Page 30 of The Don's Soulmate

"You're mine," he growls, hips slamming against my ass. "Say it."

I gasp - so close. "Yours. I'm yours."

His finger touches my clit, making me scream like a beast as I climax around his thick cock. He snarls and speeds up, chasing his own release. With a guttural shout, he empties himself inside me, triggering another spasm that leaves me breathless.

“Stay with me,” I gasp into the darkness, when he pulls away.

“I can’t,” he says.

My world shifts beneath me. I reach out, trying to hold him back. I hear footsteps, then bright lights reveal his back - largemuscles, that dark, black birthmark extending inches below his neck.

“Don’t leave,” I cry again, but he closes the door.

I’ve never felt such pain. My chest aches, the vein in my neck throbs, like someone is sucking the life out of me.

I sit up with a gasp; tears run down my cheeks. I’m drenched in sweat.

It’s a dream -breathe.

Disappointment and disorientated; the longing lingers between my legs.Why am I never shown his face?

I lie there, trying to catch my breath and compose myself. I can’t shake the vivid images of the stranger with the black mark on his back. Something about him appeals to me. Despite there being no doubt that he’s dangerous, I’m convinced of his love for me.

Perhaps it reveals my secret hopes: the perfect man—violent enough to fit into our world but with something that’s always out of reach.

I sit up and throw off the covers, suddenly recalling yesterday. The restaurant, the woman, Ugo. Ettore defending me, challenging my father. Angelo injured.

Guilt and regret overwhelm me. If I hadn’t gotten into trouble last night, men wouldn’t have lost their lives.

I have to check on my brother! Papa confined me to my room last night, furious that I led the enemy right to our doorstep

I throw on a robe and rush out of my room.

Following the murmurs brings me to the study, my heart pounding with dread.Please, dear god, make sure Angelo is alright.

I open the door gently and enter. My eyes immediately fall on my brother sitting in an armchair with a bandaged arm resting on his lap. “Angelo, how are you?” I say, rushing towards him and kneeling.

“I’m fine,” he says dismissively. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

"Are you sure," I worry, "you lost so much blood yesterday...”

“I said I’m fine,” he barks at me, turning to face the fireplace.

“Thank god,” I murmur, heartbroken that he won’t let me comfort him. Angelo has always been strong, stoic, and independent. I stand reluctantly, turning to my father and my heart drops to the floor.

The last man I want to see is Ugo Caputo, my unwelcome fiancé, standing next to my father at the fireplace, an unsettling smirk playing on his lips.

My father ignores me, turning to smile at Ugo, “Look who has come to apologize and wish Angelo a speedy recovery.” Instinctively, I take a step back. Memories of what that man did to me flood back with nauseating clarity, suffocating me.

I glance towards my father, searching for some reassurance or guidance, but he only stares at me with a stony expression. “Carlotta, come sit,” he points at an empty chair.

Reluctantly, I move to the seat opposite Ugo. His eyes linger on me, making my skin crawl.

"Carlotta," Ugo says, his voice slick. "Good morning.”

“G…good morning,” I manage to whisper after a few awkward seconds of silence.

I take in the sight of Ugo - his bandaged fingers and bruised eyes - evidence of Ettore’s intervention.

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