Page 77 of The Don's Soulmate

"Is there any way to contact Sofia?" I ask, biting my lip nervously. "She must be terrified."

Ettore remains silent for a moment before responding. "Not now," he says, his voice calm but firm. "It's too risky. But when the time is right and I figure out how to, I'll make sure she knows you're safe. Right now, my father is probably as furious with me as yours is with you. I can’t tell which men I can trust to put us in touch with Sofia."

"Promise me," I say, gripping his arm tightly. "Promise me that we'll get a message to her, let her know that we're okay when the time is right. That this will be on your list of priorities."

He looks over at me briefly, before turning back to the road ahead. "I promise, Carlotta," he says softly, squeezing his hand over mine. "When it's safe, we'll find a way to reach out to her."

His reassurance does little to quell the gnawing worry in my chest, but I nod, grateful for his promise. I know he’ll figuresomething out soon enough, for he’s never broken one to me before.

Soon, we turn into a small dirt road lined by larches. In the background, mountains rise against the sky. I can only see the top of the hills, given how the thick foliage around us blocks out all view of the bases.

The road is dangerous and steep, heading down. A sane man would be worried about making it in a 4X4, but Ettore continues leading us downhill through the rocky road with his foot on the break without breaking into a sweat. I, on the other hand, clutch at my seatbelt.

Ten minutes later, we arrive at a clearing, at the center of which sits the quaintest cottage I’ve ever seen. In the middle of nowhere, I suddenly feel like we’re the only two people here.

The car stops, and Ettore helps me out. Stepping out into the damp air, I take in the wooden structure that will serve as our sanctuary for the time being.

The grass around it is full of daisies, and the one-story structure has six of those old-fashioned wooden windows you push out to get sunlight. A pathway of grass lined by flowerpots bearing all kinds of colors leads up to the porch.

“Welcome home,” Ettore smiles, unlocking the rustic door. I step inside, and he switches on a light, and the whole place dazzles under the fairy lights sprinkled over the shelves.

I suddenly feel like if I ever built a home; it would be just like this—all warm and cozy with a small kitchen, rugs, two couches, a beanbag, a bed and a dining table, offering a sense of security for two that I desperately need.

It’s cold outside, but I don’t feel it. The embers in the fireplace glow like molten lava, casting flickering shadows on the walls of the small cottage. Ettore tends to the fire, adding logs that crackle and snap as they burn. The warmth in the room builds, wrapping itself around me like a comforting embrace.

"Here," Ettore says, drawing my attention away from the hypnotic dance of the flames. He's standing by a small table, holding a glass of wine. I hadn't even noticed him retrieving a bottle and a plate of cheese. His movements are so fluid, so natural, almost as if he's done this countless times before. Perhaps, in some other life, he has.

"Thank you," I murmur, accepting the wine. Our fingers brush against each other as I take the glass, sending a shiver down my spine. I try to focus on the deep red liquid swirling in the glass, but my gaze is drawn to Ettore's piercing blue eyes. They're locked on mine, filled with an intensity that leaves me feeling exposed, vulnerable, yet strangely safe.

This is the first time the two of us have the night to ourselves, without any danger lurking nearby, and this feels new. It’s aheady rush, my toes curling at the thought of the two of us alone in here to do whatever we might want.

"Are you warm enough?" he asks, his voice low and rough, sending flutters in my chest.

"Y-yes," I stammer, trying to maintain my composure. It's not just the fire that has me feeling heated; it's Ettore's presence, the desire to run my hands up his neck, to clench my fingers through his hair. He feelsmine.

"Good," he replies, cocking his head at me. "We have a long night ahead of us."

I know what he means - the nights here can get cold. And maybe I’m imagining it as a result of wishful thinking, but there's also a different kind of heat in his words, a promise ofkeeping me up all nightthat leaves me breathless. It's raw, visceral, and undeniably real.

Taking a sip of wine, I let the rich flavor linger on my tongue, drawing courage from it. I want to rip off my dress and let it fall to the ground. I want him to ravish my body.

I’ve never done this before. Liquid courage is what I need.

"Cheers," I whisper, raising my glass to him.

"Cheers," he echoes, his eyes never leaving mine as we drink to an uncertain future.

The warmth of the fire embraces us as we sit closer to each other on the plush rug near the fireplace, soon digging into the platter.

"Try this one," Ettore suggests, offering me a piece of cheese from the plate he's holding. He brings it to my mouth, and I part my lips, our eyes interlocked as I bite into it. My teeth graze his fingers just a little, and I notice his mouth on my lips. The brief contact sends a shiver down my spine, electrifying my senses, and the moment changes.

"Thank you," I respond in a whisper, feeling the heat rise between my legs. We're sitting so close now, our legs touching at the thigh, our bodies leaning towards each other as if drawn by some unseen force. It's more than just physical attraction - it's an undeniable hunger for more that I need to fulfill.

Our eyes lock, exchanging heated glances that speak volumes without words. I can feel my breath growing heavier, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum.

"Carlotta," Ettore murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he leans forward, his lips inches away from mine. "I can't pretend any longer. It’s killing me here to see you so close and…” his voice trails off.

“And clothed?” I suggest.

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