The Don’s Soulmate

21. Carlotta

Chapter 21

Carlotta

The maid enters my room with a tray of food. “Buongiorno, signorina,” She murmurs. Her movements are mechanical, her face full of pity. This is my only human interaction, yet it offers no solace. They bring my meals on schedule and clean my room daily but withhold the one thing I crave most: news from the outside world.

She gives me a small, sad smile. “Would that be all?” she asks.

“Please, tell me something,” I beg, my voice cracking with desperation. “Anything. Has my fiancé been visiting? Are my father and brother home? Is there any news of what Ugo Caputo is doing with the paintings we gifted him?”

“Mi dispiace, signorina,” she replies stiffly, avoiding my gaze. - I cannot.

Of course she cannot. None of the maids will, fearing retribution from my brother and father.

Frustration mounts with each passing second. I am a prisoner in my own home, my every move dictated by others. My future lies in their hands, and I am powerless to change it. I clench my fists in silent fury, the bitterness of my situation a heavy burden.

“Fine,” I mutter, turning away. “Just leave the food and go.”

She obeys without hesitation, leaving me to brood in solitude. As I pick at my food, my thoughts spiral into darkness. How long will I endure this torment? When will I regain control over my life?

After eating a meager amount, I fall into a deep, dark sleep. Sleep is the only thing that makes reality slightly more bearable.

The next morning, the door to my room creaks open, and my father and brother step inside.

“Papa!” I gasp, standing up. “Angelo!” I rush to them, arms outstretched, but they both take a step back, avoiding my gaze. I drop my arms, feeling a pang of hurt. After all this time, they don’t wish to see me?

“You haven’t visited,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. “I made a mistake. I have the right to be forgiven.”

"Carlotta, the tailor is here," my father says coldly, his voice lacking any acknowledgment of my distress. Angelo stands beside him, his expression equally indifferent.

“The tailor?” I ask, confused.

"We need to take measurements for the dress you'll wear for your wedding to Signor Caputo."

A knot forms in my stomach at the mention of his name. Given that my father and brother haven’t visited in twenty-eight days, I fear I may never get a chance to plead my case again.

In a desperate attempt to make them understand, I burst out, “Must you really force me into this? I don’t want to marry Ugo Caputo. He’s an awful person who has abused me in terrible ways. If he can do that in public, what will he do to me when we’re married? Please… he could kill me!” My voice breaks, and tears threaten to spill.

“Your feelings are irrelevant,” my father replies dismissively. “This marriage will secure our family’s future. You will fulfill your duty and be grateful for it.” His words slice through me, leaving me feeling raw and exposed.

“Please, Father—” I begin, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“Enough of your theatrics. Stop being hysterical. Ugo has always been polite. He might have lost his temper over your indiscretions, but you made mistakes too. Behave, and I’m sure he’ll be a dutiful husband.”

“But, Father—”

“Now, the tailor needs to take your measurements for your wedding gown.” With that, he turns away, leaving me with the tailor, who begins his work.

As the tailor measures me, I feel like a lifeless doll being prepared for someone else’s amusement.

“This dress you’re measuring for,” I ask, “Will I have a say in it?”

The tailor, an elderly and genteel man, hesitates. “Oh, my dear,” he says gently, “The dress has already been chosen.”

“Chosen!” I exclaim, shocked. “By whom? May I see it?”

“Signor Caputo himself chose it to suit his tastes perfectly,” the tailor replies. “He has given strict instructions that no one, including the bride, is to see it before the big day. He wants it to be a surprise.”

“But no!” I cry out. “Please, I want to see it.”

“It’s a beautiful dress,” the tailor tries to reassure me. “Gorgeous material, very fashionable. However…” He clears his throat, looking uncertain.

“Yes?” I ask, leaning in. I grasp his hand, forcing him to meet my eyes.

“My dear, if you prefer a more conservative style, this dress might not be what you want.”

My heart sinks as dread settles in my stomach. I can only imagine the scandalous and degrading garment Ugo Caputo would choose for me. The thought of being paraded like a trophy wife fills me with a sickening mix of fear and disgust.

“I always wanted full sleeves and a tulle skirt,” I tell him, revealing a bit of who I am.

“I will try to make a few adjustments, my dear,” the tailor says, leaning forward and squeezing my hands. “Just a few changes that Ugo Caputo might tolerate. But there’s nothing more I can do.”

“Thank you. Please, add a veil,” I whisper.

He nods, wiping away a tear. Though the tailor has seen many brides, I doubt he’s encountered one with a story as tragic as mine.

“A long one,” I add. I don’t want to see Caputo’s dreadful face when I walk down the aisle.

That night, sleep comes fitfully, my dreams haunted by the spectacle that is my impending marriage.

Ugo pulls me out of the car roughly, his hands all over me as I scream and beg to go back home. His rips at my wedding gown and says something about how he’s going to have me naked soon enough. He commands his men to carry me to his bedroom, all while I scream and fight. Halfway through the door to his house with large hands roughing me up, I hear gunshots.

Suddenly, around me lie dead bodies. Ugo has blood coming out of his ears, eyes, mouth. He’s gone.

Just when I think I’m free at last the dream brings another my way. I find myself bound, wrists tied tightly above my head, lying on a bed, utterly helpless. But Ugo is dead! Who has me captive now?

A shadowy man approaches, his face obscured by the darkness. He runs a finger lightly along my collarbone, causing me to shudder at the unexpected contact. His touch is both gentle and possessive, as if he's claiming me for his own.

"Who are you?" I whisper, my voice trembling with fear and desire.

"Your darkest fantasy... your forbidden pleasure," he murmurs, his voice low and seductive. He trails kisses down my neck, causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. It’s from his touch that I know him - my faceless stranger.

“I’m the one who’s going to rip that dress off you,” he slides his hands down the sides of my breasts to clench at my waist, the thin satin fabric smooth under his touch.

I can’t see his eyes, but I can feel his gaze on my skin that shines through my skimpy wedding dress. The white hugs my figure so tightly that I can barely breathe. Thin straps threaten to tear at a mere whisper, a cowl neck cut so low, one wrong move will free my breasts.

I’m naked beneath the tight dress, and petrified from having no control because of how he has me tied up.

“Please,” I wonder if he might let me go. Instead, he pinches into my waist. I dig my hips into the bed, afraid if I lurch, my dress will ride up.

He continues to explore my body, setting my nerves alight with anticipation. My mind screams that this is wrong, while my body aches for more of his tantalizing touch.

His hands travel up my thighs and slide in under my dress. I try to move away, to keep him from discovering my nakedness, but the ropes hold me in place.

He reaches the apex of my thighs, and I can hear the excitement in his voice. "You’re eager to play, greedy girl." He slides a finger through my slick folds, circling the swollen nub at the apex.

I try not to let my arousal show, but at the feel of his fingers I moan. My sex cries out for more of his touch even as my mind screams for me to resist.

His fingers dip inside me, pushing past my tight entrance. First, two fingers slide in, stretching me slowly.

“You belong to me,” he growls.

"Please..." I surrender to the overwhelming sensations.

"Tell me you want it, Carlotta," he growls, his voice rough with desire.

"Yes," I gasp, my heart pounding in my chest. "I want it. I need it. Please..."

With that, he thrusts a third finger inside me, this time hard and fast.. I cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure warring in my soul. It all feels too much. I writhe against the restraints, wanting to run my fingers through his hair, to guide him to be gentle.

“No,” I speak out at last, opening my eyes. “Slower, please,” I gasp, breathless.

He stops, and for a moment I believe he’ll let me dictate the pace. How wrong I am .

He grips my chin and kisses me so hot and fierce. When he pulls away, I’m panting, and he takes that moment to shove a ball gag in my mouth.

I swallow hard, my throat dry and my heart pounding in my chest. I'm at his mercy, unable to speak, and no-one to hear me if I could.Struggling against the restraints, I try to calm myself, taking deep breaths around the gag.

"Sei mio," - you’re mine - he growls; enjoying me captive beneath him. He reaches for the hem of my dress, pulling it up over my thighs, and I moan in protest and anticipation.

"Nhu-huh," I whine, my voice muffled. My body responds to his touch, betraying me even as I shake my head.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing his way to the landing of my pussy. I blush at the thought of him seeing me exposed.

In the darkness the man's voice is like a hot ember against my skin. "You were made for me, Carlotta," he whispers into my pussy, his breath warm and possessive. "E io rivendicherò ogni centimetro di te." - And I am going to claim every inch of you.

Next, I feel his calloused hands on my shoulders, grabbing the straps of my dress. A sharp tug; then cool air gushes over me. I realize he is holding the tatters of my dress. Leaving my entire body naked under his gaze, tied and bound.

Suddenly shy, I try to curl up my legs to hide myself.

“You’re such a tease,” he murmurs, running his fingers down my spine, curving his palm across my ass and then he smacks it hard, the sound whipping across the room. I feel the sting, my body writhing to escape from the next try.

He grabs my waist, straightening my body. A stifled shriek escapes me when he pulls my legs; parting them wide.

One hand reaches for my throat and I tremble beneath him.

"You're so desperate for me, aren't you?" he grins, looking down at where I’m exposed.

His other hand trails down between my legs, spreading my folds wide.

“Pluh...” I whimper against the mouth gag, tears stream down my cheeks. I want him that badly.

His fingers tease me, , grazing my entrance before sliding against my clit with expertise. I feel his strong thighs keep me in place as he slaps against my clenched pussy. He takes his other hand and goes for my breasts, his large palm kneading them together. I wince in painful pleasure as his finger and thumb flick my nipples hard. "You're all mine now, Carlotta." he grates, his voice rough with arousal.

His fingers thrust into me, gradually picking up pace, sending waves of pleasure crashing through me. His other hand remains cupped around my breast.

"Beg for it, Carlotta," he commands. "Beg me to make you come."

I choke on my moans, my voice strangled by the gag, but I try to obey. "Pluh," I whimper, my heart pounding like a drum against my ribcage. I arch my back trying to break free from the ropes, but he only seems to enjoy my struggle.

The burn in my breasts grows hotter, my nipples tingling with every squeeze and flick. My mind aches for release. My hips buck, yearning for more. But he doesn't let me have it.

"I want to fuck you," he growls like a beast, drawing out the words so that they sizzle against my skin. "Does that sound good, Carlotta?"

I nod, unable to respond through the gag. My body screams for more.

Swiftly he pulls out his hand from my pussy and undoes the gag. "Please,” I sputter, ”I can’t take any more." I want him to finish what he started, to put his mouth down between my legs.

But my words fall on deaf ears. He gets off, grabs my waist firmly, and flips me onto my front, spreading my legs and butt-cheeks.

He angles tilts pelvis and I feel his hot breath on my pussy, his tongue licking me. I gasp, then moan and writhe in pleasure as his tongue moves up and down, teasing me.

"Untie me," I plead. But he doesn't listen.

Instead, he pushes me onto all fours. I feel his hands on my hips, as he positions himself behind me.

“Oh my god,” I moan, throwing back my head.

He wraps a hand around my throat, pulling me closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "Good girl," he murmurs approvingly, rewarding me with a firm slap on my ass that makes me whimper in surprised pleasure. "You're mine, Carlotta," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "All mine."

I feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, the heat radiating from him.

"Yes," I moan, my voice a strangled cry as he fills me. The feeling is intense, overwhelming, as if our bodies are colliding with the force of a thousand waves.

His hips pound against me in a rhythm that matches the rising heat between my legs. Wet, slick sounds fill the room.

"You're so tight," his voice is hoarse with lust, "So perfect."

I can't help but beg for more. “Take me harder, faster.”

This time he complies. My body shakes, my breath coming in ragged gasps as he pumps into me, his arms tightening around me. The rope around my wrists dig into my skin with every movement, reminding me of my powerlessness. Despite that, I can't help but feel alive in his hands.

“I’m going to cum,” I scream when I feel like a dam, about to break. A slow tingle forms in my pussy, at the spot his head hits me over and over again.

“No,” he shouts. “Not yet,” he continues thrusting into me.

"I'm cumming," he grunts, his hips falter, his cock throbs within me. "Carlotta, cum now,” he puts a finger to my clit, rubbing it in quick, rapid motions.

I scream at the top of my lungs, from the force of my climax. My pussy grips his cock, and I feel him spasm, releasing his load into me. His cock swells inside me, filling me completely, and I feel his hot flow pulse inside me as he comes.

He pulls out of me, collapsing on top of my shaking body, both of us panting heavily. I can't help but wonder who this man is and why he seems to know me so intimately. How can someone who exists only in my imagination make me feel more alive than I've ever felt before?

He touches me gently, almost reverently as he moves around the bed, removing the ropes. Then he comes to kneel in front of me. I clearly see his face.

Suddenly, I'm jolted awake, gasping for air as if I've just emerged from the depths of the ocean. My heart pounds in my chest, my skin slick with sweat. For a moment, I struggle to make sense of my surroundings, disoriented by the lingering haze of the dream.

"Get a grip, Carlotta," I chide myself, my voice shaky. "It was just another dream." But even as I say the words, I can't deny the lingering sadness that encompasses me.

Ugo Caputo is very much alive in the real world, and to dream of a man like Ettore Mancini will only ever be wishful thinking.