Chapter 12 #2
Catarina’s stomach clenched. The woman who was trying to infiltrate Sal’s operation worked in a strip club!
No wonder she’d only remembered the woman’s face at first. That day had been chaos from the start.
Her father had punched her in the stomach before breakfast, fury flaring over some meaningless slight—she couldn’t even recall what excuse he’d given.
The reason didn’t matter. Her father didn’t need reasons; cruelty was as natural to him as breathing.
So when he’d dragged her along on his “business errands” later that morning, she’d still been doubled over inside, every step a reminder of his violence.
She’d been too focused on keeping her breathing steady, too determined not to show weakness in front of his men, to pay attention to much else.
The club, the noise, the smell of grease and alcohol—all of it had blurred together under the weight of her pain.
But the woman’s face had seared itself into Catarina’s mind, carved in too deep to fade.
The woman’s face and her words were in Catarina’s mind.
But not the where! She knew that Sal’s team was searching everywhere for the woman Catarina had drawn.
Now she could narrow down the search parameters!
Sal needed to know.
She dressed in a rush, tugging the cotton shirt, then a soft cashmere sweater over her damp skin.
The leggings were a bit harder to manage, but she yanked and wiggled, then finally triumphed.
Her hair dripped down her back, her cheeks still pink from the steam.
She didn’t bother with makeup—there was no time for vanity.
Her pulse hammered as she darted for the stairs.
Moments later, she burst into the kitchen. “I remember something more!”
Four pairs of male eyes turned to her. Tony she recognized. The other two were strangers, their broad shoulders and flat expressions making her falter. Heat flooded her face and she froze in the doorway, pressing her lips together.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, retreating quickly, backing away from their heavy stares. She turned, heart pounding, intent on disappearing in another room.
“Cata.”
Sal’s voice cracked through the room, low and commanding. It froze her mid-step. Slowly, she turned, caught in the tether of his gaze.
“What did you remember, cara mia?”
Her throat went dry. She glanced at the men—strangers, soldiers, all watching her too closely—and lifted her hand in a small, nervous wave. “It can wait. You’re busy.”
She turned to escape, desperate to put distance between herself and those unblinking stares. But she didn’t make it three steps before she was lifted clean off the ground.
She stiffened, panic spiking—until his scent hit her, clean and sharp, and she sagged against him with a shaky exhale. Instinct took over. Her arms looped around his neck, clutching him closer than she should have dared.
Maybe he’d think she was just startled. Maybe he wouldn’t realize how badly she wanted this.
His hold was steady, unyielding, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. Catarina’s fingers, betraying her, slipped into his dark hair. It was softer than she’d expected, silky against her fingertips. Her breath caught. She shouldn’t have touched him like that, but she couldn’t stop.
And the scruff along his jaw—rough and shadowed—made her wonder, wildly, what it would feel like dragging across her skin.
Hair was as far as she had the courage to go, she thought, her fingertips still tingling from the softness. A wistful sigh slipped out before she could stop it.
“What?” he demanded, striding into his office and kicking the door closed with a hard foot.
She startled, blinking, then quickly pulled her fingers from his hair as if caught stealing something forbidden.
But instead of stammering like she once would have, she straightened her spine.
“I apologize for interrupting your meeting,” she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.
It wasn’t perfectly strong yet, but it wasn’t the shaky whisper of the woman she had been a month ago either.
That woman—the one who flinched at shadows, who bowed her head under her father’s fury—was fading.
Living in Sal’s house, she was learning how to defend herself, how to hold a phone in her own name, how to type questions into a search engine and find answers that were hers alone.
Every day she opened a book from his massive library, her mind stretched wider, her world grew bigger.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t caged. She was free. She was stronger.
Not strong enough to seduce her husband—yet.
“You can interrupt me any time, Cata,” he rasped, setting her down carefully on his desk. His closeness was overwhelming, his scent wrapping around her. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping with purpose, holding her still. “What was that sigh a moment ago about?”
Catarina’s breath caught. His dark eyes pinned her, demanding honesty. Her body trembled—but not from fear. Not anymore. From wanting. From hope.
“I just…” She almost dismissed it, the old instinct to retreat rising like a ghost. But then she pushed it back. She wasn’t her father’s pawn anymore. “It was nothing,” she said, but her chin lifted in defiance, her gaze holding his.
“It was something,” he grumbled, leaning closer, his voice a low growl. “I’m starting to figure you out, Cata. When you sigh like that, your mind is going a mile a minute. Tell me what you were thinking. And tell me why you pulled your hand away from my hair.”
Her lips parted. “You…uh…felt that?”
“Hell yes,” he groaned, moving in so close his breath warmed her skin. “I liked it.”
“You did?” The question was small, but this time her voice didn’t break.
“Yeah.” His eyes burned into hers. He caught her hand, guiding it back up, pressing her fingers against the strong column of his neck. “I liked it. Do it again.”