Page 13 of The Don's Soulmate

A promise. A vow. His words wrap around me like a shield, awakening sensations and longings I've never known. I should run, I know I should, but my feet are rooted in place.

He tells Marco something, but I can’t hear. All I can do is feel. His hand over mine, and how perfectly mine fits in his.

His hand trails up my palm to get my attention, igniting my skin. The world fades away until nothing exists but his touch...and the realization that I never want this moment to end.

But, it does.

Without hesitation, he guides me through the aftermath of destruction, stepping over broken glass and cowering bodies. I try to avoid looking at the bloodied bodies and focus only on the feeling of his hand wrapped securely around mine.

But then, we reach the man with no eyes and I freeze. The images rush back of his fingers digging through pupils. I stand there, transfixed in horror, unable to tear my gaze away from the gruesome sight.

He notices my distress and, with a gentle yet firm touch, redirects my focus back to him by guiding my chin upwards with his thumb and fingers, blocking the gruesome scene from my view. His eyes silently reassure me that I'm safe with him as he shakes his head, telling me to forget.

He continues to steer me forward. I know I should pull away, but there’s something magnetic about him that makes me ignore all warnings. I'm powerless to resist as he guides us into the unknown.

We cross the shattered window and the main door, until we reach a small metal door. He opens it and makes me pass through first, closing the door behind him. We find ourselves in a small alleyway which offers a temporary sanctuary.

The blinding sunlight momentarily stuns me. My eyes flutter, trying to adjust to the brightness of the light.

He shields me against a brick wall with his body, his figure now blocking out the hot rays of light. One hand cradles my neck as he presses his muscular frame against mine. His cologne mixes with the metallic scent of blood on his skin.

My heart races being this close to him, danger and desire warring within.

His eyes soften. He now caresses my cheek with a calloused hand.

Sirens wail closer, cars crossing past the alley. But cocooned in this alley with his body shielding mine, I feel like the bank never existed. We are isolated, alone in the world. He leans in closer, but not close enough.

My lips part involuntarily and I find myself drawn into his marshland of a gaze, unable to look away. There’s a flame that burns in my depth… does it in his too?

Kiss me, I scream into the abyss of thoughts in my head. Kiss me, please…

Suddenly, the wailing sirens come closer and closer, flashing lights passing by the alley. We hear people screaming with relief from within the bank. The carabinieri are here!

His attention stays fixed on me as his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch is electric, sending shivers down my spine.

"I need to go, cara," he says, his voice low and urgent. "I can’t be found here."

“But the carabinieri have arrived,” I murmur, breaking into a small frown. Why does he want to leave? “We’re safe now,” I say, taking his hand into mine, desperate for him to linger just a while longer.

On the main road outside the alley, carabinieri now begin to swarm the area, pushing back frantic crowds gathered to witness the spectacle. It's a sea of noise and motion. I watch him closely, afraid he will disappear the moment I blink.

His expression is closed off, his jaw clenches, his eyes constantly scanning for threats only he can sense. He squeezes my hand, as if to remind me to stay strong.

His eyes read my face intently. There's a vulnerability in his gaze now that tugs at my heart. Without thinking, I reach up to touch his cheek.

The barest hint of a smile touches his lips. And then, without warning, he turns away and breaks into a run, jumping over a wall.

I think to run after him, but stand there, transfixed.

After all, none of this is real. This is just a dream… right?A bad dream.

Chapter 6

Ettore

There’s a beautiful ballroom, and all around us, the ton swears by the exceptional entertainment provided by the host. The Marquess of Marlowe has outdone himself once again.

But it is not the butterflies floating in the room, nor the sculptures which hold my delight. My eyes are for her and her alone, the princess from a foreign land, her striking mediterranean beauty causing commotion wherever she goes.

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