? Carter handed in his resignation

Oh my God. The man that had been managing my brothel for years killed my father-in-law, killed Patrick's father. This couldn't be happening.

I finally understood it. I understood the importance of trust and why Patrick couldn't just trust me when we first met. And why he killed people who betrayed him. It felt like someone had drowned me in patrol and set me on fire.

"Why now?" I asked, ignoring the hopelessness in my voice, "why wait fifteen years? You could have put a stop to it before any of this happened. The wedding, the unity between the Maestris and the Uccellos. Wouldn't it have been easier just to kill a little six year old and fifteen year old and save yourself the time?"

Drago was still as he thought about my question, tapping his finger on his chin. Eventually, he snapped out of it and leant forward like he was making sure his men weren't listening.

"Do you know what happened in the few days after your mother's death?" He questioned, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

I barely remembered anything from that time. The confusion and grief was too much to take for my six-year-old mind.

"A couple of days after the funeral Maestri and your father came to me. You should have seen Maestri," he laughed, "the cocky bastard, as if he hadn't been in Nicholas' position a few years before."

That wasn't something I found difficult to believe.

"Oh your father," Sebastian huffed, pitifully, "of course he just stood there, in his black suit, his eyes red, looking like a shell of a man. He didn't even have the strength to pull out his gun and shoot me."

I swallowed the lump that was slowly forming in my throat. I had no idea of my father's hidden pain during that time. All I could think about was my toys and anything else that filled a child's life. I didn't even realize his own grief.

"Oh you should have been there, Eliza, you should have been there," he chuckled, his evil grin curling at the corner of his lip, "the way Oscar spoke, like we hadn't been friends for the most part of our lives. Your finished, Drago, your finished," he hissed, mimicking Oscar, "in fifteen years, Patrick and Eliza will marry. I couldn't help but laugh."

My eyes narrowed at him.

"He said, Patrick will become the man he needs to be and Eliza will be a queen. We, will be too powerful to kill," he told me, like he was reciting Shakespeare, "I didn't doubt him. Maestri had been controlling Patrick since the day he was born and from your mother's English blood, I knew your would have queen potential."

"That doesn't answer my question," I buttered in, done with being lead down memory lane, "why, didn't, you kill us fifteen years ago?"

He sighed, shaking his head as if he was disappointed in me, "payback."

My eyes narrowed even further.

"Nicholas and Oscar had been my friends for years, and here they were declaring war on my empire that I had built just as long as they had theirs. My empire, that meant just as much as their's did. I wanted them to hurt more than any kind of death penalty," he growled, his eyes becoming dark and hollow, "so, I let them live. I let them think that they had succeeded. If I'm being honest, I didn't think my plan would go this well. Maestri didn't even need my help to screw up his relationship with his son and Nicholas, well, secrets were never a good thing for a family."

I shook my head, trying to keep his words from attaching itself to every memory I had of my father. It was failing, miserably.

"Even you and Patrick. I couldn't even dream of a better outcome."