The Don’s Soulmate

3. Carlotta

Chapter 3

Carlotta

Sofia's eyes light up when she sees me, her smile as radiant as the sun. "Carlotta, you're finally back!" she exclaims, rushing forward to envelop me in a warm hug. I breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume, feeling like I finally have a shoulder to lean on.

"It's so good to see you again," I reply, returning her embrace. After such a long time apart, being with Sofia feels like coming home. She often talked of visiting me in Paris, but then, as it often happens, life got in the way.

As expected, I’ve been assigned a bodyguard for my trip into town. Thankfully, he takes a seat at a window table while we settle into a cozy booth in the back of the coffee shop.

We order some coffee and two pastries to share. "So, tell me everything, Carlotta!" Sofia launches right into it with her usual hyperenergy. "I want to hear all about your time in Paris."

"Where do I even start?" I reply with a laugh, echoing her enthusiasm. "The art, the culture, the food... it was all so incredible, Sofia. You would have loved it."

"Ah, well, you'll just have to show me around one day." She playfully nudges my foot under the table. "But for now, I'm just thrilled to have you back home."

"I've missed you too, Sofia," I admit, my voice warm with affection. "It feels so good to spend time with you in person."

"Awww!” She leans over the table and pulls me in for a hug around the neck, then plops back onto her seat. “Now that you're back, we can finally do all those things we've talked about," she says, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. "You know, work our way through our bucket list: shopping for a new wardrobe, a lazy day at the beach, a weekend trip to Tuscany!"

"Sounds perfect," I agree, my heart swelling with love for my dear friend. For just a second, with her by my side, I feel a sense of normalcy.

"Now, tell me, did you have any exciting romances in the City of Light?" she asks conspiratorially, her blonde hair brushing the edges of her plate as she leans forward.

Heat rises to my cheeks at the question, remembering the mystery man from my dreams.

Sofia takes one look at my blushing face, batting her eyelashes she clasps her hands in delight. “Oooh, do tell. Did you go for romantic picnics by the Seine River and let him do a nude study of you afterward?”

“It’s not what you think,” I try to backtrack, smiling sheepishly. “I will have you know that I did have a boyfriend from whom I did not learn as much French as I had hoped.” We both laugh at my comment.

“Although I was deeply in love with him initially, we both realized that we were not each other’s forever love and ended it before things became too serious.” I stare down at my hands, suddenly painfully reminded of how my choice to fall in love has been stolen away from me.

Sofia notices my silence, her expression softening with concern. "What's wrong, Carlotta?" she asks gently. "You seem sad. Did something happen?”

My hands fidget with the edge of my napkin, my fingers twisting and untwisting the soft fabric as a heaviness settles in my chest.

I see the bodyguard looking our way. Sofia notices me glancing at him and slips her hand over mine. “You’ll get used to it again, Carlotta. I know you’ve enjoyed the freedom you had in Paris. Try not to let it upset you.” She gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.

I appreciate her gesture but struggle to find the right words. How can I explain the weight that I carry, the burden that has been thrust upon me without my consent?

"It’s not just about adapting to being back home, is it?" Sofia asks tentatively, her gentle voice stilling my nervous movements.

"No," I admit, my voice barely a whisper. My heart races in my chest, and I feel a knot forming in my throat. "It's just...there are certain expectations of me that have come to my notice."

"Carlotta," Sofia pleads, her eyes searching mine. "You know you can tell me anything. What's going on?"

As much shame as I feel for being bartered away like livestock, I know I cannot keep this secret locked away. Sofia is my closest confidante, maybe my only confidante. If there is anyone who deserves to know the truth, it is her.

"Tonight," I choke out, tears welling up in my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back. "Tonight, I am supposed to meet... him ."

"Who?" Sofia asks, her voice barely audible, as if she already senses the gravity of my situation.

"The man my family has chosen for me," I confess, my heart aching with every word. "The man I am to marry."

“Wait, what?” she screeches a little too loudly. I look back at the bodyguard; if he notices anything, he’s not showing it.

My tears betray me, spilling over my cheeks as I force the words out. "I have no choice in the matter. My father has arranged it all, and I am to be married off like some...some kind of commodity."

Sofia's eyes widen in shock, her mouth falling open. Her hands tremble as she grips the edge of the table, struggling to process the news that I'm delivering. "No, Carlotta," she stammers, disbelief etched across her face. "It must be a misunderstanding. Surely, this can’t be right?"

"Believe me," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and resignation. "I wish more than anything that it was not true. But my father has made his decision, and there is nothing I can do to change his mind.”

"But...why?" Sofia asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would he do this to you? You're so young, and you've just returned from Paris. Surely, he knows by now how much you long for freedom. He has always indulged you…" her voice trails off, unable to fathom the extent of this news.

"My father believes it’s a fruitful match, and my brother reminded me that if I don’t marry now, I’ll be deemed a spinster. Duty trumps any concept of freedom," I reply a little angrily, wiping at my tear-streaked cheeks.

"Well, do you know who he is?" Sofia finally asks her expression a mixture of horror and sympathy.

"No, I was too upset to ask," I admit with chagrin. "All I know is his name... Ugo Caputo. And that I am to meet him tonight."

Sofia's eyes widen in shock, and her hands tremble as she covers her mouth. "Ugo Caputo, you say? No, please, no," she says in a hushed tone, fear lacing her words. Her reaction sends a chill down my spine.

"Sofia," I implore with desperation, "you must tell me everything you know about him."

Her eyes dart around the coffee shop, ensuring that none of the other patrons are listening in. She leans in closer, lowering her voice even further. "Carlotta... Ugo Caputo is not someone to be trifled with. His reputation in our city is...."

"Go on," I urge, my heart pounding in my chest.

Sofia hesitates for a moment, choosing her words deliberately and cautiously. "There are whispers, Carlotta. Dark rumors that surround him."

My breath catches in my throat as I hang onto her every word. After listening to her account, I drop my head in my hands, “No,” I whimper.

"And that's not all," Sofia continues in a hushed tone.

I feel my heart sink as I listen to her words, a cold sense of despair taking hold of me. As much as I want to believe that these are baseless rumors, I can't shake off the feeling that there might be some truth to them.

"Thank you for telling me, Sofia," I say, struggling to keep my composure. "I need to process all of this."

"Carlotta," Sofia reaches for my hand, gripping it tightly. "Promise me you'll be careful tonight. I don't know what you're walking into, but just... be cautious, please."

"I promise," I whisper back, trying to reassure her even as fear grips my own heart.

“Is there no way out of this marriage?” she asks desperately.

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Perhaps, if I speak to Father about what you’ve told me, I might sway him.”

“You must try,” she insists.

I nod, feeling like life’s seeping out of me as I sit here. Time flies by as we sip our coffee in silence, and then I look at my watch and note the time.

“Shit, Sofia,” I murmur. “I need to ask you a big favor.”

I walk out of the coffee shop, and the world is a blur around me. My black hair is bundled into a newsboy cap, my eyes hidden behind big sunglasses. Sofia’s little distraction – spilling hot coffee on a handsome waiter – gave me the opportunity to slip out the back. A little trick we often employed in high school.

She understands that my visit to the bank needs to stay secret, at least until I’ve talked to Papa.

Each step is filled with an unsettling dread that courses through my veins. My mind races with thoughts of Ugo Caputo.

Rumors are just that – whispers and gossip, not guarantees of truth. But even so, the prospect of marrying him leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet the love I have for my family drives me forward. My father and brother wouldn’t put me in active danger. Of that, I’m certain… right ?

The cold wind nips at my cheeks as I hurry down the sidewalk, my heart heavy with the burden of Sofia's revelations.

Rounding the corner, I spot the bank up ahead, its stately columns and marble facade sending deep shadows across the street. The doorman greets me with a respectful bow and holds the door open for me. "Buongiorno, Signorina D'Amici," the doorman says. “Signor Einaudi has been expecting you."

So much for my disguise.

I incline my head in acknowledgment and proceed to the private client rooms at the back, passing a maze of velvet ropes on my way. The sounds of hushed conversations and rustling papers soothe my nerves. Much depends on the outcome of this meeting.

I reach the unassuming door marked as the manager’s office and give a gentle knock before opening it. Signor Marco Einaudi glances up, his eyes widening as he sees me. He quickly rises, stepping out from behind his desk. "Signorina D’Amici, come in. How was Paris?" With a warm smile, he ushers me over to a chair.

"Paris was lovely, thank you for asking," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I sit across from him. My fingers drum against the polished wood. "There are some financial matters I need to discuss."

"Of course," his brow furrows with concentration as he leans in. "How may I help you?"

"I need to know the extent of my assets and how much control I have over them," I explain, my heart pounding in my chest. If I am to face Ugo Caputo and an uncertain future, I must be prepared.

"Ah, I see." Signor Einaudi nods. He pulls up my account information on his computer and begins to explain the details of my finances, my mind racing all the while, trying to keep track of all the details.

"Is it possible to set up a separate account without my father's knowledge?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “And transfer over some funds? I also have some artwork I might sell and would like that money sent to the alternate account.”

"Yes," the bank manager replies hesitantly. It can be done, but it might raise some questions if he finds out. I believe you do share the same chartered accountant."

"Please, Signor Einaudi," I plead, my eyes imploring him to understand. "I need this. It's important. I’ll speak with the CA."

"Alright, Signorina Carlotta," he agrees, his voice warm with empathy. "I'll do what I can to help you."

"Thank you," I whisper, my heart swelling with gratitude. "Now, is there a way for me to put some funds into some dividend stocks and have the interest paid into the new account?”

The bank manager begins to explain various options when, suddenly, the bank is filled with a loud cacophony of blaring alarms and flashing lights.

My eyes dart around the room in panic, trying to make sense of the chaos. "Please, stay calm, signorina," Signor Einaudi whispers, his voice wavering slightly. "I'm sure everything will be alright."

And then, we hear something loud, sharp, short—a gunshot.

The bank manager goes pale, jumps up from his seat and races out the door.

I grip the edge of his desk, my knuckles turning white as I struggle to take slow, measured breaths.

Moments later, he returns, his face ashen-white. "I’m afraid it’s an active robbery, Signorina D’Amici."

My stomach churns with a mixture of dread and disbelief, and I feel as if I might be sick. This can't be happening, not now.

"Signorina," the bank manager whispers. “We’re going to be alright. I’m going to lock us in here. We should be safe. Go. Hide under the desk!”

I nod, swallowing hard, and try to push away the terror as I get down on my knees. Hide. Now that’s something I can do. Taking action is the only thing keeping me from shaking to death.

I watch as Signor Einaudi begins to close the door to his office, but just then, he stumbles back.

When did I start screaming?

The door to the manager's office is opened violently, revealing two masked robbers with guns in hand. My heart leaps into my throat as they storm inside, their voices harsh and demanding. "Don't move a muscle, or we'll blow your pretty little head off!" one of them snarls at me.

I can feel the cold steel of a gun as it presses against my temple, my breath catching in my chest as I try to process what's happening. One robber is holding me hostage. Beside me, Signor Einaudi’s eyes widened in terror as he faced a similar threat.

"Out, both of you!" the second robber barks, nudging the gun against the bank manager’s head. "We're taking you to the main floor. Thought you could hide back here, did you?"

As we are herded towards the door, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished surface of a nearby cabinet. My green eyes are filled with fear, and my face is ghostly pale.

"Move it! Faster!" the first robber growls behind me, shoving me roughly towards the hallway and to the main floor. Just then, more gunshots ring out. On the main floor, we are met with a horrifying sight: two more armed robbers are pointing their weapons at a man on the floor – his body lifeless. People are still screaming as the dust settles. Most are on the ground, face down, covering their heads beneath their arms to protect them from falling debris – ripped from the walls and cabinets by flying bullets.

"Hey, boss? It looks like we may have ourselves some VIPs here," the second robber holding Signor Einaudi says, his voice dripping with malice as he addresses the accomplice closest to him. "Maybe we can use them for leverage?"

"Good thinking," the leader replies. I can hear him grinning as he speaks from beneath his mask. "Keep the gun on them."

"Please don't hurt us," I whisper, my voice trembling as we, too, are forced to our knees.