Rose Thorns & Love Letters

7 ➪ Love, Gordon

•Phoenix•

10/11/1867
My beautiful Woman,
My Father has arranged a marriage between Lady Beckett and I. I quarrelled with him for hours, yet my words could not sway him. I will not stop fighting until I can declare to the world how much my heart longs for your love. I am yours.
Love, Gordon.

__________________

I am so fucked.

It has been a week since I last saw Camilla. And I cannot stop thinking about her. Well not her, but how I can get to her.

My team and I were unsuccessful in finding a plan for how to utilise the daughter of our arch nemesis at our meeting over a week ago now, so I had to take matters into my hands.

I thought long and hard about different plans and my mind went into battle with itself. I played out every possible scenario and every possible outcome of every possible plan I could devise.

Her words ring in head, 'I have never even seen a gun in real life', 'My Father is a business man', 'Are you going to kill me?'. An idea sprouts in my mind but I quickly shut it down.

I may have a soul as dark as the night's sky, but I could never go through with a plan like that.

My mind slowly drifts off to the day she invited me into her home. I recall the withering love letters she kept in her box and how passionate she appeared to be about the topic of love.

How she picked at her fingernails when she spoke, how sadness clouded her features when I spoke, how her inhales and exhales grew shallow and breathy. I remember it all.

It would be a perfect plan. She is completely oblivious that she is a direct relative to an infamous Mafia Associate, so the chances of her knowing who I really am are slim.

I even gave her my last name and she did not seem as though she had ever heard the name in her life. It would all be so easy.

Build a relationship with her, make her believe she is in love with me, get her to trust me enough to tell me direct information about her father, murder Marcello D'Angelo Forest.

How hard could it be? I bet I if I were to shower her with every designer bag ever created, she would fall at my feet in an instant.

But before I find a way into her heart, I need to find a way into her house.

Like I said before, it has been a week since I last saw her. I recollect the way she drew her finger across my neck, over the wound I got from training with Isaiah.

My chest contracts as I relive the memory of her pushing me away and asking me to leave. Her eyes flash with disappointment as she closes the door in my face.

__________________

I hold one hand up to knock on the large door as I look down at my other hand occupied with a single Rose.

I got her a flower. A fucking flower.

If I expect this to work, I must fall accustom to things I am not used to. On a normal day, right now I would be locked away in an office completing an overload of paperwork.