I put it in my pocket and head upstairs. I go in my room first. 
I have no idea why I expected my room to look used. Or lived in. I have no idea why I expected her to sleep in my room. 
It's untouched. Clean but obviously not lived in. 
Before leaving I notice the bottle of scotch that sits on top of my dresser. It sits next to 3 other bottles of liquor. I pick it up, open it and take a huge sip. 
The liquid burns my throat but nothing burns more than the words she said. Nothing burns more than the consequences of my own actions. 
I close the door, break my own heart and head over to Marco's room. 
Yeah, there it is. A stinging way worse than the sixth sip I take. 
Marco's room. 
It's definitely lived in. A lavender pyjama set is thrown messily on the bed, a smaller version of the same thing next to it. Marco's pyjamas sit next to it. 
The two nightstands are filled with their stuff. 
The left one obviously belongs to isabella. A small stack of books sits on it. There's a few pacifiers on her table. 
The right one has a few cufflinks, a watch and a few hair ties sitting on it. 
I put the bottle to my mouth and take another sip. 
Toys are spread out on the floor. And the worst thing is the pictures. There's a few picture frames. 
A picture of Isabella and a little kid. She's not smiling. Isabellas pressing her lips to the child's forehead. 
She looks just like Isabella. Her eyes. Her lips. Her dimples. 
The other picture is a picture of all three of them. This time Marco is holding the little girl in his arms.
And the last picture is Callan holding the little girl. He smiles as the little girl looks at him. In the back, Isabella stands, smiling as she watches them. 
I pick the picture off of the table and hold it to my heart. 
I take another sip of the scotch and lay it on the table. I stumble back and fall to the floor. I lean back against the bed, clutch the picture close to my heart and let the tears flow down my face. 
"Alessio?" 
My head whips to my right at his voice. Callan and Marco stand at the door, their faces pale in shock. 
"What's up?" I blame my nonchalant behaviour on my the alcohol. 
"What's up?" Callan mutters angrily. "How about why the fuck are you not dead?" 
I ignore him and move my gaze to Marco. Correction: A crying Marco. 
"You're not dead?" Marco croaks out. 
"Nope. That shitty doctor was wrong." I say. 
Actually he wasn't wrong; he was lying.
Callan now understands. He knows why I faked my death. Matter of fact, he helped me plan it. 
"Congratulations." I attempt to wink at Marco. 
Im too drunk for this shit. 
His face scrunches up in confusion. "The fuck are you talking about? Does Isabella know about this?" 
"You married her. Saw an opportunity and jumped at it, didn't you? Your daughters cute." I pull back to look at the picture. "Looks just like her." I admit.