Page 111 of The Don's Soulmate

My head throbs as I blink awake, vision swimming. The room spins and blurs. Where am I? I try to bring a hand to my aching temple, but my arms won't move. Panic surges through me as I realize I'm tied to a chair, thick ropes biting into my wrists and ankles.

"Hello?" I call out, my voice hoarse. "Is anyone there?"

Silence. My heart pounds as memories start flooding back - Viktor's charming smile turning cold and cruel, the glint of his ring as his hand swung at my head when I tried to leave. Oh god.

"That bastard," I spit out, yanking at the restraints. The ropes only tighten, digging painfully into my skin.

I scan the dimly lit room, searching for anything I can use: an old desk, some shelves, nothing within reach. Think, Sofia. You have to get out of here.

Ice floods my veins. Carlotta. Sweet, innocent Carlotta who wouldn't hurt a fly. Viktor’s interest in her starts coming back. He only used me to get to her at Ugo’s behest.

Viktor’s gone. There’s only one place he could be headed. Fuck. I have to warn her and Ettore before he reaches them.

I twist my wrists, feeling for any give in the ropes. My fingers brush against a rough edge - a loose thread? I tug at it frantically, ignoring the burning pain as the fibers slice into my skin.

"Come on, come on," I mutter. The thread unravels slightly. Hope flares in my chest.

I picture Carlotta's face - those striking green eyes filled with fear, her wheat-brown skin pale with terror. Her baby. No. I won't let that happen. She's been through too much already.

Gritting my teeth, I pull harder at the thread. My wrists feel raw, but I ignore the pain, focused solely on escape. On saving my friends from whatever Viktor has planned.

The ropes bite into my flesh as I struggle, my desperation mounting. Sweat beads on my forehead trickled down my face. I blink it away.

"Damn it, Viktor," I hiss through clenched teeth. "You won't get away with this."

My mind races, replaying every interaction with Viktor. How could I have been so blind? The charming smiles, the attentive gestures - all a carefully crafted ruse to get to Carlotta. Bile rises in my throat at the thought of how easily I fell for it.

Some friend I am,I think to myself bitterly.I practically gift-wrapped her for him.

But self-pity won't save Carlotta. I scan the room again, searching for anything I might have missed. There - a glint of metal beneath the desk. If I could just reach it...

I rock the chair, inching it forward bit by bit, painstakingly. My muscles scream in protest, but I push through the pain. For Carlotta. For the girl who's more a sister than a friend.

The chair teeters dangerously as I stretch my leg, straining to hook my foot around the metal object. Just a little further...

With a final burst of effort, I manage to snag the object - a letter opener. It clatters to the floor, and I quickly maneuver my bound hands to grasp it. The cool metal against my skin sends a surge of hope through me.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, sawing frantically at the ropes.

My heart pounds in my chest, each second stretching into an eternity. Finally, I feel the ropes give way.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, leaping to my feet.

The rush of freedom is intoxicating. I stretch my arms, relishing the ability to move freely again. But the moment of triumph is short-lived as reality comes crashing back.

"Carlotta," I breathe, my renewed panic spurring me into action.

I pat down my pockets, searching for my phone. Empty. My stomach drops as I realize the implications.

"No, no, no," I mutter, tearing through the room. "Where is it?"

Drawers fly open, papers scatter, but my phone is nowhere to be found. The sick feeling in my gut intensifies as I picture Viktor using it to track down Carlotta and Ettore.

"Think, Sofia, think!" I command myself, running my hands through my hair. "There has to be another way to warn them."

My eyes land on the landline phone on the desk. It's a long shot, but it might be my only chance. I snatch up the receiver, my fingers trembling as I dial Carlotta and Ettore's motel room number from memory.

"Please pick up," I plead, each ring amplifying my anxiety. "Come on, Car. Answer the phone!"

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