Page 10 of The Don's Soulmate

And then, we hear something loud, sharp, short—a gunshot.

The bank manager goes pale, jumps up from his seat and races out the door.

I grip the edge of his desk, my knuckles turning white as I struggle to take slow, measured breaths.

Moments later, he returns, his face ashen-white. "I’m afraid it’s an active robbery, Signorina D’Amici."

My stomach churns with a mixture of dread and disbelief, and I feel as if I might be sick.This can't be happening, not now.

"Signorina," the bank manager whispers. “We’re going to be alright. I’m going to lock us in here. We should be safe. Go. Hide under the desk!”

I nod, swallowing hard, and try to push away the terror as I get down on my knees.Hide. Now that’s something I can do.Taking action is the only thing keeping me from shaking to death.

I watch as Signor Einaudi begins to close the door to his office, but just then, he stumbles back.

When did I start screaming?

The door to the manager's office is opened violently, revealing two masked robbers with guns in hand. My heart leaps into my throat as they storm inside, their voices harsh and demanding."Don't move a muscle, or we'll blow your pretty little head off!" one of them snarls at me.

I can feel the cold steel of a gun as it presses against my temple, my breath catching in my chest as I try to process what's happening. One robber is holding me hostage. Beside me, Signor Einaudi’s eyes widened in terror as he faced a similar threat.

"Out, both of you!" the second robber barks, nudging the gun against the bank manager’s head. "We're taking you to the main floor. Thought you could hide back here, did you?"

As we are herded towards the door, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished surface of a nearby cabinet. My green eyes are filled with fear, and my face is ghostly pale.

"Move it! Faster!" the first robber growls behind me, shoving me roughly towards the hallway and to the main floor. Just then, more gunshots ring out. On the main floor, we are met with a horrifying sight: two more armed robbers are pointing their weapons at a man on the floor – his body lifeless. People are still screaming as the dust settles. Most are on the ground, face down, covering their heads beneath their arms to protect them from falling debris – ripped from the walls and cabinets by flying bullets.

"Hey, boss? It looks like we may have ourselves some VIPs here," the second robber holding Signor Einaudi says, his voice dripping with malice as he addresses the accomplice closest to him. "Maybe we can use them for leverage?"

"Good thinking," the leader replies. I can hear him grinning as he speaks from beneath his mask. "Keep the gun on them."

"Please don't hurt us," I whisper, my voice trembling as we, too, are forced to our knees.

Chapter 4

Ettore

The bank is quietly bustling with a steady stream of clients this afternoon. I refuse to take the seat I’ve been offered by one of the associate managers. I’m here to seethemanager, who seems to be busy with another client. Men in crisp suits move past, clutching briefcases and speaking in hushed tones. The mundane chatter grates on me. I check my watch for the tenth time, impatience rising.

Shouts of protest catch my attention and I turn to watch just as someone hits the doorman across the head. He goes sprawling across the pristine white floor, streaks of blood running like veins across the marble.

More armed men enter.

Screams pierce the air as people scramble for cover. In an instant, the orderly bank morphs into chaos.

One of the armed men shoves a man against a wall. "Get down!" he barks, waving his gun menacingly.

Their movements are swift and practiced. My heart pounds in my chest, but not from fear. No, this familiar feeling is something else entirely—it's excitement. The thrill of danger lurks around every corner of my world, and my instincts kick into high gear.

After all, I’ve just landed in the middle of a damn playground. Now, the question is, how many rounds until a winner emerges?

"???????! ? ??? ???? ???????." one of the robbers shouts at the others, speaking in fluent Russian. I understand every word -Faster! We don’t have much time. It's a gift – or perhaps a curse – that I can understand languages I’ve never studied in this lifetime. At some point in history, somewhere in the world, I lived, breathed and spoke Russian.

My chances of winning today seem higher than I anticipated.

My senses heighten, honing in on the intruders. Their words reverberate in my mind as clearly as if spoken in Italian. Years of memories flood my consciousness - desert raids, times of war, languages across cultures spanning centuries.

"????????? ????? ?????????????. ???????? ?????? ? ???????," their leader orders.– Eliminate any resistance. Get the money and get out.I continue to listen to their conversation, piecing together their intentions.

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