The Don’s Soulmate

24. Ettore

Chapter 24

Ettore

No. I must be dreaming. One moment, I’m having drinks and the next? I see her.

I’ve been spying on her house for two wretched months, and here she stands in front of me at a bar, of all places? Those same locks, those curves. I could recognize her anywhere.

And then, she turns in my direction. For a brief second, her eyes register the sight in front of her. Me . And then, she looks furious. I know she’s angry at me, and rightly so, after I left her by the roadside for wanting to return to those assholes she calls family. But right now, I don’t feel her anger. All I can focus on is relief. She's safe, at least for now. Her green eyes lock onto mine as if pulled by some invisible force, and I can't look away.

She's dressed in a little black dress that hugs every curve of her body, igniting a familiar hunger in me. I've always had a weakness for the color black on her coffee-colored skin.

The intensity of our eye contact is palpable, as if we're sharing something forbidden. My associates blur into the background, their voices fading into meaningless white noise. There are only two people in this room: Carlotta and me.

"Carlotta," I breathe, unable to contain my excitement any longer. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but my heart is running at a hundred fucking miles an hour and even now, her name feels like a prayer on my lips. Like it did when I had her under me in my car.

I can see her chest heaving with every breath she takes, a mix of anger and fear; but she doesn’t move. She stands there, unequivocally transfixed on me as I am on her.

My fists clench involuntarily, and I have to force myself to not run across and take her in my arms, to ask what happened. To ask if she’s free at last.

The longer she stands there, the harder it gets to have that self-control. Without another thought, I break into a smile, giving her an opening for a conversation, or more…

But she takes a step back. I frown, angry that once again, she’s pulling away. She spins on her heel, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance as she storms away from me.

For a brief second, I entertain the idea of letting her go. I remember how I had laid the world at her free, and she said no. She chose to go back to one where she’d be kept like a bird in a gilded cage.

She chose her fate when she chose to walk out of my car.

But then, I feel angry. At myself, at her. For two months, I’ve stalked her house, worried about her. Damn it! I need answers. Why is she out and about alone in that little black dress? I don’t see Ugo Caputo anywhere. Has she been living someplace else and is that why I can’t see her entering and leaving her house when I’m glued to the screens surveying her house. Did she make a different choice? If yes, I have a right to know.

I can't let her go, not when I need answers. Ignoring the questions of my associates, I follow her.

She disappears into the women's restroom, her legs taking her as fast as they can and I know it’s to get away from me. Without a second thought, I push through the door after her. The few women inside freeze at my entrance, their eyes widening in terror as they take in my towering form and hardened expression. They protest, but I glower at them. “Leave, or I’ll make you,” I say, parting my jacket to reveal the sliver of silver from my gun. They scramble to leave, tripping over themselves in their haste to escape. I lock the bathroom door behind me.

"Carlotta," I call out, my voice echoing through the now-empty space. I slam open every door of every cubicle and find her hiding in the last one.

"Get out!" she hisses, her back pressed against the far wall. "This is the women's restroom, Ettore! You have no right to be here!"

"Neither do you, if it means running away from me," I shoot back, stepping closer.

"Stay back!" she warns, but I don't listen.

In one swift motion, I slam the door shut behind me, effectively trapping her inside with me. My heart races, both from the adrenaline of our confrontation and the proximity between us. I think back to when we were in my car, to the feel of her naked skin beneath my calloused hands…

The blood gushes straight to places it shouldn’t. Carlotta's chest heaves with each breath, her eyes locked onto mine in a silent battle of wills.

"Let me go, Ettore," she pleads, her voice softening and cracking under the weight of her emotions.

"Tell me why you started running when you saw me," I demand, my voice laced with concern and possessiveness.

“I owe you no answer,” she tells me fiercely. “Not after you left me stranded, after getting me naked.”

“Would it have been better if I hadn’t got you naked first?” I inquire, unable to hold back the amusement I take from her argument.

She scoffs, shocked at how I tease. The air between us crackles with tension, a storm brewing as our eyes lock. Carlotta's face is a mixture of desire and anger, her lips slightly parted as if she's struggling to find the words to express herself. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, even though we're not touching – it's an irresistible pull that tugs at my very core. The scent of her perfume fills the small room, intoxicating in its sweetness.

She collects herself and tries walking past me. I reach out instantly, holding on to her arm. She looks up at me, and I’m lose in the depth of those green eyes.

“Let me go,” she whispers, her lower lip trembling.

“Why?” I ask, willing to do anything but what she asks.

“I…” her voice falters, her breathing getting heavier. She’s not pulling away. She needs me to lay my hand off her for she doesn’t have the power to get away from me. “I can’t…”

There’s only one reason she can’t.

Enraged,

"Are you still planning to marry that man?" I demand, my voice a mix of concern and possessiveness. The question hangs between us, daring her to answer, to confirm or deny the looming threat that has haunted me for months now.

Carlotta's eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face before she narrows them again. She meets my gaze head-on. "That's none of your business, Ettore."

"Damn it, Carlotta!" I slam my other fist against the wall, the pain barely registering in the wake of my growing frustration. "It is my business. I won't just stand by while you throw your life away on someone who I’ve seen trying to hurt you every time I’ve seen you with him."

She scoffs, her anger boiling over. "I don't need you deciding what's best for me, Ettore. I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions!"

"Then tell me," I insist, my eyes locked onto hers, searching for any hint of uncertainty. "Tell me you're not making a mistake, and I'll let you walk away."

Carlotta hesitates, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words escape. The seconds stretch on, and the weight of our shared history presses down on both of us. Her eyes now seethe with a look I've seen in defiant and proud men, but never in a woman.

"I'm still engaged to him,” she spits out finally, her voice trembling with emotion.