Page 7 of The Don's Soulmate

I’m dressed in embroidered robes of rich cotton and linen, a silver dagger in my belt. I walk further down the lanes when I notice a slim finger curving with a beckoning call. I discover a beautiful woman with azure eyes, dressed in a long skirt and skimpy top, asking me to follow her.

The whores. They act as our little messengers.

“The Emissary,” she whispers. “He’s been waiting for you, Sir.”

She leads me through a small doorway to a tea room.

"Sir," he greets me with a nod, his voice silkier than the finest tapestries adorning the walls. "I trust your journey was uneventful?"

I offer a curt nod in response, my focus unwavering. "It was as smooth as can be expected, Emissary."

He gestures for me to sit across from him on a pile of cushions. As I lower myself onto the comfortable seating, the woman who led me here walks over to my host and places her hand on his chest, bending lower to whisper in his ear.

But all the while, she watches me, and I? I watch her figure, the curve of her belly, the shimmer of her skirt. The Emissaryhands her three gold coins and caresses her exposed back before pointing his chin in a gesture, telling her to leave us.

“A beauty like that is rare,” I comment.

“She fetches a fair price,” he shrugs.

“How much?”

“For you?” his eyes widen. “A gift tonight.”

The woman is a gift, common in this part of the world, as a gesture of hospitality and respect. To refuse is to be rude. I nod in quick acceptance.

Besides, my mind is not here to waste conversation on carnal desires; it is consumed by the matter that’s brought me here.

My eyes gleam with anticipation as I lean closer, my voice barely above a whisper. "Your presence here is... fortuitous. We find ourselves in need of allies.”

With a gasp, I snap back to the present, the rustling of newspaper pages in my calloused hands replacing the bustling marketplace from my vision. My eyes meet Laura's, a flicker of recognition passing between us.

"What was it?" Laura asks. “Your vision, what was it this time?”

My mind races, filled with images of ancient battles and long-forgotten alliances.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say, a newfound fire burning in my chest. "I know just what to do to get us out of this mess."

Chapter 3

Carlotta

Sofia's eyes light up when she sees me, her smile as radiant as the sun. "Carlotta, you're finally back!" she exclaims, rushing forward to envelop me in a warm hug. I breathe in the familiar scent of her perfume, feeling like I finally have a shoulder to lean on.

"It's so good to see you again," I reply, returning her embrace. After such a long time apart, being with Sofia feels like coming home. She often talked of visiting me in Paris, but then, as it often happens, life got in the way.

As expected, I’ve been assigned a bodyguard for my trip into town. Thankfully, he takes a seat at a window table while we settle into a cozy booth in the back of the coffee shop.

We order some coffee and two pastries to share. "So, tell me everything, Carlotta!" Sofia launches right into it with her usual hyperenergy. "I want to hear all about your time in Paris."

"Where do I even start?" I reply with a laugh, echoing her enthusiasm. "The art, the culture, the food... it was all so incredible, Sofia. You would have loved it."

"Ah, well, you'll just have to show me around one day." She playfully nudges my foot under the table. "But for now, I'm just thrilled to have you back home."

"I've missed you too, Sofia," I admit, my voice warm with affection. "It feels so good to spend time with you in person."

"Awww!” She leans over the table and pulls me in for a hug around the neck, then plops back onto her seat. “Now that you're back, we can finally do all those things we've talked about," she says, her eyes lighting up with anticipation. "You know, work our way through our bucket list: shopping for a new wardrobe, a lazy day at the beach, a weekend trip to Tuscany!"

"Sounds perfect," I agree, my heart swelling with love for my dear friend. For just a second, with her by my side, I feel a sense of normalcy.

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