The Don’s Soulmate

8. Ettore

Chapter 8

Ettore

The clink of ice against glass echoes in my ears as I take the last sip of my cocktail. I’m struggling to focus on the conversation surrounding me. My business associates drone on about territories and profits, but all I can think about is getting the hell out of here.

Fuck it. I pay them well enough. They’ve had enough of my time.

"Make sure the deal goes through without a hitch," I growl, cutting through their chatter. They look surprised, but nod in unison. With a final glance around the dimly lit room, I push back my chair and rise from the table. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

I don’t bother leaving any cash. As usual, the restaurant will add this table to my tab. I call for my car.

I step outside and the cold night air bites at me. The limo pulls up. The street is slick with rain, and all of Rome seems asleep. Inside the restaurant, life thrums with energy. Out here, even the dead wouldn’t dare be seen. I’m about to get in the car when the sound of raised voices from a nearby alley catches my attention.

"Please... you're hurting me," a woman's desperate plea pierces the quiet.

“Why the fuck did you walk out like that?” an older, meaner voice questions her. “How dare you act so disrespectful and humiliate me like that?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?” she cries out. Something in her frightened voice seems to strike a chord within me, awakening a memory I can’t quite place.

“I can ask you whatever the hell I want. Don’t you dare speak to your husband that way.”

“You’re not my husband yet,” she screams. “And looking at how you were groping that woman, it becomes clear to me that you might not even want to be.”

“Like hell I don’t,” I hear some scuffling, then a thud.

“Ow,” her cry of pain has me clenching my jaw in anger. There’s something about her voice - soft, yet strained to be loud - that tells me I should check on her.

The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh follows.

“Stay here,” I instruct my driver.

"Stop!" another cry. “Please,” words laced with fear and helplessness.

Pulse racing, I inch closer to the alley, the woman's trembling voice seeping into my bones like a chilling fog.

I approach the entrance of the alley cautiously, my eyes scanning the dimly lit space, prepared to act. I glimpse a shadow dance, one figure male, the other female, in the furthest corner.

It all happens so fast. He slams her against the wall, his hand choking her throat. “You want me to show you I want you, huh? Is that what all this fuss is about?”

"Please, don't do this," she begs, her voice cracking under the weight of her terror.

"Shut up," the man snarls, his voice heavy with malice. "You brought this on yourself."

The next thing I see, he’s sliding his hands up her dress while she tries to fight him off. He has his knee at her crotch, pushing her against the wall, while he grabs her neck and chin to kiss her. She tries to turn her head away, first left then right, but he won’t have it.

“You wanted this, didn’t you sweetheart? Got jealous when I touched the other woman? Here, let me show you just how much I want you,” he threatens, just as I hear the rip of material.

I charge towards the end of the alley, ready to rain down my rage.

"Get your hands off her," I demand, my voice bouncing off the narrow walls.

The man whips his head back, glaring at me with a crazed look in his eyes. His grip around her throat tightens, and he moves just enough for me to see the fear in her eyes.

Her eyes, so green, shine like a cat’s. Familiar. He sidesteps, giving me enough space to see the rest of her.

It’s her - the girl from the bank. Her velvet brown skin glistens with tears. The delicate arch of her neck is craned under his grip. The rip in the slit of her dress and the bruise forming on her arm - it’s too much destruction for a woman so precious to bear.

My heart races. Every muscle in my body is tensed for what will happen next. I can't let him continue to hurt her. All I can think about is protecting her, saving her from this monster.

Squeezing the air out of her, his knee still holds her against the wall. “I said,” I repeat, through gritted teeth. “Let her go.”

The man finally steps away from her, and she gasps, collapsing against the wall, gently caressing her throat. His face twists into an ugly snarl. "And who the fuck are you?"

"It doesn’t matter who I am," I say, my eyes never leaving the woman, who is now staring at me with such relief, tears streaming down her face. "I heard her screaming and I had to see if she was okay."

He laughs, a cold, mocking sound that chills me to the bone. Turning to her aggressively, mocks, “See? Now you’ve gone and caused trouble.”

“She’s done no such thing,” I growl, stepping forward to close the distance between us. We’re so close, I can smell her perfume, almost feel her tremble. It takes everything in me not to be distracted by how gorgeous she looks in that dress, albeit half-torn.

Now inches away from his face, I grab his collar. "Leave now, or I'll make it my concern," I warn, my patience wearing dangerously thin.

"Fuck off," he spits, stepping menacingly towards me despite my grip on him. “That’s my future wife, and I’ll do with her as I please.”

I spit on the floor beside him. This ugly, old man is to marry… her? Impossible. Rage boils within me as I wonder what choices led her to this fate. Poor thing. There’s no way I’m leaving her with this brute.

"Last chance," I grit out, barely containing the fury bubbling beneath the surface. “Leave now.”

“Go to hell!” he snarls, launching himself at me with wild fury. Rage courses through my veins. I am a lethal weapon, and this man has no idea who he's dealing with. Instinctively, my training kicks in. I dodge his clumsy attack and land a brutal punch to his jaw, sending him crashing to the ground. The woman gasps, her eyes wide with shock and relief as she watches him crumple at my feet.

But he doesn’t stay down for long. He jumps back up, and damn it, I’m thrilled to let him have it.