The Don’s Soulmate

11. Carlotta

Chapter 11

Carlotta

The maid tightens her grip around my arm as I struggle against her, desperation rising in my chest. "Please, let me go!"

My pleas go unanswered. From the bottom of the stairway where I’m forced to stand, I can see the anger etched into my father's face as he spits on the floor beside Ettore.

"Ugo is dangerous," Ettore growls, fists clenching at his sides. His piercing blue eyes flick to me for the briefest moment, a silent promise of protection that makes me want to do the same for him. "If you go through with this marriage, he will destroy her."

My father's lips curl into a snarl. "Get the hell out of my house. We’re done here or I’ll make sure to send you back to your father in pieces," his voice rises to a shout.

Panic settles in the pit of my stomach at the threat of violence. We're balancing on a knife's edge, one move away from an all-out war.

Ettore stands firm against my father, unyielding. There's a dangerous glint in his eyes. "If you can’t see Caputo for what he is, you’re a blind old man."

My father lunges.

Ettore catches his wrist in an iron grip, but Angelo soon follows suit, a gun in hand.

Angelo kicks Ettore in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Fighting against the maid’s grip I cry out: “Nooo!”

“Take her away!” Angelo screams over his shoulder.

“Please, miss,” Maria says fearfully. “Let’s get you to safety, up to your room.”

What happened her tonight, shatters my soul. Ettore has told my family the entire truth about the evening’s events. And still, they don’t believe him. Not once did they bother asking me for the truth.

They don’t care about what happens to me. Ugo could violate me, maim me, and enslave me, and it wouldn’t matter because as my father said, a wife is to serve her family above all.

With a final shove, I break free from the maid's grasp and run towards Ettore. He is the only one who believes me. The only one who cares what becomes of me. My heart aches as I watch him being cornered by my father and brother. He has saved me, twice, it is my turn to return the favor.

I grab his hand, placing myself between him and my family. "Ettore, please," I plead, my voice barely a whisper. "It’s useless. They won’t listen to a Mancini. In this house, you and your men are outnumbered." My eyes plead with him to leave, to save himself and let me deal with the aftermath.

But he pulls the gun on my brother, stepping out from behind me. “I’ll kill you, you wretched bastard,” Ettore says coldly.

"Ettore, please," I beg, my voice trembling. My heart races as I watch Ettore pointing the gun at Angelo. Despite everything, he is still my brother. I can’t bear the thought of any of these men getting hurt. But Ettore is consumed by his anger, his desperation to protect me.

He takes a step closer to Angelo, the gun still aimed at him. My father, still seething with rage, murmurs something under his breath. I can't quite make out the words, but the hatred and contempt are clear.

From behind, men come rushing towards us. I watch helplessly as one takes Ettore in a chokehold, the gun falling to the ground. Ettore grabs the man’s hand, twisting it backwards. The man screams in pain, falling to his knees. Ettore turns, kicking him in the chin. The blood… there’s so much blood gushing out of the guard’s lip.

“No,” I whisper. What has he started?

“Grab him,” my father shouts. Two men grab his arms, holding him back, while another delivers a punch to his stomach. Ettore grunts.

His men draw their weapons, running to save him. “Stand back,” Ettore commands, as another punch is landed on him. Why the hell does he look amused, like he is daring them to bring it on?

I jump in, trying to hold back the guard hitting Ettore, but I am shoved aside. From behind, my brother comes to grab me. “Go to your room, now!” he threatens, glowering at me.

I don’t want to think about what they’ll do to Ettore once I leave. His men stand by, guns pointed, waiting for instructions. I can’t just leave him here. It will only end in bloodshed.

I know enough from having lived in this house the past twenty-four years.

"You don't understand." I tell my brother, forcing him to look at me. From the corner of my eye, I watch Ettore. There's a bruise already forming on his cheek from a blow. "He didn't mean it. He was just trying to help me, that's all. Please, brother. Let him go and I swear I won’t cause trouble."

Angelo watches me, then raises his hand to bring the room to a standstill. “Let him go,” he commands.

To my horror, Ettore laughs. “I could have you all down in a second. I was just enjoying the warm-up.”

“You bastard,” Angelo turns to him, fist raised. I jump in between them, knowing that I am the only one who can de-escalate the situation.

“Carlotta,” my father’s warning sounds.

“It is settled, Papa, Ettore will leave now.”

“But –”

“Please,” I whisper, facing him. “Leave. I swear, I’ll be alright. Thank you… for everything.”

A flash of pain crosses his face.

Then, he nods, and sidesteps towards the exit, his men drawing back, their weapons still trained on us, ready to defend their boss in case we break the stalemate.

“Mind you,” my father warns, staring at Ettore. “Never speak to my daughter again. From today, she’s dead to you.”

“Like hell she is,” Ettore says from the doorway. “She will be dead if left with the likes of the men you choose for her. This Mancini could take better care of her than any of the alliances you have planned for her.”

I gasp, shocked at how far this has gone. Ettore truly has no fear, and while I appreciate all he’s done for me, he can’t truly think my father would forgive this slight to their ability to protect me.

“Ettore,” I whisper, shaking my head, begging him to step down. “Please…”

“Don’t worry,” he says, anger simmering in my direction

“I’m leaving,” he locks eyes with me and turns back to the door.

But then, I notice my father raise his fist in the air. Recognizing the signal, I scream. He’s not prepared to let Ettore simply walk out. Not after showing such disrespect.

Guns click into place. Ettore turns.

The sound of gunfire shatters my fragile truce.

Screams and shouts fill the air.

In the ensuing chaos I watch, horrified, as my brother clutches his arm: bleeding, pale and shaken.