The Don’s Soulmate

7. Carlotta

Chapter 7

Carlotta

"This can't go on, Carlotta. Your childish behavior is putting the whole family at risk." Papa is furious.

I try to defend myself, explaining that getting caught up in a robbery at the bank was hardly my fault. "I don't know why you are angry with me, Papa. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time yesterday."

"Don't play dumb. Giving your security the slip and getting yourself entangled in a robbery." He slams his fist on the table, rattling the fine bone china. "What if they had taken you hostage? Or worse?"

I flinch but hold my ground. "Well, that didn’t happen now, did it? And I doubt the robbers knew who I was.”

"You would do well to remember that you are no longer in high school, little sister. It's time to grow up and accept that we have rules and regulations in place for your safety, for a reason."

“Your brother is right, child. Since your mother…” my father presses his lips firmly together. It is only for a second, then he collects himself again. “We cannot afford to look weak again. If word got out that Salvatore D’Amici cannot even control his own daughter,” he jabs a finger at the window, including the entire criminal underworld in his statement, “they will come for us like hyenas to a carcass!”

Their words cut deep. I've always been the obedient daughter. Always aware of how my behavior will reflect on my family. That is why I decided to study art in Paris, and not in America – because of the family’s reputation.

Dealing in art is an occupation in keeping with my family’s position in society. I could never work as a teacher or a nurse. That would be considered beneath us. But something is shifting inside me, a quiet rebellion taking root.

"So, now I’m being traded like a piece of art? Sold off to the highest bidder, without giving me a choice in the matter?"

Father's eyes flash with warning. "Watch yourself, Carlotta. You know how much your upcoming marriage means for this family. Ugo Caputo is not a man you want to disappoint. His resources are substantial; his reach far and wide."

I swallow hard, my appetite vanishing. Yesterday, after my father pulled some strings with the carabinieri, I was let go. By that time my date with Ugo Caputo had been cancelled. Still, the mere thought of marrying him after everything Sofia has told me, turns my stomach upside down.

"I just...I want more out of life, father. Can't you understand that?"

"Angelo is right, Carlotta. We all have our contribution to make. It would be best if you started behaving like a proper daughter of this family. No more gallivanting around the city, putting yourself in danger. Ugo Caputo will keep you in line, of that I’m sure, even if I can’t." Papa scoffs, his fork clanging against his plate. His thin mustache is trembling like it does when he’s angry.

I nod meekly, hot tears pricking at the corners of my vision. I won’t get through to him this morning especially since he’s still angry about me endangering my life by intentionally evading my security detail.

I clench my fists beneath the table, biting back the defiant words that threaten to spill from my lips.

"Yes, Papa," I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Francesca, my sweet cousin, catches my eye from across the table. Her expression is a mix of pity and understanding, with a hint of solidarity between us. She knows all too well the suffocating weight of our family's expectations.

"Perhaps Carlotta just needs some time to adjust to the idea of marriage," Francesca suggests gently, offering me a sympathetic smile. "It's a big change, after all."

"Nonsense. She's had plenty of time to come to terms with her duty since she was just a little girl, as every woman has in our family. The marriage will proceed as planned, and I won't hear another word about it."

Papa’s grey eyes look at me piercingly. " Now, have a thorough rest so that you can look your best for your date tonight. You should show your gratitude that Signor Caputo was willing to forget the matter so easily.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my appetite gone. As the conversation shifts to business and politics, I retreat into myself, my mind racing with desperate thoughts of escape.

I rifle through my closet, searching for an outfit that will subtly undermine the image of the perfect Mafia bride. My fingers brush against a simple, long cotton dress in a deep shade of midnight blue. It's a far cry from fashionable and feels like a small victory, a way to assert my own identity in the face of overwhelming control.

As I slip into it, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The soft fabric hides all my curves. I certainly won’t be turning any heads tonight. Perhaps I can give myself a fighting chance to free myself from this marriage.

Perhaps if my so-called fiancé doesn’t like me, he’d pull out of this agreement. Sabotage is well worth the effort.

There is a sharp rap at the door, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart sinks. Angelo strides into the room, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my appearance.

"What are you wearing?" he demands, his voice laced with disapproval. "You're supposed to be getting ready for dinner with Ugo, not playing dress-up like a child."

Somewhere deep inside, I find the courage to stand up for myself. "I thought this dress would be appropriate for the occasion," I say softly, my eyes downcast. "It's elegant and sophisticated, and I-"

But Angelo cuts me off with a dismissive wave. "Don't be ridiculous," he snaps. "You're not going to dinner with Ugo looking like a nun. Go change into something more suitable for a first date, something that will show off your assets."

I flush with shame and anger. “You can’t tell me what to wear,” I almost scream at him.

Without another word, Angelo strides forward and seizes my arm. His grip is harsh, bruising—a stark reminder of the power he holds over me. The tears threaten to spill over, but I bite my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He drags me back to the closet. I stand there trembling as he rifles through my cupboard and, at last, pulls out a sultry red number. It’s low cut neckline, strappy sleeves, and high slit on the thigh leave little to the imagination. It was a gift from Sofia before I left for Paris. It’s everything I would never choose for myself, a scarlet imprint of submission.

It's also exactly what Angelo and Ugo will expect me to wear.

"This is what you'll wear," Angelo commands, his tone brooking no argument. "You will go downstairs and make Signor Caputo believe you're thrilled about this marriage. Do not embarrass Father again. If you do, the next time you see him will be on your damn wedding night."

I gasp at the threat, knowing full well the power my family holds. They’re capable of locking me in here, of forging the marriage documents, of having Ugo Caputo kidnap me straight from my bed.

Whatever little control I still have, would be taken away.

His eyes bore into mine, and I see a glint of warning beneath the surface.

“Get dressed. Put on some make-up. We’ll see you downstairs,” Angelo stalks out of my room, leaving me defeated.

I slip into the dress. The fabric clings to me like a second skin, hugging me so tight that there’s a small dent in the cloth covering my naval. I can’t wear a bra and have to use pasties instead. It makes me feel so exposed, so vulnerable.

I wipe off the tears and apply a final coat of mascara, lest someone know I’m not all perky and starry-eyed.

This is will be the beginning of a never-ending performance where I must play the part of the dutiful daughter. There is no room for my own desires or dreams, no space for the real Carlotta to emerge.

I wish I’d never come back from Paris.

Ugo is already waiting for me, taking in my appearance with a lecherous grin spreading across his face, as I descend the staircase. The internet images on the society pages that I looked up after Sofia’s warning, were indeed accurate. Ugo Caputo is a repulsive man, with a bulging belly and a receding hairline, his small, beady eyes roaming over my body like a predator sizing up its prey.

"Carlotta, my dear," he says, his voice dripping with false charm. "You’re far sexier in person. I'm a lucky man to have such a beautiful fiancée."

I recoil at his choice of words, and force a small smile on my lips. I stand between my father and brother, and Ugo steps forward, taking my hand in his clammy grip. “Let’s go,” he says.

I don’t want to go anywhere with him. When fear renders me paralyzed, father steps in with a masked threat. "Don’t keep the gentleman waiting, Carlotta."

Reluctantly, I let Ugo lead me away. He keeps looking at me, at my neck, my collarbone, my breasts - never my eyes, though. I feel like throwing up.

He helps me into the back of the car and I pray he’ll sit up front. Instead, he slides in beside me from the other end. The driver pulls out of the driveway, and the first thing Ugo does is lean in close, his rancid breath washing over me. I turn my head slightly, trying to avoid the nauseating smell of cigars and liquor that clings to him like a foul cloud.

"You look like you could use a drink, Carlotta," he murmurs, his hand reaching out to brush against my thigh. I tense at his touch, the revulsion rising within me like a tidal wave.

"I-I'm fine, thank you," I manage to stammer out, my voice barely above a whisper. Ugo chuckles throatily, the sound sending shivers down my spine.

"Don't be shy now, my dear. We're soon-to-be family, after all," he says with a sly grin, his fingers crawling higher up my leg, through the slit of my dress.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to inch away from him without drawing attention to my discomfort.

"Relax, my dear," Ugo murmurs, his voice oozing with false sweetness. "We're going to have a wonderful evening getting to know each other."

I force myself to nod, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel his gaze lingering on me. Fortunately, just then, he gets a phone call and pulls away from me. Business keeps him busy for the remainder of the drive.

When Ugo's car pulls up to the restaurant, his hand slides possessively around my waist, fingers digging into my flesh through the thin fabric of my dress. "Let's go, darling," he purrs, his breath hot against my ear. "I want to show you off to everyone inside."

I nod mutely, allowing him to guide me out of the car and towards the entrance. As we walk, I can feel his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my curves in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Inside the restaurant, Ugo leads me to a table where the manager and chef come to greet him. As introductions are made, I plaster a fake smile on my face, trying to ignore the surprised looks of the staff when they learn I’m his fiancé.

When they leave, the waiter comes to take our order. I watch him be a sycophant to Ugo and just for leaving the menu, Ugo hands him a few hundred-dollar bills.

“A tip,” he says, perusing the menu. I narrow my eyes at the blatant manner in which he’s trying to show off his wealth. I notice he doesn’t hand me a menu.

“A steak for me,” he says. “And the lady will have a salad. Wouldn’t want to ruin her figure, I’m sure,” he laughs. The waiter laughs. I don’t.

“Actually, I’ll have the lasagna, please,” I interject, my voice clear and firm, surprising even myself with the assertiveness. Ugo's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his thin veneer of charm momentarily cracking before he recovers with a chuckle.

“Ah, a woman who knows what she wants,” he comments, his tone laced with amusement. The waiter nods nervously and scurries off to place our order. Ugo's eyes narrow slightly as he regards me, as though reassessing the quiet girl he thought he could control.

“I suppose,” he says, leaning forward. “A girl can treat herself once or twice.”

“I suppose,” I say drily, trying to maintain some decorum of control.

Ugo proceeds to order the most expensive bottle of champagne. He takes the two glasses the waiter has poured, and hands me one. “To an unforgettable night with the most beautiful woman in the world. Alla nostra!”

We clink our glasses and I take a sip. “You’re too slow,” he says.. “Come on. Down it.”

“I’m afraid the downing days are behind me,” I say with a straight face.

“Ah, yes,” he sneers. “Your college days. Though what good an education does a woman of your standing, eludes me.”

Not knowing what to make of that comment, I bristle under his stare. “Excuse me?” I ask.

“Your family has means. People go to college to work. You won’t ever need to work. So why did you waste all that time?”

Ugo's condescending remarks chip away at my carefully maintained facade. “Because I like to work,” I tell him. “I’ve always had internships, jobs.”

“Well, you won’t,” he says, slamming down his glass rather hard. “Once we’re married, you’d manage the house. And kids, of course.”

I almost choke on the champagne, the thought of making kids with him sickening to the gut. “K…kids?” I manage to sputter out. “I haven’t thought about kids.”

“I need heirs,” he says. “Sons. A daughter would do eventually if you want, but a son is a must, Carlotta. There’s nothing to think about here. We’ll start trying the moment we get married.”

I watch Ugo with a mix of horror and disbelief, his words hammering home the cruel reality of my fate. The walls close in around me, and I put down my fork, my appetite lost. Not that I had much to begin with.

The silence stretches on. Ugo watches the room full of people, waving at some he recognizes. He ignores me, sparing not a single thought to what might be going through my mind right now.

But then, everyone’s attention is drawn to the restaurant’s entrance, where a commotion erupts. A woman's laughter, rich and vibrant, cuts through the air like a knife. Ugo's eyes take on a predatory gleam as he turns his gaze towards the source of the sound.

A stunning woman, dressed in a figure-hugging black short skirt and a tucked in vest that leaves little to the imagination, sashays towards our table. Her dark hair cascades down her back in waves, framing her striking features with an air of confidence that commands attention. As she approaches, I notice a subtle flicker of recognition in Ugo's eyes.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ugo growls, standing to greet her as she stops by his chair. “Rosa, I must say, you certainly know how to make an entrance."

I notice his voice is smoother than when he talks to me.

“Ah, Ugo,” she giggles, and places her hand on his chest. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here tonight.”

She ignores me, and he doesn’t bother making introductions. I sit frozen in my chair, feeling like an outsider intruding on this exchange.

Rosa leans in closer to Ugo and his eyes linger on her cleavage as her fingers trail lightly over his chest, a coy smile playing on her lips.

"Business or pleasure tonight, darling?" Rosa purrs, her gaze flickering towards me briefly before returning to Ugo with a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Ugo's response is low and gravelly, his hand coming to rest possessively on Rosa's waist. "A bit of both, my dear. But nothing to keep me away from catching up with you."

Just then, his hand slides to the back of her ass, resting slightly on it. I recoil in disgust, as I realize the nature of their relationship.

My chest tightens, a wave of anger crashing over me as I witness the man I am supposed to marry behaving so shamelessly in public.

Without a word, or a second thought, I rise abruptly from my seat. The scrape of the heavy chair against the marble floor echoes in the sudden silence that falls over our table. My eyes lock onto Ugo's, blazing with a newfound fire that even surprises me. The audacity of his actions, the blatant disrespect he shows me by his actions—it is more than I can bear.

“I think it’s time I went home,” I declare, and turn my back on them, ready to leave this hell of a date behind.