The Don’s Soulmate

15. Carlotta

Chapter 15

Carlotta

Ugo leans back in his chair, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin after asking me what I’d like to do.

My heart skips a beat at the offer. Is this a trap? This evening he’s been polite in the basic sense of the word. For the most part, he’s kept his hands to himself, his eyes haven’t wandered, he made suggestions and waited for me to accept them.

I let myself imagine that, perhaps, he is trying to show me that he can be a good husband. That while there’s no sentiment between us now, in the future, it could prosper to respect and some form of affection. But at the same time, I also know it’s all just lies and manipulation. I hesitate, then summon my courage.

"There's an art gallery opening not too far from here. I was hoping to go…before..."

Ugo’s face remains neutral, and my stomach clenches in dread, waiting for his verdict. He simply shrugs and waves a hand, calling for the check. "Why not? A little culture never hurt anyone. Besides, I know you’ve got good taste. I once again looked over the pieces your father sent and realized that they could add such color to my home. Brought two or three out of the basement too, in fact. Perhaps tonight, you could pick another for our new collection?"

I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding. He's agreeing. My fiancé is actually agreeing to do something I want. A flicker of hope ignites in my chest. Maybe tonight, I can finally set my plan in motion.

“Of course,” I say with a flourishing smile. “I’m so pleased you like my taste and can’t wait to see the paintings adorn the walls of our future home.”

Who’s the liar now? I think to myself. I know he’s playing some game, for just the last time around he told me he wanted to burn those paintings. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I don’t trust Ugo Caputo, and his words will always remain manipulative. Under the table, I quickly pull out my phone and send out the location for the art gallery with a brief message to the numbers I took from Sofia earlier today.

As we exit the restaurant, Ugo drapes a possessive arm around my shoulders. But for once, his touch doesn't fill me with revulsion. I glance up at him through my lashes, at the pleased curl of his lips. Almost, I can imagine this is a normal date with a man who cares for me.

Almost.

Little does he know that I’ll be the one with that same pleased curl on my lips soon enough.

The gallery is only a few blocks away, so we decide to walk. The night is warm, the streets filled with laughter and music spilling from the cafes. For a moment I can pretend we're just another couple out for an evening stroll, and it’s a bittersweet joy.

He isn’t the man I ever dreamed of, being almost twice my age. But he’s what I’ve got, and it would be best to make this journey as pleasant as possible, given my determination to end it sooner rather than later. I pray my plan works.

We arrive at the gallery, a spacious room with white walls and gleaming floors. Crowds mill about, chatting and sipping wine as they peruse the art. It all fades away, and I find myself enamored with a striking abstract painting, all swirling colors and bold lines.

Ugo drags me over to a life-size, gorgeous sculpture instead, sneering, "This is what passes for art these days? Anyone could make this junk."

I bite my tongue to avoid arguing. Arguing with men like Ugo never ends well. However, I can tell that this sculpture would have taken thousands of hours, if not years. Each crevice, each distortion has been carefully chiseled. Its imperfections were created as an illusion for the sculptor knew that without a few, the piece would be too damn perfect.

After a few more exhibits, his impatience starts to show. He keeps checking his watch, scowling at the other patrons. I know we'll be leaving soon, my brief glimpse of freedom snatched away.

Desperate, I clutch his arm and say, "Just a little longer, if you don’t mind? I so rarely get to come to these anymore." It's not entirely a lie. Since Ugo came into my life, I've had to give up most of the things I enjoy.

For a moment his face softens, and to my surprise, he relents.

Good. I glance out of the window, and see the street outside mostly empty. Where are they? I think to myself, praying they got the message. In an impulsive moment, I quickly turn my phone away under shadows, and send out the list of artworks Ugo is in possession of to the new numbers I got this morning. That should be of interest to them, and propel my plan forward. None of these folks have my number. They would never know where they got this list from.

As I continue to lead Ugo through the gallery, my heart skips a beat when I spot a tall, imposing figure standing in front of one of the artworks. He's studying a surrealistic painting, one hand stuffed casually in his pocket. His stance is deceptively relaxed, but I know the coiled energy in that powerful body. Even from across the room, his magnetism draws me in. The man's tall, muscular build and short, jet-black hair slicked back can't be mistaken. My breath catches in my throat as I take in his scarred knuckles and then, just then, he turns to face me, his cold blue eyes turning warm at the sight of me.

Ettore.

Suddenly, I feel ashamed, knowing how this looks. Last night, he put his life on the line to get me home safely. And how do I repay that debt? By standing before him with the very same man who had assaulted me. I wonder what he’s thinking. From the way the lines on his forehead harden, it’s clear he’s disappointed.

For a moment I forget Ugo, forget everything but Ettore's presence. Then Ugo jerks my arm, and I gasp at the burst of pain.

"What are you looking at?" Ugo snarls. He follows my gaze, and when he spots Ettore, his face contorts with rage. "You bitch. You planned this, didn't you? Brought me here just so you could ogle your lover!"

"No, Ugo," I protest. "I didn't know he'd be here."

"You expect me to believe that?" Ugo snarls, his grip on my arm tightening painfully. "Now I know why you brought me her; so you could meet your lover!"

"Ugo, no!" I exclaim, horrified by his accusation. "I swear I didn’t know!"

"Of course not," he sneers sarcastically. "You just happened to choose the one place that bastard would be."

"Ugo, please, you're hurting my arm," I plead, wincing as his fingers dig deeper into my flesh. Panic sets in as memories of last night's almost assault resurface. I don't want to go anywhere with him when he's this angry, but he's stronger than me.

I look back up at Ettore, who I can tell can hear us from across the room. Our eyes meet, and a jolt passes through me like an electric current. He starts toward us, a man on a mission.

I just pray he stays out of it. But, he doesn’t. He keeps walking, prepared to save me, yet again.

Ugo begins dragging me with him. "Liar," he hisses. "You played me.”

I gasp for release, clawing at his wrist, but it does nothing. “Listen to me,” I try to reason, looking up at him. “I swear this is a coincidence.” The next thing I know, he’s trying to drag me out of the exhibit in a rush, away from this roomful of people. But I’m petrified, because I know once we’re alone, he’s capable of inflicting more pain than I can imagine.

I dig my heels into the floor, trying to stay where we are. “Let me go, Ugo. Please, I beg of you!” I screech, louder than I wanted to. Around us, heads begin to turn in our direction. I hear a clattering of a tray and look back to see Ettore banged into a waiter serving champagne. He doesn’t stop to help the man, instead he begins jogging towards us.

What happens next, happens fast.

Ugo grabs my hair and tries to pull me. I almost trip and fall, but he doesn’t care, my legs dragging against the floor as I’m under his control. My scalp burns from where his fingers dig into me. Around us, people are shouting and screaming for security, reacting to Ugo's rage. I struggle against him with all my might, panic flooding my veins. I can't go with him. I won't! If he is capable of treating me like this in public, what the hell will he do to me in private?

"Let me go!" I shriek, clawing at his hand. "Ugo, stop!"

He grabs my neck with his other hand, pulling me with him. Pain explodes behind my eyes, and for a moment, I see only blackness as I lose air.

"You little bitch," he snarls. "You planned this, didn't you? Brought me here to make a fool of me in front of him!"

I try to shake my head, but he’s got my hair and neck in his clutch. I begin to feel numb and realize, we’re nearing the entrance. Soon, it’ll be just him and I.

“You are mine, do you hear me?” he roars at the threshold. “I won’t let some two-bit thug take what belongs to me!"