Page 46 of The Don's Soulmate

I continue reading the article, shocked at the fact that they have the full list of art. What I own is my bloody business, and immediately, I’m filled with rage. I know what these ‘historians of history’ type of people are. They could come for my art. Thecharities will flock in, demanding just one piece for auction.For the good of the world,they’d tell me.

This is not good. While people might covet what I have, a trait I’ve always enjoyed watching in others, I do not need intrusion in my life. Not while Carlotta is out there, causing all this trouble, needing me to keep an eye on her. I have enemies to wipe off. Ettore to deal with.

“You,” I tell my butler, whose name I never get right, nor care to. “If any media calls, tell them to fuck off.”

“Yes, sir,” he says with a straight face.

“Say it just like that,” I throw the paper at him. “No need to be polite.”

He takes the paper and reads it, nodding at what I say.

With that done, I head over to the D’Amicis. I have a feeling there’s only one person who could have leaked this list. And I know just what she’s playing at.

The sound of Carlotta's muffled sobbing echoes through the hallway, and I can't help but smile. I insisted on meeting her father in his office to discuss the wedding arrangements for thisreason alone. It’s on the same floor as the bedroom my blushing bride is confined to.

She’s been locked up for a week, and from the reports my guards received from the D’Amici ones stationed around the house, she’s not been too happy.

The lock clicks as I turn the key in Carlotta's door. I push it open, the hinges creaking, and step into the dim room. She’s got her curtains parted close, not letting in any sunlight.

She startles, looking up at me from the bed with wide doe eyes, clutching the thin blanket around her slender frame to hide her body, clad in a thin camisole. I smirk, enjoying the sight of her trapped here like an animal in a cage. This little bird is mine to control.

"Sleep well, my dear?" I ask in a mocking tone, my lips curling. She says nothing, merely shrinks back against the headboard. “I thought you must be bored and while you might be locked in here, you could use a visitor or two.”

I stride closer, reaching out to grasp her chin between my thick fingers. My fingers lightly graze her cheek, wiping away a tear before I bring it to my lips, savoring her salty despair. Her body flinches at my touch, and her eyes dart around the room with a desperate hope that she'll find some way to escape. But there is none. "You belong to me now, no matter how hard you try to make it otherwise."

She trembles under my touch but remains silent. “Did you read the papers this morning?” I ask.

She looks away, a flicker of guilt on her face. But shakes her head. I force her to meet my eyes.

“You thought you were so smart, weren’t you? By sending the journalists on my heels, you thought you could use this strategy to your benefit? I’m no fool Carlotta. I know exactly what you want.”

“Y…you do?” she stammers.

“In time, by focusing on how this collection was a gift from you, you’ve made known it was close to your heart. You’ve effectively made it impossible for me to sell it without looking like a heartless husband. What was that quote in the paper? Oh yes:It’s a gift from my future wife. She wanted to give me what is most precious to her and art – it’s her life!Now. How can a good husband ever sell what means the most to his wife?”

The guilt is etched across her face. “Please,” she sits up now, letting the blanket fall down her without realizing. “What are you going to do?”

I savor the swell of her curves under her camisole. Those beautiful, creamy breasts. I take my finger, place it under the cloth, and she tries to pull away but I clutch her waist.

She gasps, looking up at me, pure terror in her eyes. I love that look on her.

“You see,” I curl my lip. “Now that I know you betrayed me to the media and tried to keep the collection with yourself in whatever distasteful manner, it might be a good time to let you know that I’ve never given a damn about what people think of me. The minute we’re wed, I shall sell each last piece. You will never see those paintings again, nor will you see a dime from what you spent buying that useless lot.

“No,” she gasps, trembling. I release her with a derisive snort and turn on my heel, locking the door behind me. Let her rot away in there, alone with her fear. She'll learn obedience soon enough.

I have more pressing matters to deal with. The wedding looms, and that meddling Ettore still lives, a thorn in my side. But not for long. Ettore Mancini must be eliminated – he poses too great a threat to my control over Carlotta and my growing influence within the Mafia. Always meddling and interfering where he doesn’t belong, rescuing her just as I’m about to laud out her punishment.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone, and dial the one number I’ve come to trust in matters like these. They're the best in the business, and if anyone can ensure Ettore's demise, it's them.

"Vittorio," I growl into the phone. "I have a job for you and your brothers. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse on Via Degli Orfani in two hours. And remember, discretion as always."

"Understood, Caputo. We'll be there," the oldest replies with an icy calmness. This is going to be good.

I end the call, knowing that once Ettore is out of the picture, there will be no one left to challenge my authority, and she'll have no choice but to submit to me in every way.

I park my car and walk down a deserted path, my heavy steps echoing through the loading docks. The rendezvous point, an abandoned warehouse, comes into view. Dark and decrepit, it’s a structure that breathes sinister intent. I slip inside, the smell of damp and mold immediately assaulting my nostrils. Shafts of moonlight slice through broken windows, partially illuminating three shadowy figures waiting within.

My heart pounds in my chest, but it's not fear that grips me – it's pure, unadulterated excitement.

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