Page 74 of The Don's Soulmate

I feel despair, knowing that this connection Ettore and I share may never be enough to heal the wounds between our families. But I can't bring myself to let go of him or the hope that one day, things might change. Perhaps our families might someday realize we were always meant to be together.

***

After breakfast, Ettore and I get dressed. There are errands to be run if we are to continue evading those who hunt us.

We put on nondescript clothing, allowing us to blend into the crowds. Baseball caps and sunglasses will further disguise our faces. Ettore tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans before pulling his shirt down over it. He hands me a small pistol as well.

"Just in case," he says gravely.

My stomach knots with anxiety, but I nod and conceal the weapon in my purse. I don’t tell him I’ve never held, let alone used a gun before. We have no choice but to be ready to defend ourselves.

Quietly, we slip from the inn and get into the car. We drive past sparsely populated streets, towards the shops. We need food, fuel, clothes and other provisions for the road ahead, wherever that might lead us.

After a few blocks, we spot a small mom-and-pop grocery store on the corner. Ettore parks right outside and we walk up. A faded Closed sign hangs in the window, but the lights inside are on. Ettore peers through the glass door and raps his knuckles against it. An elderly man ambles over and lets us in, locking the door again behind us.

"We won't be long," Ettore assures him, pressing a few bills into his palm.

I offer the man a faint smile before following Ettore down the aisles. "Stay close to me," Ettore murmurs as he leads me forward, his protective instinct never wavering even in the most mundane situations.

"Of course," I reply softly, taking comfort in his presence as we step inside. "Carlotta," Ettore calls out. He's found a small first-aid kit, and I can see the concern etched on his face as he examines its contents. "This could come in handy."

I join him, running my fingers over the neatly packed bandages and antiseptic wipes. "You're right," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. "We should take it."

The store is cramped but well-stocked, with goods crammed onto every shelf. We grab non-perishable food items, bottles of water, some clothes, fresh underwear, and other supplies.

As we browse, my nerves slowly begin to settle. Despite the circumstances, there is something comforting about these mundane tasks. For a few moments, we can pretend to be an ordinary couple on an ordinary errand run, and I imagine what life could be like if Ettore and I could be together without interruptions. How would our days play out? I’d make him breakfast; he’d head off to work. But as much as I wish to hold onto that fleeting sense of peace in an imaginative world, I know it's only a matter of time before reality comes crashing back down.

Ettore seems to read my thoughts. He squeezes my hand and plants a swift kiss on my forehead.

"Va tutto bene, amore," - It will be alright, love - he murmurs. "Siamo insieme in questo." -We're in this together.

I nod, leaning into Ettore for a brief moment before pulling away to grab a few more items. As I turn down the next aisle for shampoo and soap, the small television mounted in the corner catches my eye. I pause, blood turning to ice as I see our faces flash across the screen. The news anchor's voice filters through, announcing a manhunt underway for a "girl in distress with a dangerous kidnapper.”

My hands tremble, nearly dropping the supplies I'm holding. I whip my head around to find Ettore.

"Ettore," I hiss under my breath. He looks up sharply from examining a shelf of canned goods. I jerk my chin in the direction of the television. His jaw tightens as he takes in the broadcast, eyes narrowing to slits.

Without a word, he strides over and turns the television off, yanking the cord from the outlet. The store owner fortunately doesn’t notice.

Ettore grabs my elbow, propelling me towards the front. "We're leaving. Now. Let’s buy what we’ve got and get the hell out of here. We need to head to a different town, somewhere the news doesn’t have our flashing faces."

I don't argue, pulse racing as we rush to the counter with our intended purchases. We step up to the register, laying our itemson the counter. The owner, the elderly man with a friendly smile, begins lining them up.

"Quite a collection you have here," he comments, his eyes scanning over our eclectic assortment of supplies. "Are you two going on a trip?"

"Something like that," I answer vaguely, forcing a smile.

The owner, however, is having trouble with the cash register and scanning machine, unable to ring them up. He goes back to find the key to override the automatic system at a slow, leisurely pace, but I can see Ettore ramming his fingers on the counter, constantly looking at the clock, fighting against time.

Just then, the door bursts open. A tall, muscular man barrels through, gun already drawn and pointed at Ettore.

My breath catches in my throat as the assassin raises his gun, finger poised on the trigger. In that split second, everything seems to move in slow motion.

With reflexes uncanny in a human, Ettore whirls around, grabbing a knife from the last--minute purchase rack at the counter and hurling it at the man. The blade embeds itself in the assassin's shoulder, making him cry out in pain and stagger back a step. But his gun remains trained on Ettore.

Ettore doesn't hesitate, shoving me down on the floor and darting behind a shelf just as a shot rings out, splintering the wood behind where he stood mere moments before. My heartpounds wildly in my chest as Ettore grabs another knife, using the shelves as cover while circling the man.

The assassin sweeps his gun back and forth, trying to spot Ettore through the aisles. "Come out, you coward!" he snarls.

---