I remember the urgency. A need. Something that I couldn't ignore.

I remember clutching that piece of paper in my hand like it was the most important thing in the world. It wasn't. But at the time, it was the only object that would win me a pat on the back and a 'well done son'. I had been so proud, that I didn't even think what time of day it was. The time when Father was never to be disturb. But I just didn't think.

With my straight A report card in my hand, I turned the nob of my father's bedroom door. None of it seem to register. The curtains that were drawn, though it was only four o'clock and the smell that was cross between fire and sweat.

"Father, guess what - oh."

The man that appeared to be my father span around in a hurry, shock filling his wild eyes. Blood. That's all I could focus on. The red spots of blood that had been splattered across his face and clothes. Was it his? Or someone else's.

"Patrick?" He stuttered, first shocked by my presence before the hardness stuttered, "Patrick, get out!"

"Father, your - but - blood," I stuttered, frozen to the spot.

"Get out!" He ordered, pacing like a bull to where I hadn't been able to move, "how many times have I told you, never to disturb me after four? Get out now!"

Oh God, there was so much blood on him. It couldn't be his. My teenage eyes were searching for any cuts, any scrapes but couldn't find any. Did he...he couldn't have...did he?

"Who's blood? Father, who's blood!" I cried, panicked by the sight.

"I said, get out!"

Smack!
For a second, I felt numb. Then it hit like a hot rod of iron was being pressed again my cheek. My head was so heavy, I could barely lift off the floor. Floor? Why was I on the floor?

I heard a gasp, echoing in the fuzziness.

"You monster!" Mrs Phillips cried, before I felt her warm hand on my shoulder, "how dare you hit your son?!"

"I pay you for a reason. You were supposed to make sure he didn't come in here!" He bellowed at her.

"You pay me to cook and clean. I look after your son because you never can!" She screamed, possibly louder than him.

My heart was pounded in my chest. Was he going to hurt her too? Was he going to hurt both of us?

His breathing had become heavy, his chest heaving up and down. God, he was going to explode.

"Get, him, out," he growled, his voice low and filling the entire room, "make sure he puts ice on his eye."

Well, I guess that was something. He stormed into his joined bathroom and slammed the door.

I didn't see him for three hours.  I didn't see anyone. I just curled up in my bed nursing a bruised eye and ego.

The click of the door closing was the only noise that he made as he entered. I knew it was him, not by the soap smell that had wafting into the room but the way his very presence made the hairs rise on my arms.

I felt the mattress dip under his weight when he sat down a few inches from me. But it felt like he was metres away. He was silent for what seemed like hours, causing me to tremble with unwanted anticipation.

"There's a lot of bad things in this world," was the first thing he could say, his voice distant, "I thought I could hide it for as long as possible. But after today and certain events," that being my forced engagement to a six-year-old, "there's things that you need to know about the life you live."

The same sentence kept on playing in my head. Deep down, you knew.

"As you know, I run a few businesses that aren't exactly legal," he explained, causing me to bite my lip to hold in the scoff, "but there's things that I must do to ensure those businesses continue."

There was a pause. There was only one thing I wanted to ask.

"You killed someone," it wasn't a question.

"Yes," he answered without hesitation, "and you will too, one day."

The thought was not comprehensible. Kill someone? Take someone's life just for money? What if they had a family? Friends? Someone that cared?

"I won't," I told him, as strong as I could master hoping my doona would protect me from his plans.

"You won't have a choice. Like I didn't," he said simply, with little emotion that it made my head spin.

I'm sure other teenager boy's dads talk about football, not about killing someone.

"You were born into this life my son. You are a Meastri. There's no turning from that."

It was something I carried for the rest of my life.

"Patrick," Eliza soft moan, woke me from my deep thoughts, "what's the matter."

I took in a deep breath, fully waking myself back into the world.

"Nothing, go back to bed," I rambled off, forgetting that it was morning already.

"What time is it?" She groaned, rubbing her head against my chest.

I turned my head and spied the alarm clock sitting on my bedside table.

"It's seven-thirty-five."

She moaned again, "why are you up so early?"

Probably because I never slept. It was Friday, which meant the big dinner was tonight. And though Eliza and I had been working hard to mend what we broke, the thought never seemed to fade away. Like a dark memory, something that couldn't quite be ignored.

"I couldn't sleep," I told her honestly, brushing the backs of my fingers against her smooth arm, "bad memories."

"About what?" She asked, sounding a little more awake.

"It was nothing," I reassured her, not wanting to relive it.

"No, tell me," she pressed, arching her neck back so that she could look me in the eye.

And like always, I fold.

"I was thinking about the time I walked in on my father washing up," I told her simply, with just as little emotions as he had said the words.

"Washing up?"

I nodded, "he had just killed someone and I walked in even though I knew I shouldn't have, just to show him a dumb report card."

"Was it any good?" she asked, sitting up on her elbows.

I frowned, "What was?"

"The report card," she answered, like I should have known, "was it any good?"

I couldn't help but snicker. Of course, she only focused on that.

"What?" she frowned, laughing at me.

"Of course, that's all you focus on. I will never stop being amazed by you," I honestly said, smiling down at her.

She smiled, proud of herself in this moment. Sometimes I wished I thought like her.

"So why that memory in particular?" she asked, resting her chin in the palms of her hands.

I shrugged, not quite sure myself. Reminiscing of fond memories?

"I don't know, it just popped into my head."

"Yeah, so what happened when you walked in on him?" she asked, making my heart drop.

Should I tell her the truth or lie?

"Um, he told me to get out, I didn't and then he, um, hit me –."

"What?!" she cried, jumping on her knees with a fury in her eyes, "How dare he?"

"Eliza, it was a long time ago," I reassured her, brushing her arm.

"Still! Who hits their son over something like that?" she demanded, almost scaring me a little.

For me, it had become the norm. Something that made me stronger at the end of the day. It prepared me for what life would throw at me and at the time, it was the only form of an affection I received from my father.

"It doesn't matter now," I told her, "it's in the past."

"Still," she repeated with a pout, leaning back on the bedhead next to me.

I sighed, shaking my head at her, "It was my life. I needed to become strong and I understood that than, like I do now. I'm a Maestri, it comes with a cost."

"Yes, well, I'm a Maestri and you don't see me paying it," she corrected, crossing her arms.

"Yes, but your different," I purred, playing on her soft side as I traced my fingers up and down her arm, "You married into this family."

"Yeah, well I can hardly imagine your mother putting up with that," she scoffed, before her face dropped.

Oh. Neither of us realized the weight of her words till it had settled on both of us. It was something we never spoke of.

"Patrick, I'm sorry," she cried, reaching out to touch my arm.

"No, it's fine," I told her, not wanting her pity, "I-I'm sure she never did."

She offered me a small smile, but it was enough to ease the awkwardness. That's right, my mother was yet another thing that we avoided talking about. That, along with my father, her father, Sebastian Drago, and most of the events that happened last year.

"Anyway," I sighed, wanting to move on, "you better get in that shower if you want to make those meetings."

She groaned, sliding down under the covers as if they would protect her from the day's tasks, "I cancelled them."

I frowned, "What?"

"Yeah," she groaned again, flipping the cover off her so that I could see her again, "Zoey demanded a day of make up and choosing dresses for this dumb dinner."

At the mention of Zoey's name, I swallowed the hot ball of anger that was forming in my throat. Once again, that damn woman was forcing her way into something that she wasn't welcomed in.

"Doesn't she realize that your going out to dinner with someone that isn't your husband. It's not something that you exactly want to get excited over," I reminded her, trying to hide the growl in my voice.

"I told her that. But then she said, Patrick needs to get his head out of his ass and realize that it's a business deal and there's no reason you shouldn't look like a queen."

When Eliza noticed my glare, she swallowed, "It was her words, not mine."

Head out of my ass? Oh, if she wasn't Eliza's only friend, I would have killed her by now.

"She's coming over around ten so you better behave yourself," Eliza warned, pushing the covers off her and climbing out of bed.

"Only if she does," I replied, ignoring the way my voice sounded like a child.

At that, Eliza turned her head and shot me a glare before turning into the walk-in-wardrobe. Ha, like hell we were getting over this day without being in a screaming match.

After getting ready for the day ahead, Eliza and I wandered in the kitchen together. The boys were already waiting for us like every morning, enjoying what ever they were talking about.

"So, what are you making up for?" Piero asked with a cheeky smirk, looking me up and down.

I frowned, not understanding a word he said, "What are you talking about?"

"That," he told me, pointing to the large rectangle box that was sitting on the bench.

Eliza and I both halted at it's presence, ignoring the boys' snickers. Where in hell did that come from? Wandering over to the box, Eliza gasped, her fingers dancing along the edge of the gold ribbon that circled the white top.

"Patrick, you shouldn't have," she cried, her eyes becoming a mix of panic and excitement.

"I didn't," I stopped her, pacing over to her to inspect the box myself.

A small card was slipped underneath the large, over-decorative ribbon, holding the key to this misery, even though there was something in my gut that gave it all away. Clutching it between my fingers, I read the words that set my blood on fire.

I hope you wear this tonight.

Konrad

"It's from Konrad," I told her, my voice hard in my throat.

My eyes locked on Garrick's and already I saw that he recognised the symptoms. I was going to blow.

"What?" Eliza gasped, pulling on the ribbon and lifting the lid, "Oh my God."

Yes, oh my god. Slipping her hand under the glittery, red material and took it out of the box. My heart stopped at the sight of it. The V plunging neckline, the shoe-string tie up back, the slit that would reveal more than just her thigh. I became frozen in my boiling hell, the veins in my forehead pulsing and pulsing. He wanted my wife to wear that?

I hand began to shake at the thought. Everything would be on display. Her hips, her thighs, her breasts. He would have the image of her body in his head for days. Replaying for him and ready to be used whenever he wanted. My wife. The woman that belonged to me.

My eyes locked with Garrick's again, sending a signal to him that only he could read. He gave me a nob, then pounced.

"What the hell? Garrick!" Eliza screamed, fighting against Garrick's arms that had been locked around her.

Without thinking, I snatching the dress from her hands, setting her eyes on fire.

"Patrick! Don't!" she yelled, but she didn't even know what I had planned,

My deadly gaze turned on Piero.

"Lighter," I demanded, holding out my head.

Piero sucked in a breath, his eyes flicking between a monster and the screaming woman that was struggling to get free.

"Patrick –."

"Give me the lighter. I know you have one," I ordered, my voice turning dark as the devil invaded my senses and limbs.

"Don't give it to him, Piero," Eliza told him, her voice full of air like she was puffed.

Piero's eyes didn't leave mine, contemplating if he should give in to my demands. He shouldn't. But I didn't know how far I would go to get what I want. Fighting against his own instinct, he dug into his pocket and pulled out the lighter. Not waiting a second, I snatched it from his hand and paced out of the room.

"No, Patrick no!" Eliza's screams became nothing but background noise as I stormed my way through the void and outside to the pool.

And soon, my actions were not my own. I barely remember lighting the dress on fire. All I could see was the red flames and the heat radiating from both the dress and my hot skin. If hell was real, it was inside of me.

The burning red fabric floated from my fingers and was swallowed by the clear coolness of the water. Little chards pieces of material broke away from the main piece, trying to desperately escape.

"No! Patrick!" Eliza screamed, running to my side.

She froze at the sight of the burned-up dress, horrified to the core.

"Patrick," she gasped, shocked and unable to comprehend what I had done.

Hold it in Patrick! Hold it –

"You are my wife!" I bellowed, turning my fiery gaze on her, "You belong to me! Or do I have to remind you have that?"

Her eyes turn cold and her face hardened. And everything inside of me died.


I hated myself. No, I loathed myself. No, no, you would have to come up with a different word to what I felt right now. I was miserable. I was a jerk...I was my father.

I never wanted to own her. I never wanted our marriage to be about that. And here I was, threatening her like she was nothing but a procession of mine.

Perhaps this really came down to one thing. I was jealous. For the first time in my life, I had competition. Though it was hard to admit, I was insecure because I knew Konrad could possibly give her something that I couldn't. I mean, wasn't what just happened evidence of that. It wasn't the first time I had lost control in front of her and I can not promise that it would be the last. So, isn't it best that I just let her go now.

My head shot up from my hands when I heard the door open and a weary Eliza poked her head through. Any sign of her emotions I took in, trying to read what she was feeling. She didn't look angry but, she didn't look happy either. Neither of us could say anything, with her not making any effort to move as I remained in my position at the side of the bed.

And with a deep breath, I said the only thing that I could.

"I'm so sorry," I told her, not recognising my shaky voice.

"Oh Patrick," she sighed, walking over and slipping herself into my lap.

My body welcomed her instantly as I wrapped my arms around her and took in her scent. For a moment, I was calm even though I felt everything I had built begin to slip away.

"Your letting him get to you. Konrad is only playing with your weakness and your letting him," she told me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders.

"It's not easy, Eliza."

"Of course, it's not easy. But your letting him in."

I was confused, not recognising the words coming out of her voice, "Since when are you the expert on keep people out?"

"I'm not," she answered simply, "But I know your not acting like the Mafia King. You acting like a jealous husband."

"Of course I am. I-I'm your husband, shouldn't I be acting this why?" I asked helplessly.

"Yes, but this isn't about us," she pressed, "Konrad isn't coming after us because he can, he's coming after us because we have a strong business that threatens his plan for world domination."

I shook my head, refusing to believe she was right. Of course, I had let Konrad get me, more than I probably should have. But his intentions were more sinister than she thought.

"I-I panicked," I told her, honestly, "I felt threatened and I panicked."
She raised her eyebrows, sensing that I was holding something back.

Taking in a deep breath and looking her straight in the eye, I told her the truth, "I was afraid of losing you."

Her eyes softened at my confession as she allowed her forehead to meet mine. I clung to the connection I felt by her being in my arms. A wholeness that shouldn't be denied.

"You won't lose me," she told me softly, nudging her nose with mine, "But, if you ever say that I belong to you, we're gonna have a few problems."

I chuckle at her threat, holding her tight, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"You better not have because Zoey is furious."

I pulled back, not sure that I had heard her right.

"Zoey? How did Zoey find out about what happened?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

"I called her. I didn't want her to come around but of course, she waned to know what happened and now she's in the kitchen."

"What?" I snapped.

That woman was in my house? And I didn't even have time to mentally prepare myself.

"Oh and she also wants to kill you," Eliza added, causing me to glare at her, "what, her words but mine."