Page 38 of Shattered Choices

Last time, I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. If she wants to see me beaten and bloodied to be satisfied, I will gladly let them keep beating me up. However, this doesn’t look like the conspiracy I thought I was part of. Every time I cross this door, I’m a stepcloser to Isabella. If she wasn’t pleased with my gesture, she would tell someone I was coming to her room.

I come here every night. I sneak inside when everyone is asleep, and I walk up the stairs to her room. I watch her sleep for a long time, and before I leave, I write a note and leave it with a rose on her pillow.

When her father let me go and told me to show her how I feel, I needed to do a little research about what that meant. All articles said the same thing.

Listen to what she has to say.

Give her affection.

Compliment her.

Plan activities together.

These were for couples who are together, things that, at that moment, I couldn’t do.

So, I found something else.

Flowers and notes.

That is what I can do. If she doesn’t want to listen to me, I will write everything down. Maybe then she will understand, and if she doesn’t want to forgive me, maybe she will have some understanding and let us move past those horrible events.

I open the door of her bedroom with slow and cautious movements, and after checking my surroundings, I enter.

As every other night, she is asleep. I know she’s exhausted. I see it on her face and in her movements because I still stalk her every day.

I changed cars. I even let my beard grow, so I would be unrecognizable. My cousin said I was crazy. Gabriel said to hurry things up, saying I’m needed in New York.

Like I care what anyone’s opinion is. Other than Isabella, at this moment, no one else matters.

Slowly, I close the door behind me and enter, inhaling the sweet scent of lemon and vanilla. A scent I’m addicted to. Iapproach the bed and slowly lower myself on the other side. I place my head on the pillow, turn toward her, and watch her.

I would usually sit on the chair in the corner, but tonight, I want to be beside her. I think about what would have happened if I’d acted differently, if I knew what I know now. If I’d allowed myself to be happy, allowed myself to live my own dreams and not been bound by hatred.

What would have happened if we stayed the same and nothing split us up?

Not that there is any use in dwelling on the what-ifs because here we are. She is not in my bed, and I stalk her and watch her sleep because that is the only way I can be close to her.

I raise my hand to touch her face, but I don’t. I keep my fingers away just enough not to touch her before I pull my hand back to my side.

I don’t sleep. I watch her take breaths, and I watch her eyes, how they move under her lids while she dreams. And before the early morning light, I take off, leaving a rose and a note.

You are the only thing I care about.

You are the only one I want.

Without you, I can’t breathe.

Without you, I can’t exist.

Love, Salvatore.

Like every night before, I sneak into her room. Only, she’s not in her bed. Water is running in the bathroom, and I try to ignore it, exploring her room, looking for anything that will distract me from thinking about leaving or peeking into that bathroom.

She’s late tonight. She has followed through the deal of selling the goods they have personally. Something I never thought I would see, and now she is doing it due to her dedication to following in her father’s footsteps.

The water stops, and before she can see me, I sink into the chair in the corner of the room. I guess tonight is the night I will face the consequences of my actions. The door opens, and Isabella exits with a towel wrapped around her.

She walks toward the bed where her clothes are as my eyes trace down her wet body, and I take a breath. She stops abruptly and turns toward me. Our eyes meet, and I swallow, my mind spiraling with thoughts. Will she call her men and have them kick me out? Pino, maybe?

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