The Don’s Soulmate

47. Carlotta

Chapter 47

Carlotta

The kitchen smells just as I’ve grown to love it. The past four weeks, I’ve had the strangest craving for of garlic, and so today, Ettore is busy perfecting a marinara sauce with garlic and onions for the pasta we’re making.

His muscular arms stir the sauce expertly while I chop fresh basil, the scent wafting up to my nose. He tosses in more garlic, raises the pan in the air and flips the sauce high before it falls neatly back into place. He gives me a proud grin before sprinkling in more salt.

"Mi amore, you've become quite the chef," I tease, tossing a piece of chopped basil at him playfully.

"Only because I have a difficult client to please," he replies with a grin thrown in the direction of my belly, catching the basil midair and placing it into the simmering sauce.

As night falls, we decide to take a leisurely walk through the outskirts of the forest. We’ve been here almost three months now. During the first two weeks, we hardly ventured outside, but we soon realized that Sofia’s cottage was as isolated as could be. So began our daily routine of gathering berries in the mornings and taking moonlight strolls in the evenings.

The changing seasons paint the landscape with vibrant oranges and reds in the silver glow of the skies, a reminder of time's relentless march. That’s not the only reminder of the clock ticking, though. I feel movement and reach for my belly.

Ettore’s hand, warm in mine, pushes under the fabric, too. And then, we both sense it. My skin is being pushed outward, a wee little thing kicking from within.

“Oh my gosh,” I gasp, lips breaking into a wide smile as I search to find Ettore’s eyes. His mouth hangs half-open in surprise, his eyes wide with wonder. He shakes his head. “Unbelievable,” he whispers, his hand squeezing over mine.

In that serene moment under the moonlit sky, surrounded by the rustling leaves of the forest, our world feels suspended in time. There’s a new life growing within me, and every time I think of it, it feels like I’m learning I’m pregnant for the first time.

This sense of wonder never fades.

I wake up and for the fifth time this week, find Ettore hovering over me with a breakfast tray in hand. The beauty of the moment is marred only by a sudden twinge of discomfort in my lower back. My free hand instinctively moves to rub the sore spot, eliciting a small wince from me as I sit up straight.

"Carlotta, amore mio, are you okay?" Ettore sets down the tray on the bedside table and rushes towards me. He sits on the bed, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress.

"It's just... my back hurts a bit," I admit hesitantly, not wanting to worry him. "Must be the weight of the baby."

"Here, let me help." Without hesitation, Ettore gets me out of bed, guides me to a nearby chair and stands behind me. His strong yet gentle hands find the source of my discomfort, skillfully massaging the tense muscles with soothing strokes. "Is that better?"

"Much better," I sigh in relief, grateful for his tender care. “Grazie, caro.” Thank you, darling.

He presses a soft kiss to my temple before turning my attention towards breakfast. The silence stretches between us as I eat, our thoughts turning to the future—a future filled with both joy and uncertainty.

"Carlotta... have you thought about what kind of parents we'll be?" Ettore asks cautiously, his voice betraying a rare vulnerability.

"Of course," I reply softly. "I worry I might not be good enough, that I’ll make mistakes. But, I trust you’d be there to guide me when I do.”

Ettore looks at me with a surprised smile, taking my hand to his lips. “And I trust you’d correct me should I need it. I want to give our baby all the love and support needed to grow strong and happy. But I can't deny that I'm scared too. We're bringing a child into a world that's not always kind, and it's hard not to worry about their safety."

"Your fears are my fears," I confess, my grip on him tightening. "But I promise you, we’ll be wonderful parents.”

He nods, but there’s still something on his mind. I can tell from how he averts his gaze away from mine.

“Ettore?”

“I worry,” he admits, looking at me. “About how the baby is growing. Is he or she healthy? Are you healthy? We’ve had no tests, no scans, no bloodwork.”

“That’s how women did it for millions of years,” I joke.

“But you’re not any woman,” he growls rather fiercely. The lack of medical care for my pregnancy has been bothering him for quite a while now. For the past month, he’s brought it up often, and I know how helpless he feels, being unable to offer me the aid he thinks I need. I can see the worry etched in the lines of his face, the furrow of his brows too deep for a man usually so stoic.

"Ettore, we've managed so far without a doctor. I'm feeling fine," I try to reassure him. “Besides, we can’t risk going to a doctor. Not without someone seeing us and tipping off the cops.”

"What if something goes wrong, Carlotta?" Ettore's tone is low, a mix of frustration and fear. His hand unconsciously drifts to my belly, cradling our unborn child protectively. "What if you need help and we can't get it in time?”

“We’ve gotten this far,” I murmur, leaning in and pressing my forehead against his. “I promise, a pregnancy is dangerous in earlier weeks. It’s been over six months already, and I know in my bones that the baby is fine. I’m fine. You have to trust me on this, Ettore. Please.”

Ettore's gaze softens as he searches my eyes, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face. His protective instincts war with his fear of the unknown, his hand never leaving my belly. After a long moment of silence, he finally nods.