Page 28 of The Don's Soulmate

Just then, through the chaos, I think I hear someone yell my name. I turn to find the cause of the distressed calling, and see my brother Davide running towards us through the doors of the house.

“What the hell happened tonight?” he asks, looking around himself. “Father is livid when the control room got a call to prepare the emergency rooms. We didn’t have a stakeout planned tonight, did we?”

“Just some trouble with the D’Amicis,” I say, not letting on what happened exactly.

“Well, he wants to see you right away,” my younger brother shifts uncomfortably on his feet. I nod and begin walking ahead, when he looks at Fio and says, “You too.”

I frown, annoyed that father wants my honcho there. What? Does he think I’d try to lie my way out of the truth or something?

Well, I might possibly lie, but not out of fear, just from annoyance. My father and brother both possess the slightest shred of cowardice. They call it self-preservation; I call itsomething else altogether. What’s right is right and what’s wrong is wrong.

As for who decides which is which, well … that’s subjective.

Fio and I step into the house side by side. I shrug off my jacket, glancing around as the men are being shown in different directions. Some with minor cuts are being treated in the living room. Others are helping the staff take more down to the basement, waiting in line to the elevators.

Fio and I climb up the stairs to the floor above. I take two at a time. We make our way down the quieter, dimly-lit hall.

My father probably hears our footsteps. "In here," his voice calls out from the study.

My heart pounds in anticipation of the confrontation that is about to unfold. Why do I even have to justify doing something which was obviously the right thing to do - and saving Carlottawasthe right thing. And returning her to her father was also the right thing. Without my intervention tonight, she’d be sleeping in an entirely different bed, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have beensafe.

My father sits behind his large mahogany desk, face half hidden in shadow. We walk closer and the lines of age on his face become clearer, the silver streaks in his dark hair almost shine in the moonlight but it’s his eyes, stormier than any tempest that tell me he’s really mad. He gestures for us to sit, eyes boring into me.

"You missed dinner," he states, voice low but edged with authority.

I nod. "Apologies. I should have been there. How was your and Davide’s trip?"

He leans forward, arms crossed on the table before him. “The trip is the least of my concerns right now,” he says angrily, cutting through the pleasantries.

But my fury comes on stronger and faster. “And I don’t give a wretched damn about a missed dinner!” I slam my fist on the table. The anger dies down in my father’s eyes, and I see them replaced with something different. Worry perhaps? A hint of fear?

“How many men did we lose tonight?” he asks, finally getting to the reason we’ve been called in.

“Three, sir,” Fio says quietly.

A look of pain crosses my father’s eyes. “Who all?”

“Giacomo, Rocky and Silvio,” Fio informs him.

“May god bless them,” my father sighs and closes his eyes to mutter a prayer. I too take a moment of silence.

Once done, father’s eyes flick to Fio, who straightens in his chair. "Tell me what happened,” he asks.

Any other man wouldn’t dare speak while I’m in the room, but for Fio, loyalty to the family comes above all. And my father represents us, in the truest sense, as our head. “Boss went for dinner and drinks to the usual spot. I was in the car. He called on the way out, requesting the car. I remained in the convoy while his driver went, but Boss disappeared into an alley. He returned twenty minutes later with a woman in tow. She looked like she’d been through the wringer. He got in his car and the convoy started following. I didn’t know who she was then, Don Mancini, until we reached the D’Amici compound.”

My father listens, face impassive, but at the mention of Carlotta, my father's expression hardens.

"Enough. I want to hear the rest from you, Ettore." His piercing gaze fixes on me. I meet it steadily.

"The woman was in danger. I intervened, nothing more." I keep my tone even, hiding the tumult her memory stirs within me. “I didn’t know who she was until much later.”

“It’s come to my attention,” my father's eyes narrow, anger flashing, “that the driver had informed you that you’re about to head into enemy territory. Is that true?”

“It’s true,” I say, matter-of-factly. “But she needed to get home. She was injured and traumatized by what that man, Ugo Caputo, had done to her.”

“Ugo Caputo,” my father bristles under the name, sitting up in attention. “Well, if she was with a man like that…”

“What are you insinuating?” my voice comes out cold. “She was innocent in all of this. An unsuspecting lamb sent to her slaughter. I could not have brought her here, so I needed to make sure her family would not place her in such a situation again!”

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