Arranged Marriage

Chapter 12

I couldn't believe it. Patrick hurt someone. The very thought threw Nickola's confession out the window. He wasn't a God, he was no saint, he was a killer.

Once we were in the car, Patrick started to undress. He pulled off his jacket and then yanked off his tie. I tried to force my gaze away, but I just couldn't.

My mouth slightly dropped when I looked at him. There was a scar cutting across from his middle ab down to his pelvis like he had been sliced by a knife. The skin that outlined the back of his rib cage and under his arm was all uneven and I couldn't even begin to make out how he got them. The words, Lealtà and Rispetto was tattooed along his breast bone reminding me of Piero's tattoos. He had a fleur-de-lis tattooed on his hip, the symbol black and solid. There was another tattoo on his shoulder but I couldn't make it out.

"Okay, show and tell is over," he told me, throwing on another white dress shirt, "I mean, unless you wanted to share?"

I groaned, pissed off that he was able to make me feel this way just by simple words and yet, he was the monster here. He was the one that could go to prison not me.

"You killed that person, didn't you?" I questioned not being able to look him in the eye, "the one that you had."

He was silent, figuring out whether or not he should lie to me.

"I put him out of his misery," he answered.

"So, you killed him?" I scoffed, turning my head to face him.

"He begged me too, so I did as he wished," he argued, annoyed that I wasn't seeing him as some hero, "trust me, he's better off dead."

"And how do you make that out?" I snapped. 

"That low life is responsible for the cops showing up at the docks last night putting two of my guys in hospital and killing one of Egor Volkov's. Trust me, what I offered him was an escape from Egor's rathe."

I sat there, my mouth opened. I was shocked, mostly because it made sense. But I refused to let him be right.

"Where are we going now?" I asked bitterly, over today.

"We're going to Egor's office," he told me, fixing up his sleeves.

"Why?" I frowned.

"To make sure that there's no bad blood between us," he said simply.

Of course.

We arrived at the New York high raise in fifteen minutes. I froze, not being able to move. Last time I got out of this car, a part of my world came crashing down. I didn't want it to happen again.

"Are you coming?" Patrick asked, just about to open his door.

I didn't answer him.

"Eliza, your coming inside even if I have to pull you out in front of everyone on the street," he warned.

His threat wasn't why I opened the door and got out though I'm sure he thought that. I couldn't take anymore pushing and shoving.

Patrick got out of the car and joined me on the busy New York side walk. He looked less formal without his jacket and tie which was just annoying because he looked even hotter. I stood with my arms crossed, refusing to look at his proud face.

"Come on," he ordered, gesturing towards the doors of the big building.

I groaned, rolled my eyes but followed the direction of Patrick's hand.

I was quite shocked when I got inside. It didn't look like the work place of a Russian drug lord. It was light with a wall of windows, facing the street. There was a reception when you first walked in and just to the left was a small room that held a couple of lounges, like a waiting room.