The Don’s Soulmate

17. Carlotta

Chapter 17

Carlotta

And once again, he’s come to my rescue. His grip is iron on my arm, but I don’t mind for in his proximity, I realize I’ll always be safe. I look up at his tall figure, broad shoulders, stopping at the blue of his eyes. Despite the fight, his vest is pleated just right. There’s not a hair out of place and his face - so beautiful and chiseled.

Besides me, Ugo is cursing and abusing the journalists, who surround him from every corner, asking questions.

“Mr. Caputo, what happened tonight?”

“Mr. Caputo, who were those goons?”

“Mr. Caputo, is it true that you own three Da Vinci’s?”

“Mr. Caputo, is it true you’re here to buy more pieces for your secret collection? Which artist caught your eye tonight?”

This was not how Ugo was to be hounded by journalists, to have his photo taken with a bloodied nose and torn shirt, but to be honest, he made his own bed. However it’s worked out, it brings me great joy to realize that it is my plan that worked.

Having leaked the information regarding one of America’s most notorious billionaires holding secret an invaluable treasure trove of art, I now know that tomorrow, all the papers would be flooded with news of this mysterious and most coveted collection. In time, offers to purchase would come through.

Knowing Ugo and his greed for wealth and lack of appreciation for culture of any significant form, he’d sell for a right price. The art would be cherished, treasured, and hopefully not destroyed.

Of course, there’s another angle we’re playing at. Tomorrow morning, Sofia is to meet her banker. With a wealthy father, if she succeeds in placing an undervalued bid for some of those pieces, I could own them again. I could sell them off for the right price, pay off the debt I owe Sofia, and finally be free of Ugo Caputo and my father.

“Come with me,” Ettore says again, startling me from my thoughts.

“Come with you?” I ask, confused. “Where to?”

“Anywhere but here.”

That possibility of anywhere feels promising. We could, in another life, run away with no consequence. But here, in this lifetime, it’s impossible. There’s just too much at stake.

"I can’t go with you,” I say again, but Ettore isn’t listening. His gaze sharpens as he notices the fear in my eyes. Wordlessly he places an arm around my waist, forcing me along, while I dig my feet into the ground. “No, please,” I try to tell him.

"Carlotta, we need to get out of here now," Ettore growls, his cold blue eyes locked on mine as he continues to drag me towards the car. I feel powerless, confused. Ugo. My family. They’d kill me if I leave my fiancé behind for an escapade with an enemy. Besides, Ugo suspects we’re lovers. Which we aren’t.

Panic wells up inside me as he ignores my protest and pulls me towards the car, making it difficult to breathe. My instincts are screaming at me to be afraid, that I'm in danger, but there's another part of me that feels an inexplicable pull towards him. But this can’t be right.

"Please, let go of me," I whisper, my voice shaky with fear and uncertainty. “Ugo…” I look back, to where the journalists are still hounding him. Soon enough, Ugo would rid himself of them.

Ugo’s eyes land on me, and I freeze with fear. When he finds himself alone with me, what would come of it? To imagine that tonight, he pulled me by my hair, choked me with his hands, in front of a hundred people…

What would happen when there are no people? Too afraid to think of that consequence and knowing I’m one step closer to anyway getting that art collection to safety, I decide to just fuck it. As I stumble along beside him, my mind reels from the shock and disbelief of the events that unfolded at the art gallery. What would have happened if Ettore hadn’t stepped in? And how does Ettore always seem to be there at the right time and right place? He may be a dangerous man, but he saved me from a potentially worse situation with Ugo.

He can’t believe I’m willingly going with Ettore. "I can’t go with you,” I say again, but Ettore isn’t listening.

As I stumble along beside him, my mind reels from the shock and disbelief of the events that unfolded at the art gallery. How could someone I thought was trying to change for the better turn so violent so quickly

Ettore’s like a knight in shining armor. And so, I find myself in his car. He revs the engine, and off we go.

"Where are you taking me?" I stutter, glancing nervously at Ettore. Our gazes meet for a moment, and in his eyes, I glimpse a possessiveness that makes me uneasy.

“Ettore?” I ask again.

“Damn it,” he slams the wheel with his fist, driving faster. “I don’t fucking know. Somewhere safe.”

Oh great. So, none of us have a plan. I try to still my trembling hands and wonder if "safe" could ever include being in the company of a man like Ettore.

Probably not.

We speed through the streets of Rome, dark and chaotic at this late hour. The city blurs outside my window as a million questions race through my mind. But in the tense silence, I don't dare ask them. I can only sit trembling, waiting to see what comes next in this unexpected turn of events.

The farther we get from the city center, the more dread pools in my stomach. I made the impulsive move to come along with Ettore, but as the drive stretches on, I’ve had enough time to think of every punishment that could be doled out my way. My father and brother could have me locked up until my wedding night. I could be forced to marry Ugo tomorrow itself. Ugo might call the whole thing off, and burn all the art, and that could be the downfall of my family. Beyond that, it could erase some of the most important hallmarks of European civilization, immense talent forever burned away from the world. Should the wedding still happen, I’ve already imagined Ugo devising a million different ways to torture me.

Okay. This was a bad idea. It’s not too late. I can still go back, tell father and Ugo that I got scared of the journalists. After all, father always taught me to keep away from the media. They could forgive me for following an instruction that has been grilled into me since childhood.

Yes. I must go back. The blowback will be less if I return now, rather than prolong my “attempted escape”.

I glance at Ettore nervously, noticing the clenched set of his jaw and the white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. He seems just as tense as I am, if for different reasons.

Finally, I can stay silent no longer. "Ettore, please slow down. I’ve changed my mind. Please get me a cab and let me go home."

His gaze slides to me, cold and calculating. "I can't do that. Not while knowing how your family will still force you to marry that vile man. You’ll face their wrath tonight. It's too dangerous."

"I'll deal with Ugo and Papa," I insist. "Just take me home.”

“No,” he bellows.

“You have no right to keep me like this against my will!" I scream now, angry at how he’s not taking my request seriously. Ettore's hand darts out to grab my arm in a bruising grip. I gasp at the pain, shrinking into my seat. “Is that what this is," he growls. "I won't have you hurt. If that means keeping you under lock and key, so be it. It’s clear to me your family doesn’t give a damn about what happens to you.”

I wince at his words, finding them unfair. How dare he think he has the right to pass judgement on my family? For years, my family was all I had. My father and brother have sheltered me, protected me and indulged my whims and fancies. On every birthday, I’ve received beautiful presents. When sick, I’ve been given the best medical care. When bored, they’ve gone out of their way to provide entertainment. They allowed me to follow my dreams, turn passion into education with my art.

And yet, a small part of me can't deny the truth in his words. Since returning from Paris, a random thought has been nagging at me over and over again. What if my family's intentions have never truly been about my well-being, only their own interests and reputation? Is gifts and entertainment a true hallmark of love? I can’t say anymore.

Families with far less love a lot harder, and the things bestowed upon me were never a requirement for proving that love.

My mind races, imagining the consequences of my actions tonight. What will my family say when they find out about Ugo's behavior? They’d blame me, probably. And how will they react when they learn that Ettore has taken it upon himself to protect me? But even if I know that truth, it changes nothing. Without my father and brother, I am nothing, tethered to aimlessness. What life can I start as just Carlotta when I own nothing? When my entire support system, save a friend or two, are shadowed by my family?

Suddenly, I feel exhausted. My arms hang down on my sides, and I sink into the chair, utterly drained.

"Please, Ettore, you don't need to be involved in this," I whisper, knowing this is only just a daydream. He’s Ettore Mancini and I, Carlotta D’Amici. He and I will only ever have stolen moments. I belong to the D’Amicis to do what I must for our family name. “Take me home. You have no plan. We can’t just drive around in circles forever.”

“Watch me try,” he growls, pressing down on the accelerator. The car roars forward and I’m thrown further back into my seat. I gasp, and clutch at my seatbelt.

"Can't you just let me go?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roar of the engine. "I'll figure something out, I promise. You don't need to risk yourself for me."

“I’m not risking myself for you, damn it!” he swerves and narrowly misses clipping a roadblock sign. I scream as my body lurches to the right, my head almost hitting against the window.

The car pulls up to a stop, just before a dead end.

“Carlotta,” he turns to me, his hands checking for injuries. He holds my neck, turns my head left and right, gently searching. “Are you alright? I didn’t know the road ends here. I didn’t…”

In that brief moment of vulnerability, I see a side of Ettore I never thought existed - soft, kind, endearing. Everything Ugo can never be. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he checks me for any injuries.

“I’m fine,” I manage to say, my voice shaky from the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. The tension in his features softens with relief.

"Dammit, Carlotta," Ettore growls out of the blue, his voice fierce like I've never heard before. He takes my hands and his piercing blue eyes lock onto mine with such ownership, that I feel compelled to squeeze his hands, to know what bothers him so. "You deserve so much better than Ugo. You have to understand that."

I swallow hard, the obvious truth in his words crushing my heart. I understand that. Doesn’t he see? By telling me this, he’s only causing me more pain for there is no other option. I can’t tell him why I’m choosing to stay. He’d never understand why it’s better to let my life be thrown away in a marriage to Ugo Caputo when the alternative is watching that beautiful art burn. People can come and go, but history is what makes humanity. I have to protect it. If my plan works, and the paintings become safe, only then will I be free to live my own life.

Ettore wouldn’t understand this. And so, I say nothing, instead trying to make sense of this unseen force that’s pulling us closer together, making me notice how his muscular chest rises and falls with each breath.

I feel my cheeks flush from the way he looks at me.

"Better," he snarls again, his jaw clenched and knuckles white as he grips my hands in his. "You're not some pawn to be used and discarded by your family or that bastard Ugo. You're a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserves to be cherished and protected ."

My breath catches in my throat when an image crosses my mind - Ettore, his lips on mine. The desire to fulfil this intrusive thought builds to a fever pitch and I know that the last barrier separating us might shatter at any moment.

I can’t let that happen. I must focus on my plan, for now. Play along with Papa and Ugo’s wishes, go through the engagement period, hopefully I will be able to gather enough information that a real wedding can be averted. But if not …

I look out the car window. I might just end up in a wedding bed with that monster.

My hands clench to fists at the thought. Quite literally anyone else would be a better choice for my first time. I look at the man next to me, biting my bottom lip as I consider my immediate options.

"Ettore, this…" I motion between the two of us “this can’t last. There’s no real future here.” My shoulders sag and I feel dangerously close to crying. Why can’t life just be simple for once!

"Carlotta," Ettore murmurs, reaching out to gently stroke my cheek. His touch is like a spark igniting a fire within me, and I can feel the heat radiating between our bodies. "There can be a future, if you want it. You don't have to be afraid of Ugo or your father. I'll protect you, no matter what. You only just need say the word."

I meet his gaze, and in that moment, it feels as if time stands still. Our racing hearts seem to synchronize, the pounding echoing in my ears like a drumbeat. The longing in his eyes mirrors the ache within my own chest, and I find myself drawn to him as if by a primeval call.

"Please," I whisper again, not knowing if I'm asking for him to stop or to keep going. All I know is that the desire coursing through me is unlike anything I've ever experienced before, and it feels impossible to resist.

I lean across the seat, drawn by the desire to give myself wholly, at least once, to this man. He meets me halfway, his hand cupping my cheek. Our lips collide in a kiss that steals my breath, igniting a wildfire inside me. There is nothing gentle about this kiss--it's bruising, passionate, filled with what feels like a lifetime of longing and desire. I taste danger on his lips, but also tenderness. A contradiction, like the man himself.

My hands tangle in his hair as the kiss deepens, our tongues dancing together. Every nerve in my body comes alive under his touch. I'm hot and cold all at once, trembling with need and anticipation. All thoughts flee my mind except for this moment, this man, and the exquisite pleasure of his embrace.

When we finally part, chests heaving, I'm dizzy with desire. But a flicker of warning worms its way through the haze. I pull back, averting my gaze.

"We can't do this," I whisper.