Red Card to Your Heart: You Don't Deserve My Love Extra Time novel Chapter 28

After the shooting, Salvatore barely left my side.

He treated me like precious crystal—something to be protected, cherished, and displayed. His attentiveness bordered on obsession. He monitored my medication, interrogated my doctors, and hired private nurses whom he vetted personally.

But it wasn't enough.

What I truly wanted from him remained just beyond my reach. I couldn't simply ask for it—demand too much, and Salvatore would grow suspicious. His instincts were too sharp for direct approaches.

Instead, I needed to manipulate him carefully—provoke his anger, stoke his jealousy, push him just far enough past reason that he would comply with my wishes without realizing he was being guided.

Make him obedient to me, while believing he held all the power.

On an unremarkable Tuesday morning, I set my plan in motion.

Salvatore prepared breakfast himself—a habit he'd developed during my recovery. He balanced a tray with espresso and warm brioche as he climbed the stairs to our bedroom, ready to coax me gently awake as he did each morning.

Instead, he found me fully dressed, two designer suitcases packed and waiting by the door.

His smile evaporated instantly, replaced by a stillness I had learned to recognize as far more dangerous than his shouting.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

I removed the diamond ring he had recovered from Lake Como—the one Carina had deliberately thrown away. He'd paid a fortune to have divers search the waters until they found it. Now, I placed it deliberately on the nightstand.

"I'm leaving," I said softly. "I don't want you anymore. I don't want this marriage."

Salvatore stared at me as if I'd suddenly started speaking a language he didn't understand. A cold smile curved his lips as he set the breakfast tray down and extended the espresso cup toward me.

"Drink this," he commanded. "You're not thinking clearly."

He raised his other hand to the back of my neck, fingers applying pressure at the base of my skull—not painful, but a reminder of his strength. His smile never reached his eyes.

"You know what we say in Sicily—'L'amore non è bello se non è litigarello.' Love isn't beautiful without a little fighting," he said, voice dangerously soft. "Be a good girl now, Isabella. Stop saying things to provoke me, or I might be tempted to teach you a lesson while you're still recovering."

He suddenly lowered his head, teeth sinking into the side of my neck hard enough to break capillaries beneath the skin. The pain bloomed sharp and sweet as he marked me like a predator claiming territory.

When he spoke again, his lips brushed against my ear, his voice a velvet whisper that contrasted with the bruising grip he maintained on my body.

"Don't say such hurtful things, cara mia," he murmured, his tone suddenly gentle, almost tender. "It breaks my heart when you lie about not loving me."

His hand slid from my throat to cradle my jaw with unexpected delicacy. "Remember what you promised me—marriage, children, a family together. I believed those promises. I committed my soul to that future."

The tenderness in his touch remained, but his words took on a lethal edge. "If you try to take that away from me now," he whispered softly, as if sharing a lover's secret, "I will kill you before I let you leave me. That's not a threat, Isabella. It's a promise."

I stared at the ceiling beyond his shoulder, my face expressionless as I listened to his deadly vow.

Where he couldn't see, my lips curved into a satisfied smile.

Everything was proceeding exactly as planned.