The Don’s Soulmate

33. Carlotta

Chapter 33

Carlotta

I reach for the kettle of steaming coffee. Ettore leans forward, taking the kettle from me. Our hands touch briefly, and the same electric yearning encompasses me. I watch, tracing the outline of his jaw, as he pours me my coffee.

I don’t know why, but with Ettore, it feels like I’ve known him a lifetime, and yet, a lifetime seems too little. In the strangest way, even when I’m by his side, I miss him.

It’s like I need to be connected to him, in mind, body, and soul.

“Thank you,” I whisper, when he passes me my cup.

“Whatever for?” he asks, curiously.

“For getting us breakfast.”

He shrugs, like that’s nothing to show gratitude for. I was still sleeping when he ran out and organized everything.

“Later,” he says, as he puts together a plate of eggs, toast and some fruit for me. “We ought to run into a store. You’ll need clothes… and other things.”

I nod, realizing he’s right. We have nothing to survive on right now. It never crossed my mind, but it doesn’t have to, because Ettore is always one step ahead when it comes to my comfort. If only the world could see it that way.

The weight of our circumstances, our families' bitter feud, presses down on me like a heavy burden. It feels unjust for this man to be viewed as my enemy, when it’s anything but that.

"Sometimes, I wish things could be different," I say softly, meeting his gaze. "I wish my father could see the good in you, Ettore."

He grunts, taking a bite of toast before responding. "Your father will never change, Carlotta. Neither will mine. That's just the way it is."

I let out a deep sigh, feeling a pang of sadness. "But why must we suffer for the bridges they burnt? We're not responsible for what happened in the past."

Ettore sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. "Carlotta, do you know how this whole mess started?"

I shake my head, realizing I've never heard the story. He takes a sip of his coffee before beginning.

"Centuries ago, our ancestors, Alessandro Mancini and Isabella D'Amici, fell deeply in love. They were soulmates, destined to be together. But, Isabella’s family - your family - had arranged her union to a duke in Britain. Aware of the power a duchess in the family would bring, they forbade them from meeting.”

I clutch my heart, unable to imagine the pain she must have felt. Ettore continues. “She was just sixteen when the marriage was arranged. She’d never even met her husband, and yearned for a life of her own. My ancestor, Alessandro, saw her in the farmer’s market once, with all her maids. He was enamored by her beauty, her grace, her generosity. In his diaries, he says the moment he knew he loved her was when he saw her bend down and hand some silver to a young girl with leprosy, gently touching her hand when others treated her worse than a dog in the market. A young, rich man himself, he paid off the guards to meet her. He had decided he wanted her. Night after night, they met, immediately falling in love. But soon, she discovered she was pregnant.”

I gasp, leaning forward. “Pregnant?”

“You can only imagine the scandal that would have caused in those days. They decided to run away together. Your family hunted her down for weeks, eventually finding her on the outskirts of Italy, just as the young lovers were about to embark to Paris via a bought off carriage. Seeing her belly, her brother, furious, insisted they get rid of the baby.”

“And then?” I ask, horrified.

“They held back Alessandro and kidnapped her, taking her to a local witch. They forced the child out of her, and had her held captive and forbade her from ever speaking of her lover, or dead child. She was, once again, set to marry the duke.”

Ettore's words hang heavy in the air, the weight of centuries-old tragedy settling on my shoulders like a shroud. I feel a surge of sorrow for the star-crossed lovers. “Tell me they wound up together,” I beg.

Ettore averts his gaze from me, and looks away, releasing a slow sigh. “Alessandro hunted Isabella down, discovering she’s at her family estate. He had spies planted within the servants, who told her which room she was bound to. One night, he scaled the walls, and helped her down. They were prepared to escape. But just that morning, her father had hired 3 brothers, the triad, to act as her protectors. Unfortunately, they hadn’t met the young woman, and did not know what she looked like. They saw the couple scaling down the walls and believed them to be thieves, shooting arrows straight into their backs.”

I gasp, leaning forward, clutching the table. “And then?” I ask, tears pooling in my eyes.

“They fell to their deaths. Some say that when their bodies were discovered, they were both clutching each other’s hand, facing one another. They died with smiles on their faces.”

"Ettore," I whisper hoarsely, reaching out to touch his hand. "They deserved better. Their love was true, pure... they deserved a chance at happiness."

He turns his gaze back to me, his eyes full of raw emotion. "And so do we, Carlotta. But from that moment on, the families blamed one another for the deaths of their descendants. Mine despises yours for they believe Isabella seduced him and blame her guards for his death. And yours? They detest mine for Alessandro tainted and tarnished her reputation, before leading her to her death. Since then, they forbade any of us to have bonds with one another. We were enemies set in blood.”

"Is there no way to end this cycle of hatred?" I ask, desperate for any glimmer of hope.

"Unfortunately, I don't think so, but I hope," Ettore replies, his voice tinged with resignation. "Their souls may have found one another and they might have died at peace, but the damage done to our families runs too deep. Trust has been shattered, and blood has been spilled. There's no going back."

I feel despair, knowing that this connection Ettore and I share may never be enough to heal the wounds between our families. But I can't bring myself to let go of him or the hope that one day, things might change. Perhaps our families might someday realize we were always meant to be together.

***

After breakfast, Ettore and I get dressed. There are errands to be run if we are to continue evading those who hunt us.

We put on nondescript clothing, allowing us to blend into the crowds. Baseball caps and sunglasses will further disguise our faces. Ettore tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans before pulling his shirt down over it. He hands me a small pistol as well.

"Just in case," he says gravely.

My stomach knots with anxiety, but I nod and conceal the weapon in my purse. I don’t tell him I’ve never held, let alone used a gun before. We have no choice but to be ready to defend ourselves.

Quietly, we slip from the inn and get into the car. We drive past sparsely populated streets, towards the shops. We need food, fuel, clothes and other provisions for the road ahead, wherever that might lead us.

After a few blocks, we spot a small mom-and-pop grocery store on the corner. Ettore parks right outside and we walk up. A faded Closed sign hangs in the window, but the lights inside are on. Ettore peers through the glass door and raps his knuckles against it. An elderly man ambles over and lets us in, locking the door again behind us.

"We won't be long," Ettore assures him, pressing a few bills into his palm.

I offer the man a faint smile before following Ettore down the aisles. "Stay close to me," Ettore murmurs as he leads me forward, his protective instinct never wavering even in the most mundane situations.

"Of course," I reply softly, taking comfort in his presence as we step inside. "Carlotta," Ettore calls out. He's found a small first-aid kit, and I can see the concern etched on his face as he examines its contents. "This could come in handy."

I join him, running my fingers over the neatly packed bandages and antiseptic wipes. "You're right," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. "We should take it."

The store is cramped but well-stocked, with goods crammed onto every shelf. We grab non-perishable food items, bottles of water, some clothes, fresh underwear, and other supplies.

As we browse, my nerves slowly begin to settle. Despite the circumstances, there is something comforting about these mundane tasks. For a few moments, we can pretend to be an ordinary couple on an ordinary errand run, and I imagine what life could be like if Ettore and I could be together without interruptions. How would our days play out? I’d make him breakfast; he’d head off to work. But as much as I wish to hold onto that fleeting sense of peace in an imaginative world, I know it's only a matter of time before reality comes crashing back down.

Ettore seems to read my thoughts. He squeezes my hand and plants a swift kiss on my forehead.

" Va tutto bene, amore, " - It will be alright, love - he murmurs. " Siamo insieme in questo ." -We're in this together.

I nod, leaning into Ettore for a brief moment before pulling away to grab a few more items. As I turn down the next aisle for shampoo and soap, the small television mounted in the corner catches my eye. I pause, blood turning to ice as I see our faces flash across the screen. The news anchor's voice filters through, announcing a manhunt underway for a "girl in distress with a dangerous kidnapper.”

My hands tremble, nearly dropping the supplies I'm holding. I whip my head around to find Ettore.

"Ettore," I hiss under my breath. He looks up sharply from examining a shelf of canned goods. I jerk my chin in the direction of the television. His jaw tightens as he takes in the broadcast, eyes narrowing to slits.

Without a word, he strides over and turns the television off, yanking the cord from the outlet. The store owner fortunately doesn’t notice.

Ettore grabs my elbow, propelling me towards the front. "We're leaving. Now. Let’s buy what we’ve got and get the hell out of here. We need to head to a different town, somewhere the news doesn’t have our flashing faces."

I don't argue, pulse racing as we rush to the counter with our intended purchases. We step up to the register, laying our items on the counter. The owner, the elderly man with a friendly smile, begins lining them up.

"Quite a collection you have here," he comments, his eyes scanning over our eclectic assortment of supplies. "Are you two going on a trip?"

"Something like that," I answer vaguely, forcing a smile.

The owner, however, is having trouble with the cash register and scanning machine, unable to ring them up. He goes back to find the key to override the automatic system at a slow, leisurely pace, but I can see Ettore ramming his fingers on the counter, constantly looking at the clock, fighting against time.

Just then, the door bursts open. A tall, muscular man barrels through, gun already drawn and pointed at Ettore.

My breath catches in my throat as the assassin raises his gun, finger poised on the trigger. In that split second, everything seems to move in slow motion.

With reflexes uncanny in a human, Ettore whirls around, grabbing a knife from the last--minute purchase rack at the counter and hurling it at the man. The blade embeds itself in the assassin's shoulder, making him cry out in pain and stagger back a step. But his gun remains trained on Ettore.

Ettore doesn't hesitate, shoving me down on the floor and darting behind a shelf just as a shot rings out, splintering the wood behind where he stood mere moments before. My heart pounds wildly in my chest as Ettore grabs another knife, using the shelves as cover while circling the man.

The assassin sweeps his gun back and forth, trying to spot Ettore through the aisles. "Come out, you coward!" he snarls.

In a blur of motion, Ettore leaps out from his hiding spot, slicing towards the man's wrist. The assassin jerks back, but not before the knife cuts his hand, making him drop the gun with a clatter. Ettore kicks it away.

Weaponless now, the man roars and charges at Ettore, massive arms swinging. Ettore ducks and weaves with astonishing speed, avoiding each blow while landing sharp jabs with the knife's hilt to the man's ribs and gut. The man stumbles back, winded. He falls to his knees.

Ettore walks over to the staggered assailant, closing the distance between them with merciless intent.

"Game over," Ettore growls, his knife gleaming in the harsh store lights. The assassin's eyes widen with terror, aware of his imminent defeat.

"Damn you, Ettore Mancini," he gasps, but his words are cut short as Ettore finishes the deadly dance with a final, decisive blow.

Blood splatters across Ettore’s neck as Ettore plunges his knife deep into the assassin's chest. The man gurgles, his eyes wide with shock and fear, before crumpling to the floor in a lifeless heap. Ettore yanks out the knife, his cold blue eyes never leaving the dead man's face.

"Are you alright, Carlotta?" he asks, his voice strained with a mix of concern and lingering anger.

"Y-yes," I stammer, wiping the blood from my cheek with trembling fingers. "I'm okay."

"Good." Ettore glances around the store, noticing the mess we've made. "We need to leave, now. Before the owner comes back."

He leaves more than enough cash on the counter, grabs the items and my hand, pulling me away from the scene of carnage. We sprint out of the store, past the dead body. Nothing seems important anymore, not when our lives are on the line.

"Where are we going?" I ask, breathless from our hurried pace.

"Back to the inn now, but we’ll have to move fast, before someone else catches onto us," Ettore replies, his eyes scanning the street for further potential threats on the way to the car.

The cold wind whips against my face as Ettore puts the things in the backseat and I get in the front. He takes his place and we begin to drive back, pressing the maximum on the allowed speed limit.

My heart hammers in my chest, not only from the emotional strain at today’s unexpected turn of events but also from the fear that courses through my veins. What if the owner describes us? What if the cops running after us? I lose myself to my dark, twisted thoughts, the fear turning me into someone I don’t recognize.

"Are you sure you’re okay?" he asks, his voice strained with concern as he glances over at me when the silence between us gets almost overwhelming.

"Y-yes," I stammer, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "But what just happened? Whoever could that man be?"

Ettore's jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow. "His name is Vittorio, one of the infamous assassin brothers. The same ones you warned me about, but I never thought they'd be bold enough to come after us in public like that."

"One of the assassin brothers?" I echo, the words chilling me to the bone.

"Si, Carlotta," Ettore confirms, his voice grim. "They're highly skilled and dangerous. And now that one of them is dead, the others might want revenge."

"Can we really outrun them, Ettore?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He remains silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts before answering. "We'll do everything in our power to stay ahead of them, cara mia. We'll change our identities, move to a new location – whatever it takes to ensure your safety."

I notice he didn’t say our safety.