Page 73 of The Don's Soulmate

Carlotta

I reach for the kettle of steaming coffee. Ettore leans forward, taking the kettle from me. Our hands touch briefly, and the same electric yearning encompasses me. I watch, tracing the outline of his jaw, as he pours me my coffee.

I don’t know why, but with Ettore, it feels like I’ve known him a lifetime, and yet, a lifetime seems too little. In the strangest way, even when I’m by his side, Imisshim.

It’s like I need to be connected to him, in mind, body, and soul.

“Thank you,” I whisper, when he passes me my cup.

“Whatever for?” he asks, curiously.

“For getting us breakfast.”

He shrugs, like that’s nothing to show gratitude for. I was still sleeping when he ran out and organized everything.

“Later,” he says, as he puts together a plate of eggs, toast and some fruit for me. “We ought to run into a store. You’ll need clothes… and other things.”

I nod, realizing he’s right. We have nothing to survive on right now. It never crossed my mind, but it doesn’t have to, because Ettore is always one step ahead when it comes to my comfort. If only the world could see it that way.

The weight of our circumstances, our families' bitter feud, presses down on me like a heavy burden. It feels unjust for this man to be viewed as my enemy, when it’s anything but that.

"Sometimes, I wish things could be different," I say softly, meeting his gaze. "I wish my father could see the good in you, Ettore."

He grunts, taking a bite of toast before responding. "Your father will never change, Carlotta. Neither will mine. That's just the way it is."

I let out a deep sigh, feeling a pang of sadness. "But why must we suffer for the bridges they burnt? We're not responsible for what happened in the past."

Ettore sets his fork down and leans back in his chair. "Carlotta, do you know how this whole mess started?"

I shake my head, realizing I've never heard the story. He takes a sip of his coffee before beginning.

"Centuries ago, our ancestors, Alessandro Mancini and Isabella D'Amici, fell deeply in love. They were soulmates, destined to be together. But, Isabella’s family - your family - had arranged her union to a duke in Britain. Aware of the power a duchess in the family would bring, they forbade them from meeting.”

I clutch my heart, unable to imagine the pain she must have felt. Ettore continues. “She was just sixteen when the marriage was arranged. She’d never even met her husband, and yearned for a life of her own. My ancestor, Alessandro, saw her in the farmer’s market once, with all her maids. He was enamored by her beauty, her grace, her generosity. In his diaries, he says the moment he knew he loved her was when he saw her bend down and hand some silver to a young girl with leprosy, gently touching her hand when others treated her worse than a dog in the market. A young, rich man himself, he paid off the guards to meet her. He had decided he wanted her. Night after night, they met, immediately falling in love. But soon, she discovered she was pregnant.”

I gasp, leaning forward. “Pregnant?”

“You can only imagine the scandal that would have caused in those days. They decided to run away together. Your family hunted her down for weeks, eventually finding her on the outskirts of Italy, just as the young lovers were about to embark to Paris via a bought off carriage. Seeing her belly, her brother, furious, insisted they get rid of the baby.”

“And then?” I ask, horrified.

“They held back Alessandro and kidnapped her, taking her to a local witch. They forced the child out of her, and had her held captive and forbade her from ever speaking of her lover, or dead child. She was, once again, set to marry the duke.”

Ettore's words hang heavy in the air, the weight of centuries-old tragedy settling on my shoulders like a shroud. I feel a surge of sorrow for the star-crossed lovers. “Tell me they wound up together,” I beg.

Ettore averts his gaze from me, and looks away, releasing a slow sigh. “Alessandro hunted Isabella down, discovering she’s at her family estate. He had spies planted within the servants, who told her which room she was bound to. One night, he scaled the walls, and helped her down. They were prepared to escape. But just that morning, her father had hired 3 brothers, the triad, to act as her protectors. Unfortunately, they hadn’t met the young woman, and did not know what she looked like. They saw the couple scaling down the walls and believed them to be thieves, shooting arrows straight into their backs.”

I gasp, leaning forward, clutching the table. “And then?” I ask, tears pooling in my eyes.

“They fell to their deaths. Some say that when their bodies were discovered, they were both clutching each other’s hand, facing one another. They died with smiles on their faces.”

"Ettore," I whisper hoarsely, reaching out to touch his hand. "They deserved better. Their love was true, pure... they deserved a chance at happiness."

He turns his gaze back to me, his eyes full of raw emotion. "And so do we, Carlotta. But from that moment on, the families blamed one another for the deaths of their descendants. Mine despises yours for they believe Isabella seduced him and blame her guards for his death. And yours? They detest mine for Alessandro tainted and tarnished her reputation, before leading her to her death. Since then, they forbade any of us to have bonds with one another. We were enemies set in blood.”

"Is there no way to end this cycle of hatred?" I ask, desperate for any glimmer of hope.

"Unfortunately, I don't think so, but I hope," Ettore replies, his voice tinged with resignation. "Their souls may have found one another and they might have died at peace, but the damage done to our families runs too deep. Trust has been shattered, and blood has been spilled. There's no going back."

---