The Don’s Soulmate

12. Ettore

Chapter 12

Ettore

The wrought iron gates swing open. Before our convoy can arrive to a stop, car doors are forced open. Men screaming, men groaning, men pulling out the few who are too weak to walk on their own.

The staff rushes forward to receive us. The emergency medical personnel have been alerted and are on stand-by with wheelchairs, hurriedly getting those that need help to the basement. Of course, taking them to any hospital is out of the question.

I get out of the car, my right-hand man Luca by my side. A few medics rush over to check us over. I turn to Luca, and under hushed breath ask how many we left behind.

“Three,” he tells me.

I clench my fists in rage. Salvatore D’Amici made a grave error in trying to shoot us just as we were leaving. Even in a world of crime, there is honor, and the man clearly showed he has none. We lost three men in a war to the D’Amicis tonight and in retaliation for what? Because I was kind enough to save his daughter for him?

Instead of bowing and licking my boots in gratitude, he dared attack me. There will be retaliation for this. I swear it.

As for his daughter…

Despite knowing better, I feel angry towards her. The whole time, Carlotta stood there like a deer in the headlights, placating, soothing. She should have told her father and brother what the truth was yet she bit down on her tongue after allowing that Ugo Caputo to do what he did.

Perhaps she has it coming her way.

Or maybe, a smaller voice in my head says. She’s just afraid of the men in her life.

Regardless, what happened, happened. And now, we have to make arrangements to get the bodies back.

“Have our men negotiate with D’Amicis to retrieve the three bodies we left behind. Shall they refuse, involve our priests. Those men deserve a proper funeral,” I tell Fio.

Fio nods quietly. The man really doesn’t speak much.

Once our priest reaches out to Salvatore’s, there’s no way he will deny his priest. Our families might be complicated, but we’re pious to a fault. Given the many sins we commit, it’s customary to offer a confession or two when we can, after all.

Just then, through the chaos, I think I hear someone yell my name. I turn to find the cause of the distressed calling, and see my brother Davide running towards us through the doors of the house.

“What the hell happened tonight?” he asks, looking around himself. “Father is livid when the control room got a call to prepare the emergency rooms. We didn’t have a stakeout planned tonight, did we?”

“Just some trouble with the D’Amicis,” I say, not letting on what happened exactly.

“Well, he wants to see you right away,” my younger brother shifts uncomfortably on his feet. I nod and begin walking ahead, when he looks at Fio and says, “You too.”

I frown, annoyed that father wants my honcho there. What? Does he think I’d try to lie my way out of the truth or something?

Well, I might possibly lie, but not out of fear, just from annoyance. My father and brother both possess the slightest shred of cowardice. They call it self-preservation; I call it something else altogether. What’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong.

As for who decides which is which, well … that’s subjective.

Fio and I step into the house side by side. I shrug off my jacket, glancing around as the men are being shown in different directions. Some with minor cuts are being treated in the living room. Others are helping the staff take more down to the basement, waiting in line to the elevators.

Fio and I climb up the stairs to the floor above. I take two at a time. We make our way down the quieter, dimly-lit hall.

My father probably hears our footsteps. "In here," his voice calls out from the study.

My heart pounds in anticipation of the confrontation that is about to unfold. Why do I even have to justify doing something which was obviously the right thing to do - and saving Carlotta was the right thing. And returning her to her father was also the right thing. Without my intervention tonight, she’d be sleeping in an entirely different bed, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have been safe.

My father sits behind his large mahogany desk, face half hidden in shadow. We walk closer and the lines of age on his face become clearer, the silver streaks in his dark hair almost shine in the moonlight but it’s his eyes, stormier than any tempest that tell me he’s really mad. He gestures for us to sit, eyes boring into me.

"You missed dinner," he states, voice low but edged with authority.

I nod. "Apologies. I should have been there. How was your and Davide’s trip?"

He leans forward, arms crossed on the table before him. “The trip is the least of my concerns right now,” he says angrily, cutting through the pleasantries.

But my fury comes on stronger and faster. “And I don’t give a wretched damn about a missed dinner!” I slam my fist on the table. The anger dies down in my father’s eyes, and I see them replaced with something different. Worry perhaps? A hint of fear?

“How many men did we lose tonight?” he asks, finally getting to the reason we’ve been called in.

“Three, sir,” Fio says quietly.

A look of pain crosses my father’s eyes. “Who all?”

“Giacomo, Rocky and Silvio,” Fio informs him.

“May god bless them,” my father sighs and closes his eyes to mutter a prayer. I too take a moment of silence.

Once done, father’s eyes flick to Fio, who straightens in his chair. "Tell me what happened,” he asks.

Any other man wouldn’t dare speak while I’m in the room, but for Fio, loyalty to the family comes above all. And my father represents us, in the truest sense, as our head. “Boss went for dinner and drinks to the usual spot. I was in the car. He called on the way out, requesting the car. I remained in the convoy while his driver went, but Boss disappeared into an alley. He returned twenty minutes later with a woman in tow. She looked like she’d been through the wringer. He got in his car and the convoy started following. I didn’t know who she was then, Don Mancini, until we reached the D’Amici compound.”

My father listens, face impassive, but at the mention of Carlotta, my father's expression hardens.

"Enough. I want to hear the rest from you, Ettore." His piercing gaze fixes on me. I meet it steadily.

"The woman was in danger. I intervened, nothing more." I keep my tone even, hiding the tumult her memory stirs within me. “I didn’t know who she was until much later.”

“It’s come to my attention,” my father's eyes narrow, anger flashing, “that the driver had informed you that you’re about to head into enemy territory. Is that true?”

“It’s true,” I say, matter-of-factly. “But she needed to get home. She was injured and traumatized by what that man, Ugo Caputo, had done to her.”

“Ugo Caputo,” my father bristles under the name, sitting up in attention. “Well, if she was with a man like that…”

“What are you insinuating?” my voice comes out cold. “She was innocent in all of this. An unsuspecting lamb sent to her slaughter. I could not have brought her here, so I needed to make sure her family would not place her in such a situation again!”

“So instead, you chose to let three of our men get slaughtered?” His hand comes down firmly on the desk.

I lean back in my chair, my jaw clenched tight. "I could not predict that Salvatore would stab us in the back for saving his daughter. He attacked us just as we were leaving.”

"This woman - she's an enemy - or have you forgotten that?" His voice rises as he stands from his chair. "I forbid you from seeing her again, do you understand?" I clench my jaw, annoyed that my father would ever believe he could forbid me to do something.

When I remain silent, my father settles back in his chair, features softening slightly. "You are too reckless, my son. If our enemy is hindered from joining forces with a violent man such as Caputo, that will certainly play in our favor. But if it draws out Caputo’s wrath, putting a target on our backs, then it’s a fool’s errand. I need to be able to trust your discernment about what is good for this family, and what is not."

I bow my head in acquiescence. But my thoughts rebel against his command. To never see her again? I have a feeling fate has other plans.

The next morning, I sit alone in the dining room, sipping my coffee and thinking about the previous night’s events. All night, I tossed and turned, wondering if she was alright.

My phone rings, and I’m glad for the distraction. "Mr. Mancini," Marco, the bank manager's voice greets me on the other end of the line. "I wanted to personally express my gratitude for your actions a few days ago. You saved everyone's lives during the robbery."

"Think nothing of it," I reply curtly.

He clears his throat. “We would like to show our appreciation.”

“That is entirely unnecessary. Now, about my request?"

"Ah yes," he says, and I listen as he shuffles some papers. "We have reviewed the paper trail between the ex-CEO and your family. It's a delicate situation, but we may have a solution."

"Go on." Getting impatient, I tap my fingers on the table.

"Turns out, there's a third-party collector who is owed funds by the ex-CEO," he explains. "We can backdate the papers, making it appear as if the equity was claimed by the collector straight from the bank. This would effectively hide the connection to your family and the collector would be the one on your board."

"Make it happen," I command. By diverting the equity trail, we can avoid unwanted scrutiny and possible charges of bribery, and protect our interests.

"Consider it done, Mr. Mancini," the manager assures me. "And once again, thank you for your bravery."

“No problem. Goodbye.”

"Before you go, sir," the manager hesitates, "I do have some tickets for an art gallery opening tonight. The artist is up-and-coming and deemed a promising investment. I thought, as a token of our gratitude…" his voice trails off.

"An art gallery?" I raise an eyebrow. Normally, I wouldn't give such events a second thought, but this could present a perfect opportunity to pick up a piece or two as a surprise for Laura.

"Thank you," I say. “Please send the tickets over.”

"Enjoy the exhibition, Mr. Mancini," the manager sounds relieved. I disconnect the call.