Chapter 9 #2
“Nope!” he announced, taking her hand and snatching a spoon from the counter as he tugged her off the stool.
“If Barbara ever discovered that someone messed with her dishes, her cleaning routine, she’d mess up my coffee every morning for a week.
” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “She’s done it before when I pissed her off. It wasn’t pretty.”
Catarina laughed, eyes sparkling as she tried to suppress the sound. “What did you do in response?”
He handed her a spoon and smirked. “I think some dire threats were issued, but no one lost their head.”
“That’s…comforting,” she teased.
He dug into the rocky road and handed her the spoon back. “What’s your favorite movie?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess Shawshank Redemption.” She slid the spoon between her lips and groaned softly. “Oh my gosh. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten anything this good.”
Sal nearly forgot what he was asking. His eyes darkened at the little sound she made. “Careful, cara. You make noises like that, and I’ll forget about the ice cream and find something sweeter to taste.”
Her cheeks flamed as she tried to focus on the spoon instead of his gaze. “What about you? Favorite movie?”
“The Godfather, of course.” He grinned at her scandalized look. “What? It’s practically required.”
“That’s…predictable,” she teased, nudging his arm.
“I’ll forgive your lack of discernment,” he said, leaning closer, “if you agree to watch it with me.”
“Maybe,” she said, pretending to think about it. “If you behave.”
He chuckled low in his chest. “Oh, cara, I never behave.” Then, more suddenly, he said, “Let’s go watch Shawshank. And afterward…” His tone shifted, steel threading into it. “…you can tell me the name of the person who’s going to betray me.”
The warmth in her face drained as she froze. He’d already walked three steps before he noticed she wasn’t following.
When he turned back, her brown eyes were wide, terrified.
“There isn’t someone who is going to betray me, is there?” His jaw clenched as he studied her.
“No, that part is true,” she rushed out, hiding the spoon behind her back as if it mattered. “The problem is…I don’t know the person’s name. But I’d recognize her. Definitely her voice.”
His eyes sharpened. “It’s a female, then?”
“Yes. A female with a rough voice.”
He processed that, sifting through faces in his organization. There weren’t many women in his employ. Not many strong enough to meet his standards.
She stepped forward, wringing her hands. “I can draw her! I’m good with charcoal pencils, but even just a regular pencil will work. I promise, I wasn’t lying.”
“Fine,” he snapped. He left the room and returned moments later with printer paper and a pen. When he stepped back in, she was still standing where he’d left her, trembling slightly.
Something in his chest tightened. Possessiveness, sharp and sudden.
“Come with me. You can draw her while I pull up the movie.” He pressed the pen and paper into her hands, then deliberately took her hand again, relishing the softness despite the tremor.
In the movie room, he sat beside her and scooped another spoonful of ice cream, holding it out to her lips. “How long will it take you to draw her?”
“I…need something solid to draw on,” she murmured, voice catching, but she ate the offered scoop of deliciousness.
He disappeared into his library and came back with a massive leather-bound book.
Her eyes widened. “The Iliad? You want me to use this beautiful book as a drawing board?”
He sat next to her, leaning back with a smirk. “I’ve read it already. Besides, I’d rather see your hands on it than gathering dust on a shelf.”
Catarina’s breath caught as his gaze lingered on her hands, then lifted to her mouth, then her eyes. The air between them thickened, equal parts danger and desire.
She laughed, taking the next spoonful of ice cream and eating it—this time slowly, dragging the cream off the spoon with a little swipe of her tongue before handing it back to him.
He could tell she wanted to say something else, something sharp or maybe teasing, but instead she pressed her lips together and bent over the paper.
It was his Mont Blanc pen she held—a ridiculous little stick of gold and resin that cost as much as a used car. Sal still didn’t remember who had given it to him. A senator, maybe? Didn’t matter. He would’ve preferred a pack of cheap blue Bics from the corner store. Those never jammed.
“Can you draw?” he asked, smirking as he dug out another spoonful of rocky road and held it near her lips.
As she took the offered bite, Catarina shot him a glare, the kind meant to shut a man up. He only chuckled, and she exhaled impatiently before scrawling a large circle on the page. Slowly, lines took shape. Cheekbones. Thin lips. Sharp eyes that seemed to glare up at him from the paper itself.
Sal paused mid-bite, watching as the face morphed into someone he half-recognized. His chest tightened. He’d seen that scowl before, years back, in a smoky room or maybe across a crowded street. Not recent. Not close. But the memory tugged at him, elusive and sharp as a razor’s edge.
The woman in the sketch looked furious, as if Catarina had caught her mid-snarl. Was that deliberate? Or was that Catarina’s way of sketching someone’s soul, not just their face?
“This is good,” he said finally, his voice lower than he meant it to be. He nudged the spoon back to her lips, and she accepted it with a tiny triumphant lift of her chin.
“You know who she is?” Catarina asked, licking the spoon again.
Sal gritted his teeth. She had no idea what that did to him. His mind leapt, unbidden, to other things she could lick, other ways that mouth might drive him insane. Heat crawled down his spine, but he forced himself back into focus.
Groaning inwardly, he shook his head. “No. Not personally. But I’ve seen her. Somewhere.” His instincts, the ones that had kept him alive on the street, gnawed at him now. He had always been good at faces—too good to let this one slip past.
“I’m sorry I lied to you,” she whispered, folding her hands primly in her lap like a schoolgirl caught out of line.
“You didn’t lie. Not exactly,” he said, eyes still on the sketch.
“You told me that you knew someone was going to betray me. You didn’t promise a name.
” His tone was sharper now, edged with steel as his eyes took in the details of the woman’s face, trying to remember where he’d seen this person. “This…this could change things.”
He pushed to his feet, the chair scraping back. “Stay here. I’m giving this to Tony. He’ll run it through our facial recognition systems.” He glanced back once more, the image of that woman’s furious face burning in his mind. “We’ll get a name.”