Page 9 of The Don's Soulmate

"And that's not all," Sofia continues in a hushed tone.

I feel my heart sink as I listen to her words, a cold sense of despair taking hold of me. As much as I want to believe that these are baseless rumors, I can't shake off the feeling that there might be some truth to them.

"Thank you for telling me, Sofia," I say, struggling to keep my composure. "I need to process all of this."

"Carlotta," Sofia reaches for my hand, gripping it tightly. "Promise me you'll be careful tonight. I don't know what you're walking into, but just... be cautious, please."

"I promise," I whisper back, trying to reassure her even as fear grips my own heart.

“Is there no way out of this marriage?” she asks desperately.

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Perhaps, if I speak to Father about what you’ve told me, I might sway him.”

“You must try,” she insists.

I nod, feeling like life’s seeping out of me as I sit here. Time flies by as we sip our coffee in silence, and then I look at my watch and note the time.

“Shit, Sofia,” I murmur. “I need to ask you a big favor.”

I walk out of the coffee shop, and the world is a blur around me. My black hair is bundled into a newsboy cap, my eyes hidden behind big sunglasses. Sofia’s little distraction – spilling hot coffee on a handsome waiter – gave me the opportunity to slip out the back. A little trick we often employed in high school.

She understands that my visit to the bank needs to stay secret, at least until I’ve talked to Papa.

Each step is filled with an unsettling dread that courses through my veins. My mind races with thoughts of Ugo Caputo.

Rumors are just that – whispers and gossip, not guarantees of truth. But even so, the prospect of marrying him leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Yet the love I have for my family drives me forward. My father and brother wouldn’t put me in active danger. Of that, I’m certain…right?

The cold wind nips at my cheeks as I hurry down the sidewalk, my heart heavy with the burden of Sofia's revelations.

Rounding the corner, I spot the bank up ahead, its stately columns and marble facade sending deep shadows across the street. The doorman greets me with a respectful bow and holds the door open for me. "Buongiorno, Signorina D'Amici," the doorman says. “Signor Einaudi has been expecting you."

So much for my disguise.

I incline my head in acknowledgment and proceed to the private client rooms at the back, passing a maze of velvet ropes on my way. The sounds of hushed conversations and rustling papers soothe my nerves. Much depends on the outcome of this meeting.

I reach the unassuming door marked as the manager’s office and give a gentle knock before opening it. Signor Marco Einaudi glances up, his eyes widening as he sees me. He quickly rises, stepping out from behind his desk. "Signorina D’Amici, come in. How was Paris?" With a warm smile, he ushers me over to a chair.

"Paris was lovely, thank you for asking," I reply, trying to keep my voice steady as I sit across from him. My fingers drum against the polished wood. "There are some financial matters I need to discuss."

"Of course," his brow furrows with concentration as he leans in. "How may I help you?"

"I need to know the extent of my assets and how much control I have over them," I explain, my heart pounding in my chest. If I am to face Ugo Caputo and an uncertain future, I must be prepared.

"Ah, I see." Signor Einaudi nods. He pulls up my account information on his computer and begins to explain the details ofmy finances, my mind racing all the while, trying to keep track of all the details.

"Is it possible to set up a separate account without my father's knowledge?" I asked, desperation creeping into my voice. “And transfer over some funds? I also have some artwork I might sell and would like that money sent to the alternate account.”

"Yes," the bank manager replies hesitantly. It can be done, but it might raise some questions if he finds out. I believe you do share the same chartered accountant."

"Please, Signor Einaudi," I plead, my eyes imploring him to understand. "I need this. It's important. I’ll speak with the CA."

"Alright, Signorina Carlotta," he agrees, his voice warm with empathy. "I'll do what I can to help you."

"Thank you," I whisper, my heart swelling with gratitude. "Now, is there a way for me to put some funds into some dividend stocks and have the interest paid into the new account?”

The bank manager begins to explain various options when, suddenly, the bank is filled with a loud cacophony of blaring alarms and flashing lights.

My eyes dart around the room in panic, trying to make sense of the chaos. "Please, stay calm, signorina," Signor Einaudi whispers, his voice wavering slightly. "I'm sure everything will be alright."

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