Eliza and I sat in comfortable silence, curled together in the back seat of the SUV. Her head rested on my chest, occasionally nuzzling my shoulder. My eyelids began to feel heavy and slowly I could just drift off -

Eliza's gasped startled me, causing me to freeze. She was now sitting forward, clutching her wrist.

"My bracelet," she croaked, looking back at me with panic in her eyes, "I must have dropped it in the restaurant. Oh my God, Patrick."

"It's fine, we'll just go back," I told her, sitting forward, now fully awake, "Hey Michael, turn back to the restaurant."

The car began to drift over to the left and out of the terrific.

My attention turned to Eliza who was nibbling on her nails in a panic.

"Eliza, it's okay," I told her, taking a hold of her hand so that she didn't chew off her hand.

"Of course I would loss it," she huffed bitterly, punching herself in the thigh with her free hand.

"You didn't loose it, you just...missed placed it," I corrected, winning a glare from her.

Soon the car shifted back into terrific, heading in the direction of the restaurant.

"What if it's closed?" She asked, squeezing my hand.

I shrugged, "we'll break in."

"Break in? Patrick," she cried, "that's illegal."

All I could do was look at her dumbly till she realized what she had said.

"Huh, right. Look who I'm talking to," she huffed, rubbing her forehead.

Before she knew it, we had pulled up at the restaurant again.

The lights were still on causing Eliza to sigh in relief once we got out onto the side walk.

"See, told you it would be okay," I told her, nudging her in the shoulder and winning another glare before catching a small smirk.

We climbed the steps before I once again opened the door. Eliza, with determination, paced in the direction of our table as I followed slowly behind.

The hairs on the back of my head stood on end as I walked, something feeling slightly different. It wasn't just the emptiness of the room or the eerie silence. Something wasn't right.

"Found it," Eliza huffed, hugging her bracelet to her chest.

I stopped and smiled, taking in her relief.

Crack

I frowned. My head shot down. Lifting my shoe I spied a tiny piece of glass. That wasn't there before.
Looking up, I turned towards the bar. Broken bottles were scattered along the counter top, the alcohol oder finally becoming apparent. The clogs began to turn inside my head, the equation slowly being worked out. They all came to one answer. It was time to leave.

"I'm going to write a strongly worded email to the manufacturer. They shouldn't make such useless clips," Eliza huffed, stamping her way to me.

Suddenly, I realized the true extent of our situation.

"Eliza, we're going," I ordered, snatching her hand.

"Patrick -."

Crash

It came from the kitchen. My blood went cold. Oh crap.

"What was that?" Eliza demanded, looking around like a dear in the headlights.

Damn it. Please Eliza, don't make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here myself.

"Eliza, let's go," I ordered again, reaching out to snatch her hand.

She tore herself away from my grip, turning towards the door that led to the kitchen. My eyes widen. Eliza!

I bolted after her, forcing my legs to move faster. The closer I got to the door the faster my heart pounded.

Her hands touched the doorknob. Instincts took over.

Before I event realized what I was doing, I had pushed her to the ground and snatched my gun out from the waste band of my pants. I stood, dead centre in the doorway of the kitchen. My heart pounded in my chest, causing the demon inside of me to take over for a moment.

Click

Two guns were now pointed at me and for a second, everything stopped.

"Patrick Meastri?"

I blinked awake, recognising the voice as the faces came clearer.

My eyes finally took in the trashed kitchen as well as the small Italian man tired and gagged to a chair. I recognised the two man that stood in suites and had now lowered their guns.

Napoleon Bove and Heinrich Scotti. They use to work for my father.

"Napoleon, Heinrich? What's going on here?" I asked them, putting my gun away as they did the same.

"Well, this low life here, forgot to pay his bills," Heinrich told me, nudging the tired man in the shoulder.

Instantly, the man started to scream no, frantically shaking his head.

A gasp echoed behind me, causing me to flinch. Eliza.

"What the hell? Let him go!" Eliza ordered, squeezing passed me.

"Eliza," I growled through my teeth, reaching out to take her arm to keep her from going in.

This was none of our business. We needed to leave before we caused any more trouble.

"Who the hell do you work for?" She demanded, pulling out of my grip.

Napoleon and Heinrich gave each other amused looks, clearly in disbelief of what was happening. If I hadn't been so worried and so annoyed at the same time I would have been pissed that they weren't taking her seriously.

"Konrad Verona," Napoleon answered her.

Konrad Verona? I knew the name from somewhere. But, not from the mafia world.

"And what does he want with this poor man?" She asked, crossed her arms and narrowing her eyes at them.

"Eliza," I growled between my teeth again, but she just ignored me.

"He's late on his protection payment," Heinrich repeated nudging him again.

"Oh you have to be kidding me?" She cried, pacing over to the man, "move away."

"Hey, get away from him," Heinrich order, jumping in front of him before Eliza got to him.

Alarm bells were ringing through my head. She was going to get herself killed.

"Let me through," she commanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

Heinrich remained still.

"Move, away from him," she growled this time, "I'll pay his payments, if you want."

He still didn't move.

Sighing, I had grown tired of this game, "back away Heinrich."

His eyes shot up, narrowing on me, "hey, we don't work for you or your dead father."

The anger started to boil at the pit of my stomach, threatening to take control.

"Let her pass, Heinrich, before I put a bullet in your head," I ordered, my grip on my gun tightening.

Heinrich and Napoleon shared a look, clearly gambling with their lives.

Finally, with a groan and a roll of the eyes, Heinrich stepped away. Eliza took control, pacing behind the man to untie his gag.

"Verona is gonna hear about this," Napoleon warned.

All I could do was roll my eyes. As if I was worried about this Verona person.
"Ah, thank you, thank you," the poor Italian man praised, looking up at Eliza with grateful eyes.

"It's okay," she comforted him, bending to untie is hands, "your going to be fine."

He sighed in relief, letting out a little cry. As soon as the ropes slacked around his arms, he pushed them away and jumped out of them the best he could with a little limp.

"God bless you," he praised, snatching her hand and kissing it all over.

She let out an awkward giggled, struggling to meet his eyes.

"Huh-hum," Heinrich coughed, "nether one of you are leaving until we get that check."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to feel belittled. Who was this person and why did he think he had a right to order me and my wife around?

Complying, Eliza took her wattle and retrieved her check book. My jaw twitched at the sight of her writing out the numbers knowing it went against every belief I had. I knew deep down it was my pride. I would never give anyone the satisfaction of having my number on a check. Even if it was to help an Italian man.
"There," Eliza said bitterly, ripping the check from the book, "is that enough?"
She basically through it in Heinrich's face, her own hardening. Her eyes became draggers, digging into his skin as he read the check. I watched him too, my gun at the ready if he decided to question it. By his luck, he tucked it in his coat pocket and nodded towards Napoleon.

Clearing his throat, Heinrich gradually made his way out of the kitchen, followed by Napoleon, neither one of them willing to meet my eyes as they walked pass me. Everything inside of me screamed at me to turn around and shoot them as they walked. No one, no one, disrespected me in such a manner. Not only argued with me, but had brought up my father - a man who they had once protected with their lives. And that was something that couldn't be forgiven.

"Thank you, thank you," the man praised again, kissing Eliza on the cheek, "you two, eat free for life!"

Eliza giggled with ease this time, before switching to our native tongue, "there's no need. But please, stay out of trouble."

The man seemed surprise that she knew Italian, clearly noticing that she didn't share the same Italian characteristics.

He nodded at her before turning to me, "you have a found special one, sir. Never let her go."

I sucked in a breath, my eyes narrowing at her. Though I tried to let go, the anger refused to die. And she knew it, her eyes filling with the all too common realisation that she had done something wrong.

"Yes. It appears I do."

And just like that, our happy evening had turned miserable.

Eliza had wanted to stay to help the man clean up but she had finally listened to my warning looks, telling it was time to go. He had reassured her that he was going to call his son, before I had managed to drag her away from the scene.

It was only three hours ago that we had arrived with smiles on our faces, looking forward to a nice meal and a night where we could celebrate each other. Now we were leaving in silence with the atmosphere growing dark between us.

"Get in," I ordered, opening up the car do.

I waited till she got inside, watching the road encase Napoleon and Heinrich wished to surprise us again. But there was no cars on the road.

With all of Eliza's limps in the car, I slammed the door before storming around to the other side.

There was a small voice inside my head telling me to calm down and that it would only things worse. But with each step I took, that voice faded away.

Sliding into the car, I knocked on the glass that separated the back from the front and ordered, "home."

The engine revved before the car veered off into the street.

I refused to look at her. Her careful big eyes were digging into my skin, willing for me to say something. I wouldn't make it that easy for her.

"Say something Patrick," she begged, her voice nothing but a squeak, "I saw something that needed to be fixed and I fixed it. How is that anyway different to what you do?"

Great, now she was trying to justify her actions. I knew I was being unreasonable. But this wasn't the first time she had done this. She just never understood what lengths I went to, to keep her safe. How her safety kept me up at night? How the very thought of loosing her clutched my heart tight enough that it would break. So for her to go against my orders, to purposely put herself in danger without thinking, was like sticking a knife in my stomach.

"Please, Patrick," she begged again, sounding more sorry this time.

When I felt the soft touch of her hand touch mine, I snatched it away.

"What do you expect me to say to that?" I growled, turning my head slowly, to finally glare at her.

She visibly took in a breath, preparing herself to face the beast that I was gradually becoming.

"I told you, it was time to leave. You ignored me," I reminded her, my anger shaking my voice.

Her mouth dropped as she struggled to speak, "I-I didn't see it like that."

"Of course not Eliza, because you don't think. You can never think of the consequences. Because I'm always cleaning up your mess."

"That's a little unfair," she scoffed, turning her head so she didn't face the full fire.

"Oh really, what would have happened tonight if I hadn't been there, huh?" I interrogated, "you would have been shot."

"That wouldn't have happened," she cried in disbelief.

"Oh really," my eyes narrowed, "you don't know those men, you didn't even know what was behind that door."

"What did you expect me to do, Patrick? Leave that man in there to be tortured?" She yelled, looking at me again now with anger in her eyes.

"I expected you to listen to your husband and stay out of things that don't concern you."

"Oh yeah, now you want me to be silent. Whatever happened to, I wanted my wife and I to be equals huh?" She argued.

My eyes narrowed at her. How dear she use my own words against me?

"That's only when your acting like my wife," I growled.

"Instead of what? The child that you see in front of you," she scowled, crossing her arms.

I clutched my jaw so tight I thought I would break my teeth as my fingers turned into a fist. Don't say it! I screamed at myself, it will only make it worse!

It was too late for that.

"What was so wrong with what I did?" She asked, a little calmer this time, "I helped someone who needed it."

"You got in the way of someone doing business," I told her, more in control of my voice.

"Business? You call that business?" She questioned, "what the hell is even protection payments."

"Payments to ensure that the mafia has nothing to do with his business. It's not that uncommon," I explained, rubbing the frustration out of forehead, "he was late and clearly his Debtor thought it was necessary to use violence as a reminder."

"Well it's sick," she spat, "what kind of person does that?"

I bit my lip as hard as I could, staring hard out the window.

"You've never done that, have you?" She asked.

My blood went cold. All my anger drained away and was replaced with guilt and dread.

Of course I had done it. When your twenty-one and finally breaking out from your father's shadow, there's only one road to your destination, violence. And using violence was an easy way to establish a name and develop a reputation that still allowed me to have control throughout the city. But it was something Eliza would never understand.

"Patrick!" She cried, my silence giving her, her answer.

"What do you want me to say, Eliza?" I yelled at her, "of course I have. Don't you understand? Every morale that you have, every man that you think is a spawn of evil, I'm him! I'm one of them."

I had never been so grateful to see the gates of our mansion or had a sudden need to escape.

As soon as the car stopped, I made a bolt for it. Eliza didn't try to stop me, knowing it was pointless. I didn't wait for her to get out of the car but instead stormed towards the front door of the mansion and welcomed the cool inside air of the void. The sound of Eliza's heels clicking on the tiles filled my ears as she chased after me.

It was only when I had reached the top of the stairs that I had realised that we were being watched by a very confused Antonio.

"Patrick, what -?" His voice was cut off when I ignored him and turned around the corner.

I heard him ask Eliza what was going on and she stayed to explain. It was a relief.

Throwing one the double doors that led into our bed room open, I headed straight for the walk-in-robe.

I refused to think and focused only on my actions. Undoing my shirt with one button at a time. I through it on the floor, knowing that I would pick it up tomorrow. As I took the top button of the jeans, I heard the door open.

I was still, listening to her walking around the room. Her exhausted sigh caused my body to numb as I began to feel more like myself. My normal, pigheaded-self.

When the door to the bathroom shut, I returned to undressing.

You idiot, I growled at myself, how dear you speak to her like that? What gave you the right?

I never had the answers. Sometimes, I just couldn't help it. I had to treat her like an employee.
Two huge weights had been placed down on my shoulders as the guilt settled in. I was the worse husband ever.

Pulling on some sweat pants, I stumbled my way over to the bed. It was only then that I realized that neither one of us had been bothered to turn on the light, so I was guided by the small glow, underneath the bathroom door and instinct. My body instantly relaxed when I climbed in, welcoming the warmth of the blankets. I listened to the hissing of the tap, imagining how she would take off her makeup. First her eyes, her cheeks then chin and neck. She would brush out her hair and moisturise her skin. One by one, a piece of clothing would be taken off only to be replaced by her robe.

When the door opened, I was blinded by the light. Her body stood in the doorway, looking at me with big sorry eyes as I peeped up at her with hope. Dropping her head, she closed the door and wondered around to the other side of the bed and out of view. I decided not to roll over, not having the guts to face her.

She shuffled around for a bit, struggling to get comfortable before finally sighing.

"I thought we were past this," she stated, nuzzling her head into the pillow.

"Me too," I sighed, the distance between us aching, "I knew this wasn't what you signed up for. But I thought you understood the...things, I've had to do."

"I do understand -."

"You don't understand, Eliza, how can you possibly understand?" I asked, twisting slightly to find that she had her back to me as well.

Turning back around, I nuzzled my pillow.

"Patrick, I don't want to fight anymore," she told me, tugging at the sheets.

I nodded. Neither did I.

At the same time, we rolled over and faced each other. Her lip twitched at the corner, softening into a small smile. I did the same, taking the leap to reach out and take her hand. She took it willingly, twisting her wrist so that her hand fit better in mine.

"You know I - love - you," I choked, avoiding her eyes, "but I need you to accept the bad bits."

"But why do you need them?" She asked, squeezing my hand, "you said once that you didn't want me to hardly the bad parts because you didn't want me to loose my innocence. But why is my innocence at the cost of yours."

"Because I lost mine, a long time ago. There's no hope for me," I told her, "I know you think I'm worth saving, but if I'm being honest, I can't be saved."

"But -."

"No, it's not that I don't want to be," I stopped her before she could continue, "I shouldn't. I need people to fear me so that people will think twice about going against us."

She nodded, trying to pretend like she understood but I knew she didn't.

"But Eliza," I breathed, tugging at her arm, pulling her closer, "everything I do, is for you."

She breathed, shuffling closer to me and curling her body in the shape of mine.

"I love you, Patrick," she sighed, nuzzling her head against my chest, "all of you."

I sharply took in a breath, her words warming even the coldest part of me. Maybe there was small hope.