The Don’s Soulmate

61. Ettore

Chapter 61

Ettore

I sit on the edge of the hospital bed, my hands clenched into fists. Memories flash through my mind - not just from this life, but from countless others. In every one, I see her face. Carlotta. My soulmate. My salvation.

"Are you sure about this?" Carlotta's soft voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. She places a gentle hand on my arm, her touch grounding me.

I turn to look at her, drinking in the sight of her perfect face, those striking green eyes filled with concern. "I have to do this," I growl, my voice rougher than I intend. "It's time to end this bullshit with my father once and for all. You did the same, and inspired me to face my own demons, amore."

Carlotta nods, squeezing my arm reassuringly. "I'm here for you, no matter what," she murmurs.

Her unwavering support fills me with courage. I take a deep breath, trying to center myself. My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone.

"Fuck," I mutter, fumbling with the device. Get it together, Ettore. You're a fucking Mancini. Act like it. And yet, my decision is so final. After this call, all ties end.

I punch in my father's number, each digit feeling like a nail in my own coffin. As my thumb hovers over the call button, I hesitate.

Am I really ready to burn this bridge, to walk away from everything I've ever known?

I look at Carlotta again, at the gentle swell of her stomach where our child grew. Yes. For her, for our baby, I'd burn the whole world down.

I hit call, bringing the phone to my ear. My heart pounds so loudly I can barely hear the ringing. Carlotta's hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining with my own, and I cling to her like a lifeline.

The ringing stops abruptly, and my father's gruff voice fills my ear. "Ettore. It's about time you called. Did you change your mind?"

My jaw clenches, anger surging through me at his tone. I force my voice to remain steady, cold as ice. "Listen carefully, father. I'm only going to say this once."

I can almost hear his frown through the phone. Good. Let him be caught off guard for once.

"I'm done. With all of it. The family, the business, the whole fucking empire. You can take my inheritance and shove it up your ass."

My father starts to sputter, but I cut him off. "I've chosen Carlotta and our child.”

“Child?” -

I ignore him. “Since you can't accept that, you can go to hell. I don’t need you, your name or your money."

The words pour out of me, months of resentment and anger finally finding their release. My grip on the phone is so tight I'm surprised it doesn't crack.

"Ettore, you can't-" my father begins, but I've already pulled the phone away from my ear.

"Watch me," I snarl and end the call with a vicious jab of my thumb.

My chest heaves as I turn to Carlotta, emotions warring within me. Her green eyes are wide, filled with a mix of sadness and concern. I reach for her hand, grasping it tightly in mine.

"It's done," I say, my voice rough with barely contained emotion. "It's just us now, tesoro. You, me, and our baby."

I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a fierce kiss to her knuckles. "I choose you. Always."

Three hours later, the door to the hospital room bursts open, startling me from my thoughts. My father and brother storm in, their faces a storm of conflicting emotions. My muscles tense instinctively, ready for a fight as I jump to my feet, but something in their expressions gives me pause.

"Carlotta," my father says, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "We owe you an apology."

I watch, stunned, as he approaches her bedside. His eyes and his voice are filled with remorse. My brother hangs back, but his face mirrors our father's remorse.

"We were wrong," my father continues. "Our judgment...our prejudices...they were unfounded and cruel. Can you forgive us for our foolishness? We should never have judged you on the basis of something that happened two hundred years ago. Please, I don’t want to lose my son…my grandchild."

I feel Carlotta's hand tighten in mine. Her wheat-brown skin seems to glow in the harsh hospital light as she looks up at my father, her green eyes searching his face.

"I..." she starts, her voice trembling. "My father has never sought forgiveness from me. You... you don't need to ask for mine."

Tears well up in her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks. I want to pull her close, to shield her from this vulnerability, but something holds me back. There's a shift happening here, a seismic change I can feel in my bones.

My father's face softens further. "Oh, my dear," he says, reaching out hesitantly. "You are far too kind. But I do need to ask. We've wronged you terribly so."

I watch, my heart pounding, as Carlotta and my father lock eyes. There's an understanding passing between them, a connection forming that I can't quite grasp. It's as if they're seeing each other truly for the first time.

"Then I forgive you," Carlotta whispers, a small smile gracing her lips. "Both of you."

I watch the interaction unfold, a storm of emotions churning inside me. My fingers twitch, itching to reach for the cigar in my pocket – a habit I've relied on to calm my nerves for years. But I resist, forcing myself to focus on the scene before me.

My father, the formidable Don I've both feared and admired my entire life, stands humbled before Carlotta. Her gentle warmth seems to melt away years of his hardened exterior. It's as if I'm witnessing the collision of two worlds – my brutal, unforgiving past and the promise of a softer future.

"Ettore," my father's gruff voice breaks through my thoughts. "Your Carlotta... she's a remarkable woman."

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. "She is," I manage to say, my voice hoarse with emotion.

My brother steps forward, his eyes fixed on Carlotta's swollen belly. "We want you both to know," he says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "that we're here for you. All of you."

My father nods solemnly. "Whatever comes – whether it's dealing with Carlotta's family or facing any other challenges – we stand with you."

I feel my jaw clench, old instincts flaring up. "And if I don't want your help?" I growl, the words escaping before I can stop them.

Carlotta's hand finds mine, her touch instantly soothing my frayed nerves. I take a deep breath, trying to quell the anger that's always simmering just beneath the surface.

My father's eyes meet mine, a mixture of determination and remorse in them. "Then we'll respect your wishes, son. But know that our support, our protection—it's yours, unconditionally—for you, Carlotta, and your child."

I feel Carlotta squeeze my hand, and I look down at her. Her green eyes are filled with hope, silently pleading with me to accept this olive branch. I've spent so long fighting against them. But now, with Carlotta by my side and our child on the way, I find myself considering a different path.

"Alright," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "We'll see where this goes."

My father's eyes now brim with tears. It's a sight I've never seen before, and it catches me off guard. He steps closer, his gaze fixed on Carlotta's swollen belly.

"I...I want to meet my grandchild," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "If you'll allow it."

Carlotta's hand squeezes mine gently, and I look down to see her nodding, her eyes shining with compassion.

"Of course," she says softly. "He's family, after all."

“It’s a boy?” my brother asks, breaking into a wide smile.

My father's face, on the other hand, while joyful still crumples, years of regret etched in every line. "I've made so many mistakes," he confesses, his words barely audible. "I want to make amends. To be there for all of you. Carlotta, please know I shall protect you like a daughter."

As we stand there, an unlikely group united by blood and choice, I feel a strange sense of peace settle over me.

"Together," Carlotta whispers as if reading my thoughts. "We'll face whatever comes together. My family, for now, is still against us."

“For now,” my father clears his throat. “Your family is ours. If they support you, they will have the might of the Mancini’s behind them. Perhaps I should visit them tomorrow.”

“There’s no need,” Carlotta tries protesting.

“Please, child,” my father stops her in her tracks. “Allow me to do what I would want had I been in your father’s shoes. Perhaps he needs to know there’s a better way. Something tells me he cares for you, but is simply lost.”

Carlotta gently bows her head, accepting his wisdom.

My father then turns to me, with unshed tears. "Son, I... I'm proud of you. For breaking the cycle."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I've spent lifetimes seeking his approval, and now, in choosing to walk away from everything he built, I've finally earned it. The irony isn't lost on me.

"It's not going to be easy," I warn, my voice rough with emotion. "There are people who won't understand. Who'll see this as a weakness."

My brother steps forward, his jaw set in determination. "Let them come. We'll show them what real strength looks like."

My hands clench involuntarily, old instincts rising to the surface.

"We've got your back, brother," he adds, a hint of his old swagger returning. "All of us."

I look around the room at these people who've chosen to stand by us—my soulmate, my child, my blood. For the first time in countless lives, I feel truly, completely whole.