Page 6 of The Don's Soulmate

A sigh escapes my lips, a nostalgic breath of longing for a man I have never truly met. Yet I feel like I know him better than anyone else in my life. We have shared a rare intimacy in my dreams and forged a bone-deep connection that transcends the physical. He is a part of my soul, as essential as the air I breathe.

I know with certainty that it defies logic that he is out there. Someone like him, at least. A mate, waiting, as I am, for fate to bring us together at last.

I cannot marry a man of my family’s choosing, for what I want out of life is to find my one true love.

Chapter 2

Ettore

The breakfast hall is soaked with signs of life. The blue skies reflect off the polished Carrara marble floors, and the flowers are in full bloom as a courtesy of our housekeepers insisting on keeping planters indoors. I take my first sip of dark, rich espresso when Laura bursts in like a hurricane, her tennis skirt skipping up behind her, racket in hand. Wild chestnut curls frame her flushed face.

“You need to buy longer skirts,” I growl at my younger sister, observing how most of her bare thighs are on display.

"Never mind that. I was leaving for Tennis when I…Read this, Ettore!" she demands, slamming the newspaper down on the dining table with a force that makes my cup rattle.

I look down at the headlines. “Royally Screwed: CEO Mark Anders Ousted.”

My fingers underline the ink letters. My brain is working in overdrive, the words merging into chaos as I try to control the rage seeping through me. I had told the father that we shouldn’t involve ourselves with the bank folks.

"It looks like Anders is out," I command in a terse, clipped tone, raising my gaze to meet hers.

"Of course he’s out, Ettore. He’s the damn CEO of the Royal Bank, and he’s been caught taking bribes in exchange for lower interest rates and beyond-friendly repayment terms. Some idiot he lent out cash to went bankrupt, and now the bank has to write off three hundred million in bad debt for a loan that they never should have extended.

“If we don't do something, it could have serious consequences for our businesses." She crosses her arms, probably from stress, her athletic build tensing as she stands her ground.

"In which way?" I ask, taking another sip of my espresso. While I am the frontman of the family business, handling public relations and customer interactions, Laura manages the financial aspects behind the scenes. None of us would know the banking world better than her.

“Because once this reaches the feds, they’ll most likely start looking into every person Mark Anders signed off loans to or has some connection with. They’d rush in to stop the bank from giving out more loans to credit risks. Considering we gave him equity in our shipping business for an overdraft we needed leeway in, our name is bound to come up.”

Our Vitalin shipments, our arms exchanges, the casinos and hotels and under-the-table loans. The mafia can’t afford to be under the scrutiny of government agents.

“We have to make sure our name doesn’t come up in the investigation,” I say. “If the Feds manage to get their hooks into even a single business, it could unravel our entire network.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Laura continues, her cheeks reddening with frustration. “But, with Father and Davide out of town, I don’t know what we can do. This needs to be dealt with fast, Ettore, otherwise we’re screwed.”

Her concern is palpable, but I struggle to focus on her words as I’m transported to a very different place, in a very different world. I blink, and in an instant, the bright breakfast hall fades away, replaced by the dull, dusty, muted colors of a bustling marketplace.

Around me, I notice men in long robes with head coverings. The sun feels so hot that my tongue rests heavy in my mouth. Women roam in veils and long dresses, their long hair swept under the covers of pearl nets and silk caps.

Laura’s voice tries to pull me back, but I can no longer hear her. She becomes the fragment of my imagination, while the scent of exotic spices and the cacophony of merchants haggling over their wares become my reality.

My heart races as I navigate the narrow streets of Samarkand, an ancient Persian city. My past self blends into the crowd, bothobserver and participant. I’m captivated by these memories that straddle the line between dream and reality.

"Etto--" Laura begins again.

"Wait," I interrupt, holding up a hand to silence her. "I need a moment." I close my eyes, willing the vision to recede, but it clings stubbornly to my awareness, refusing to relinquish its hold.

"Is it happening again?" Laura asks softly, her voice laced with concern. "Another memory?"

"Give me a moment, Laura." My voice is strained, and the effort to remain present at this time and place is proving too much.

I’m thrown back over a thousand years. Sunlight filters through the woven canopies overhead, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The clamor of merchants hawking their wares and the chatter of people bargaining for the best prices fill my ears.

"Welcome!" A merchant greets me warmly, bowing low before presenting his array of ornate carpets. "Please, consider these fine pieces for your fort."

"Perhaps another time," I reply, my tone polite but firm. My purpose here is not to buy trinkets or luxuries. Instead, I am on a diplomatic mission – one that could shape the future of this region and protect our empire's interests.

"Very well," he says, disappointment flashing across his face before he moves on to his next potential customer.

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