The Don’s Soulmate

13. Carlotta

Chapter 13

Carlotta

The hard length of him fills me, stretching me to the point of pain as he pounds into me. A blindfold covers my eyes, my wrists bound above my head. His large hands grip my waist firmly, holding me in place, taking complete possession of my body. Each stroke leaves me gasping for more.

"Your body was made for me," he growls into my ear, his voice deep and intoxicating. I feel his breath on my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"Please… don't stop," I beg, my voice trembling with need. He chuckles darkly, the sound rich with desire.

"Such a greedy girl," he teases, his pace increasing as I moan helplessly beneath him. "You want this, don't you? You want me to claim every inch of your body, make you mine forever."

The words send a thrill through me. I can't deny the truth in his assertion.

“I want you to look at me when you cum,” he rips off my blindfold. I see…nothing. Despite the darkness, I feel his hands on me, his cock in me.

“Your name,” I whisper.

“Shh,” his lips touch mine. He slides his hands under my ass, forcing me to arch my pelvis into him. I moan, adjusting myself.. He kneads my skin like dough, ramming into me over and over again.

"You're mine," he growls, hips slamming against my ass. "Say it."

I gasp - so close. "Yours. I'm yours."

His finger touches my clit, making me scream like a beast as I climax around his thick cock. He snarls and speeds up, chasing his own release. With a guttural shout, he empties himself inside me, triggering another spasm that leaves me breathless.

“Stay with me,” I gasp into the darkness, when he pulls away.

“I can’t,” he says.

My world shifts beneath me. I reach out, trying to hold him back. I hear footsteps, then bright lights reveal his back - large muscles, that dark, black birthmark extending inches below his neck.

“Don’t leave,” I cry again, but he closes the door.

I’ve never felt such pain. My chest aches, the vein in my neck throbs, like someone is sucking the life out of me.

I sit up with a gasp; tears run down my cheeks. I’m drenched in sweat.

It’s a dream - breathe .

Disappointment and disorientated; the longing lingers between my legs. Why am I never shown his face?

I lie there, trying to catch my breath and compose myself. I can’t shake the vivid images of the stranger with the black mark on his back. Something about him appeals to me. Despite there being no doubt that he’s dangerous, I’m convinced of his love for me.

Perhaps it reveals my secret hopes: the perfect man—violent enough to fit into our world but with something that’s always out of reach.

I sit up and throw off the covers, suddenly recalling yesterday. The restaurant, the woman, Ugo. Ettore defending me, challenging my father. Angelo injured.

Guilt and regret overwhelm me. If I hadn’t gotten into trouble last night, men wouldn’t have lost their lives.

I have to check on my brother! Papa confined me to my room last night, furious that I led the enemy right to our doorstep

I throw on a robe and rush out of my room.

Following the murmurs brings me to the study, my heart pounding with dread. Please, dear god, make sure Angelo is alright.

I open the door gently and enter. My eyes immediately fall on my brother sitting in an armchair with a bandaged arm resting on his lap. “Angelo, how are you?” I say, rushing towards him and kneeling.

“I’m fine,” he says dismissively. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

"Are you sure," I worry, "you lost so much blood yesterday...”

“I said I’m fine,” he barks at me, turning to face the fireplace.

“Thank god,” I murmur, heartbroken that he won’t let me comfort him. Angelo has always been strong, stoic, and independent. I stand reluctantly, turning to my father and my heart drops to the floor.

The last man I want to see is Ugo Caputo, my unwelcome fiancé, standing next to my father at the fireplace, an unsettling smirk playing on his lips.

My father ignores me, turning to smile at Ugo, “Look who has come to apologize and wish Angelo a speedy recovery.” Instinctively, I take a step back. Memories of what that man did to me flood back with nauseating clarity, suffocating me.

I glance towards my father, searching for some reassurance or guidance, but he only stares at me with a stony expression. “Carlotta, come sit,” he points at an empty chair.

Reluctantly, I move to the seat opposite Ugo. His eyes linger on me, making my skin crawl.

"Carlotta," Ugo says, his voice slick. "Good morning.”

“G…good morning,” I manage to whisper after a few awkward seconds of silence.

I take in the sight of Ugo - his bandaged fingers and bruised eyes - evidence of Ettore’s intervention.

Ugo pushes off the wall and approaches me, hands raised in a placating gesture. I force myself to remain still. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

"Carlotta, I must apologize for my behavior during our first date," he says, full of remorse. "I was worried for your safety and acted rashly. I hope you will forgive me."

I know better than to trust his honey-coated words. Ugo Caputo cares only for himself. Some ulterior motive lies behind his fake apologies. I stare at him calmly, refusing to grant him forgiveness.

Ugo's eyes narrow at my silence - a flash of anger - before his expression turns into concern. "Have I done something to offend you, Carlotta? I only wish to make things right between us."

I scoff, unable to contain my derision.

“Carlotta!” my father bellows from behind Ugo, angered by my disrespect.

“But father,” I cry out. “You don’t know what happened last night! I never got to tell you the whole truth!”

“She’s right, Salvatore,” Ugo chimes in, his sly voice grating at my nerves. “A key client of mine came by our table and made the girl jealous. Perhaps… Carlotta isn’t ready to be married to someone of my status.”

“That’s not true,” my father rushes to appease Ugo. “She is ready to take on the responsibility of such marriage, Ugo. Please.”

“I am not convinced,” Ugo protests, manipulating the situation as always.

“Please, Signor Caputo,” my brother rises from his chair, nursing his arm as he walks over to us. “My sister might be young, but all she needs is another chance to prove herself.”

“I don’t need another chance to prove myself,” I leap up from my chair, fists clenched. “You all heard Ettore’s account of what happened last night. What he did,” I thrust my arm, pointing at Ugo, “how he followed me out after I left the restaurant and…….and,” my voice breaks as tears well up.

“Stop your tears,” my father orders, red in the face.

Angelo comes to stand right next to me and grabs my arm so hard it hurts. “Treat our guest with respect,” he whispers.

The tension in the room tightens like a noose around my neck. I feel my father's disapproving gaze on me as I struggle to find the words to convince them.

"Papa, please," I plead, desperate to explain. "Ugo was completely out of line last night. He had no right to touch me like that. No loving fiancé would ever treat his future wife like...like a common-"

"Carlotta," my father interrupts. "You're overreacting. Ugo has already apologized for his behavior and promised it won't happen again. You need to let this go and focus on growing your budding relationship."

“In our line of work, we must make people feel valued,” my father says, his glare silencing me. “You don’t understand; Signor Caputo did what he thought best. You don’t know how difficult it is for a businessman like him to maintain good relationships. You know nothing. Now, be grateful that your soon-to-be husband is giving you another chance after what happened to him last night.”

“Happened to him?” I whisper. This entire situation makes me feel as if I’m losing my mind.

“I need some air, please excuse me,” with those words, I rush through one of the side doors that lead to the patio.

“Carlotta! Come back this instant!” I hear Papa and Angelo calling out to me, but I can’t go back in there. They must be crazy; this whole thing is crazy!

The injustice of it all burns within me. I stumble down the last two steps into the back garden and make right for the swing under the old Carob tree. My own brother and father, who should protect me, are simply brushing off the very real concerns I’ve raised.

Halfway across the lawn I hear heavy footsteps in the grass. I wheel around, seething with anger “Please, Angelo, don’t make me…” I start. Ugo grabs my upper arm. I wriggle to loosen his grip. “Get your filthy hands off me!” Panic threatens to rob my last hold on reality.

And then my jaw drops, because Ugo Caputo starts laughing. A bellowing laugh which rolls over the grassy carpet. I stand frozen, stunned by this bizarre behavior. Over his shoulder I see Angelo and Papa rushing unto the patio, and stopping in their tracks.

Ugo doesn’t stop laughing. He fumbles inside his jacket . Is he pulling out a gun? Will he shoot me in front of my family?

In his hand he is holding a monogrammed handkerchief, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Oh, my dear Carlotta, you do provide the best entertainment.” With those words he slinks his arm around my waist and maneuvers me to the swing.

Too stunned by his unexpected behavior, I offer no resistance when he forces me to sit.

Thankfully, I find my voice again. “What the hell are you doing?” not even sure if I’m referring to his outburst of laughter or the fact that he has started pushing me on the swing.

“Just trying to persuade my fiancé to accept my hand of forgiveness by joining me for dinner.” There’s an ominous smirk in his voice.

“There is no way in hell that I would place myself in your clutches again.” I turn to look over my shoulder at him, making sure he can see me scowling. We are covered by the shady leaves of the old tree. My family can’t see me disrespecting our “guest”.

Ugo abruptly stops the swing and grabs my hands where they’re holding the ropes. He moves closer, so close that the front of his pants press into my back. I immediately try to arch away from him, but he just shuffles closer. Flashbacks of last night in the alley paralyze me; making me unable to move or speak.

He bends down and speaks into my ear, his voice ominously low. “You will soon learn, my dear Carlotta, that there are worse things than hell, right here on this earth.”

As abruptly as he halted the swing, he straightens up and gives it a strong push, then another. I cling to the ropes.

“I haven’t thanked you for the lovely engagement gift you sent me, yet. I must say, your art collection is impressive. What a pity if something were to happen to them.”

I stop breathing at his words. Ugo continues to push me; forceful and rough.

“You certainly know more about these things than I do, my dear. I can only assume that, even if a fire didn’t completely destroy the basement where they are kept, the damage from heat and smoke, not to mention the water from any firefighting efforts, would be substantial and most likely irreparable?”

My face distorts into an ugly mask of anguish. Does his cruelty know no bounds?

“I think it prudent to discuss how to prevent such a disaster, my dear? Say, over dinner?”

My stomach churns at the notion of being tethered to this creature for life, but now is not the time to push back. It is true, all that art lies with Ugo. I painstakingly collected each piece, investing every last penny mother left me. All I own are those pieces and a modest sum in the bank.

“You will go back in there and tell them you are sorry for last night, and that you will be happy to accompany me out tonight,” Ugo hisses through gritted teeth.

I don’t answer. Instead, I dig my heels in, halting this twisted game, and stride across the lawn back to the house. This time, Ugo takes his time, only hurrying to catch up to me as I reach the top step of the patio. He grabs my elbow tightly, but I don’t grant him a single look.

"Alright," I whisper, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'll do my best to leave behind what happened and move forward."

“Good,” Ugo says, and leads me back into the room. When we enter, Papa and Angelo expect us.

“Gentlemen, Carlotta has decided she is ready to embrace the role of a don’s wife, after all. It seems that the beautiful Giana, may her soul rest in peace, did not entirely fail in preparing your daughter for the responsibilities of this life.”

At the mention of my mother, a fleeting look of abhorrence crosses Papa’s face, vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared. Discovering that there is still a remnant of humanity in his soul somehow gives me the strength to continue with what must be done now. "I think dinner tonight would be a good idea. It will give us an opportunity to get to know each other better before the wedding," I say, in a robotic tone..

"Excellent," Ugo says, his oily smile making my skin crawl. "Now, off you go,” he waves me away with a dismissive flick of his hand. “I’m sure you have things to occupy your day. We men have a few more arrangements to discuss here."

“Of course,” I murmur, bowing my head before turning to leave. Relief washes over me as I escape his oppressive presence, but a cold claw grips my heart. My future, it seems, is no longer mine to control.

There has to be something I can do. I head back to my room. Instead of choosing an outfit, I begin plotting. If I could retrieve those pieces of art, I would not only escape his manipulations, but I would have financial options.

I could sell them to museums or private collectors. I could buy my way out of this country, to a place where my father or Ugo can’t find me.

But there’s no simple way for me to get hold of those pieces. Ugo would have them hidden somewhere safe.

I consider calling Sofia. Even if she can’t help, at least I can share my burden. As I wait for her to pick up, a thought crosses my mind. There’s one tactic that might work on this seedy, greedy billionaire, and Sofia’s contacts could be the key.

For the first time since my return from Paris, there’s a wide grin on my face.