7. Sal
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Sal
Routine security review. Every Monday morning, same time, same process.
Most men in my position delegated this task. Hired specialists, security consultants, people who charged five hundred dollars an hour to stare at screens and tell you everything was fine.
I preferred to do it myself.
Pedro stood to my left, tablet in hand, scrolling through the camera logs from the past week.
Julian was on my right, pulling up feeds on the main monitor, cycling through each one systematically.
Hendry leaned against the wall behind us, arms crossed, watching with the casual alertness that made him so good at his job.
“East wing, clear,” Julian announced, clicking to the next feed. “West wing, clear. Kitchen, clear. Garage, clear.”
“Perimeter cameras?” I asked.
“All functional. Motion sensors triggered twice last night, both times deer.” Pedro swiped through his tablet. “I told you we should install that wildlife deterrent system.”
“And I told you I’m not spending fifty thousand dollars because you don’t like deer.”
“They’re creepy, boss. The way they stare at the cameras. Like they know something.”
“They’re deer, Pedro. They don’t know anything.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
Julian snorted. “Can we focus? I have a meeting in an hour.”
“A meeting.” Pedro raised an eyebrow. “With who?”
“None of your business.”
“It’s a woman, isn’t it? You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The look that says you’re about to do something stupid and pretend it’s business.”
“Both of you, shut up.” I nodded toward the monitor. “Next feed.”
Julian clicked. The library appeared on screen, empty and quiet, morning light streaming through the tall windows. Then the east hallway. Then the second floor landing.
“All clear,” Julian said. “No anomalies. No breaches. Everything’s functioning exactly as it should.”
“Run it again.”
“Boss, we’ve already run it twice.”
“Run it again.”
He sighed but complied. The feeds cycled through once more, each room appearing on screen for a few seconds before moving to the next. Kitchen. Dining room. Study. Garden. Pool area.
Everything was fine. Everything was exactly as it should be.
So why couldn’t I shake the feeling that something was wrong?
“Hold on.” Pedro leaned forward, squinting at his tablet. “Camera twelve just flagged movement in the east hallway.”
“Pull it up.”
Julian switched feeds. The east hallway appeared on the main monitor, the one that led to the library. My library. The one I’d told Camellia she could use whenever she wanted.
She was there.
Standing against the wall, her back pressed to the wallpaper, her body language screaming discomfort. She was wearing the clothes I’d had delivered that morning, simple jeans and a soft gray sweater that made her eyes look darker than usual.
And Dominic was standing in front of her.
The same Dominic who’d run his mouth at the warehouse the night she arrived. The one Pedro had flagged for me afterward, the one I’d told to keep his distance. He hadn’t kept it.
Too close. Way too fucking close. His hand was braced on the wall beside her head, his body angled toward hers, caging her in. His mouth was moving but there was no audio on the feed, just the silent image of one of my men backing a woman into a corner.
My blood went cold.
Then hot.
Then something beyond temperature entirely.
“What the fuck.” The words came out low. Dangerous. A tone my men knew well enough to take a step back from.
“Boss...” Pedro started.
I was already moving.
The door slammed open and I was in the hallway, my feet carrying me faster than my brain could process. The east wing. Three turns. Forty seconds if I ran.
I ran.
Camellia’s voice reached me before I saw her. Sharp. Angry. Not scared, which was something, but angry in a way that made my chest tight with something I refused to name.
“...don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I suggest you back up before I make you regret it.”
“Or what?” Dominic’s voice. Mocking. Cruel. “You’ll run to the boss? Tell him one of his men was mean to you? He doesn’t care about you, sweetheart. You’re just another slut he brought home to warm his bed. And when he’s done with you, when he’s bored and ready for something new...”
I rounded the corner.
Camellia’s hand connected with Dominic’s face. The slap echoed off the walls, loud and sharp and deeply satisfying.
Dominic’s head cracked sideways. When he turned back, his eyes were blazing. His hand rose, palm open, ready to strike.
“I’ll enjoy tasting the goods the second the boss is done with you.”
I grabbed his wrist.
The momentum of my arrival carried us both forward. I twisted, using his own weight against him, and sent him flying into the opposite wall. He hit hard, the impact shuddering through the hallway, his body crumpling to the floor in a heap of limbs and shocked gasps.
“Camellia.” My voice came out rough. Wrecked. I turned to face her, my eyes scanning every inch of her body. “Are you all right?”
She stared at me. Her face was pale, her breathing rapid, but there were no tears. No trembling. Just those dark eyes fixed on mine with an expression I couldn’t read.
“I’m fine.”
“Did he touch you?”
“No. I’m fine. Really.”
I didn’t believe her. The way she was holding herself, arms wrapped around her midsection, shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller. The way her eyes kept darting to Dominic’s groaning form on the floor.
She wasn’t fine. And I hated it.
I hated that she’d been alone in my hallway, in my house, under my protection, and one of my own men had made her feel unsafe. I hated that I hadn’t been there. I hated that she’d had to slap him herself instead of never having to deal with his shit in the first place.
I hated everything about this.
Footsteps behind me. Julian and Hendry, arriving at full speed, their faces tight with concern.
“Boss.” Julian took in the scene with quick, assessing eyes. “What do you need?”
“Take him to the basement.” I didn’t look at Dominic. Couldn’t look at him without wanting to finish what I’d started right here in the hallway. “I’ll deal with him later.”
“Copy that.” Hendry moved forward, grabbing Dominic by the collar and hauling him to his feet. “Come on, asshole. Let’s go.”
“Boss, I didn’t... she was...” Dominic’s protests faded as Julian and Hendry dragged him down the hallway, his feet scrambling uselessly against the marble floor.
Then it was just me and Camellia.
She was still standing against the wall, her arms still wrapped around herself, her eyes fixed on the spot where Dominic had fallen.
“Come with me.” I kept my voice gentle. Softer than I usually allowed it to be. “Please.”
She didn’t argue. Just nodded and fell into step beside me as I led her away from the east hallway, away from the library, away from the place where one of my men had cornered her and called her a slut.
The kitchen was empty at this hour. The chef didn’t start lunch prep until eleven, and the staff knew better than to linger in spaces I might want to use.
Camellia stopped just inside the doorway, her brow furrowing. “What are we doing here?”
“Sit.” I gestured toward the island, the stools lined up along its edge. “I’m making you tea.”
“You’re... what?”
“Tea.” I was already moving toward the kettle, filling it from the tap, setting it on the stove. “You drink tea, don’t you?”
“I... yes. But you don’t have to...”
“I know I don’t have to.” The kettle clanked against the burner. I turned the heat on, adjusted it, then turned to face her. “I want to.”
She held my stare a beat longer. Then, slowly, she moved to one of the stools and sat.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft hiss of the heating water. I found mugs in the cabinet, tea bags in the drawer where the chef kept them organized by type. Chamomile. Something calming. Something gentle. It suited her.
“He was wrong.” The words came out before I’d fully decided to say them. “Dominic. Everything he said. It was wrong.”
“I know.”
“You’re not here to warm my bed. You’re not... I don’t think of you that way.”
That was a lie. I absolutely thought of her that way, had been thinking of her that way since she’d snarled at me in the warehouse with dirt on her face and fire in her eyes. But that wasn’t what this was about. That wasn’t why she was here.
“I know,” she said again. Her voice was softer now. Some of the tension draining out of her shoulders.
“He will be dealt with. Severely.”
“You don’t have to...”
“I do.” The kettle started to whistle. I pulled it off the heat, poured water into both mugs, watched the steam rise between us. “He’s one of my men. He was in my house. He spoke to you like that under my roof. That’s unacceptable.”
“Sal...”
“It’s unacceptable,” I repeated. The word came out harder than I intended. “You’re under my protection. That means something. It means no one touches you. No one threatens you. No one makes you feel unsafe in your own home.”
The words hung in the air between us. Your own home. Like she belonged here. Like this was where she was supposed to be.
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly I almost missed it: “Thank you.”
I slid her mug across the counter. Our fingers brushed. Just for a second. Just the barest whisper of contact.
It shouldn’t have meant anything.
It meant everything.
“Drink your tea.” My voice came out rougher than I wanted. “Then I’ll take you to the library. You wanted to see it, didn’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
Because I watched you on the security feed.
Because I noticed you looking at the door every time you walked past. Because I’ve been paying attention to everything you do since the moment you arrived, cataloging your habits and preferences and the way you move through spaces like you’re trying not to take up too much room.
“Lucky guess,” I said instead.
The library was everything I’d hoped it would be when I had it built. Floor-to-ceiling shelves. Rolling ladders. Armchairs by the windows. A room that made you want to curl up and disappear into a book for hours.
Camellia’s eyes went wide when she walked in. “Oh.”
“You can use it whenever you want. Any book in here is yours to read.”
“There must be thousands.”
“Three thousand four hundred and twelve.” I didn’t mention that I’d counted them myself, one sleepless night when I was younger and angrier and desperately in need of something to occupy my mind. “Take your time. Explore. I’ll have Pedro stationed outside if you need anything.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” The words echoed what I’d said in the kitchen, and I saw her notice, saw the slight widening of her eyes. “You’re safe here, Camellia. I promise.”
She held my gaze, studying my face, hunting for the lie in it. I didn’t know if she found one.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Thank you.”
I left her there, surrounded by books and morning light, Pedro taking up position outside the door with a nod.
***
Then I walked down to the basement.
The room was soundproofed. I’d had it built that way specifically, for moments exactly like this one. The walls were thick, the door was heavy, and whatever happened inside stayed inside.
Dominic was waiting for me.
Julian and Hendry had done their job well. He was tied to a chair in the center of the room, his wrists bound behind him, his face already swelling from where Camellia had slapped him and where his impact with the wall had left bruises.
Good.
“Boss.” His voice was different now. Smaller. The mocking cruelty from the hallway replaced by something that looked a lot like fear. “Boss, I didn’t mean... I was just...”
“Repeat it.”
He blinked. “What?”
“What you said to her.” I moved closer, slowly, letting each footstep echo in the silence. “Repeat it.”
“I don’t... I don’t remember exactly what I...”
“You called her a slut.” My voice was calm. Conversational. The same tone I used when discussing weather or business or anything that didn’t matter. “You told her she was just something I brought home to warm my bed. You said you’d enjoy tasting the goods when I was done with her.”
Dominic’s face went white.
“Repeat it.”
“Boss, please. I was out of line. I know I was out of line. It won’t happen again, I swear.”
“Repeat. It.”
The silence stretched. Dominic’s breath came faster, his chest heaving, sweat beading on his forehead.
“I... I said she was...” He swallowed hard. “A slut. That you brought home. And that I’d... I’d enjoy...”
He couldn’t finish. The words died in his throat, choked off by fear or shame or the sudden realization of exactly how badly he’d fucked up.
I stepped closer. Close enough to see the pulse hammering in his neck. Close enough to smell his fear.
“She is under my protection.”
My hand shot out. Grabbed his arm. Twisted.
The crack of bone was loud in the soundproofed room. Dominic screamed, the sound raw and animal, his body convulsing against the restraints.
I didn’t let go.
Another twist. Another crack. A second break, clean and precise, exactly where I wanted it.
“Mine.”
The word came out low. Possessive. More honest than I’d intended.
Dominic was sobbing now, tears streaming down his face, his broken arm hanging at a grotesque angle. I released him and stepped back, straightening my cuffs, adjusting my sleeves.
“If you look at her again, you lose the eyes.” My voice was still calm. Still conversational. Like I was reading a grocery list instead of listing the ways I would destroy him. “If you speak to her again, you lose the tongue. Clear?”
He nodded frantically, his whole body shaking, snot and tears mixing on his chin.
“I asked if it was clear.”
“Yes. Yes, boss. Clear. Crystal clear. I’ll never... I won’t... I swear.”
“Good.” I turned toward the door. “Julian will drive you to a doctor who knows not to ask questions. You’ll tell anyone who asks that you fell down the stairs. And then you’ll stay out of my sight until I decide what to do with you.”
I left him there, sobbing in the soundproofed basement, his arm shattered in two places.
It wasn’t enough.
Nothing would be enough.
But it was a start.