Chapter 14
Catarina watched Sal walk away, her gaze trailing over the broad line of his back before drifting lower. His butt really was… impressive. Heat rushed to her cheeks the moment she realized she was staring—and worse, that Tony had caught her in the act.
Quickly, she snapped her eyes away, mortified, but not before she heard the man’s low chuckle.
The sound made her bristle. However, a month ago, she would have dropped her gaze and pretended she hadn’t heard.
But now, something inside her straightened.
She lifted her chin, leveled Tony with a glare, and swept past him with a little huff. If he wanted to laugh at her, let him.
Her steps carried her out of Sal’s office and she came to an abrupt halt. Across the hall, Sal was deep in conversation with a familiar, dark-haired man. Sal’s eyes flicked toward her, a sharp warning in them.
“Cata,” he growled, “if you’re planning to go anywhere other than the kitchen to drink the protein shake waiting for you, think again.”
Instead of shrinking under his tone, Catarina felt an odd glow of pleasure. He hadn’t dismissed her, hadn’t forgotten her. He was watching her, thinking about her, even while handling business.
She gave him a mock salute, deliberately cheeky, and pivoted toward the kitchen. Sure enough, a tall glass of creamy purple liquid was waiting on the counter.
Barbara, the housekeeper, was wiping down the spotless marble. “Good morning, ma’am.”
Catarina sighed, lifting the glass and taking a long sip. The tart sweetness of blackberry made her hum in delight. “Barbara, I thought you were going to call me Catarina.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Barbara replied with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m going to do that.” She hesitated, then asked, “Would you like something more than that protein shake? Eggs? Toast?”
Catarina shook her head, smiling. “No, this will be enough.” She took another sip, then paused, surprising even herself with what came out next. “But… if you have time, would you teach me how to cook?”
The woman froze, her cloth stilling mid-swipe. Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, as though checking whether Sal had heard.
“You want something to eat,” Barbara replied slowly, testing her, “you ask me to cook for you.”
Catarina grimaced. “It’s not that I want food—I just… want to learn. It looks so interesting.”
Barbara’s expression softened. “Ahh. You don’t want the meal. You want to learn the skill.”
“Exactly,” Catarina said, her voice firmer now. A month ago, she wouldn’t have dared.
“I’ll teach you,” Sal interrupted, striding into the kitchen. His voice was low, final. Tony and another man followed at his heels. Sal shifted aside so they could enter. “Cata, you remember Luca Bernardi, don’t you?”
Catarina set down her glass and immediately straightened, the old finishing-school training rising like muscle memory. She stepped forward with grace, extending her hand. “Of course, Mr. Bernardi. A pleasure to see you again. What brings you to Chicago?”
The Las Vegas kingpin took her outstretched hand, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Your father, actually. From what I hear, he’s been a very naughty boy.”
At the mention of her father, her stomach clenched tight, but Catarina forced her smile to stay in place. She’d spent years hiding her tension; now, she made herself meet Luca’s gaze head-on.
Sal’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her into his solid chest. His palm curved protectively over her stomach as he said smoothly, “My wife is less of a fan of her father than we are.”
“Part of the crowd, then, eh?” Luca said with a grin. But when his gaze lingered on her, assessing, something unreadable flickered in his expression.
Behind him, Tony failed to smother a laugh, his hand covering his mouth. Catarina’s cheeks heated, and instinct had her tugging free of Sal’s hold, stepping away. A month ago, she would have run from the room. Now, she lifted a hand to her still-damp hair, schooling her face into a calm expression.
“I’ll go make myself more presentable,” she said evenly, glancing toward the stairs. It wasn’t an escape—it was strategy.
But before she could take more than a step, Sal’s hand closed gently, firmly, around her arm. She turned, startled by the quiet steel in his touch.
“You look lovely already, Cata,” he said. His voice was rougher than before, low enough that it felt meant for her alone.
She smiled at Sal, warmed by his words, but she still couldn’t shake the sting of the other men’s half-hidden laughter. Her cheeks burned as she hurried up the stairs, her ears catching Sal’s muttered growl behind her.
“You’re both assholes.”
That only made the men roar louder, their laughter echoing through the hall, unrestrained this time.
Mortified, Catarina all but fled to her room, determined to stay hidden until they were gone. She didn’t need their judgment. Not anymore. She was a strong, capable woman now—Sal had been teaching her that—but still, old habits made her chest ache with the need to retreat.
And yet…she was also hungry, she realized, her stomach growling as she remembered she’d barely touched the shake waiting for her downstairs. Typical. Always running from shadows instead of staying put.
Sighing, she walked into her bathroom, ready to fix herself up. If she couldn’t silence the laughter, she could at least arm herself with confidence—maybe twist her hair up, put on a dress, wrap herself in a little wardrobe armor until she felt steady again.
But when she caught her reflection in the mirror, she froze.
The skin around her mouth was faintly red. Raw.
Her breath caught as she lifted trembling fingers to touch it. Then memory slammed into her: the rough scrape of his jaw, the masculine rasp of his scruff against her tender skin when he kissed her.
Her lips parted, a rush of warmth spilling into her chest. That’s why they’d been laughing. Not because she looked odd, but because she looked like a woman who’d been kissed senseless.
Her husband’s scruff was written across her skin like a brand.
Embarrassment fluttered through her…but so did something else. Pride.
She straightened, studying herself in the mirror. Yes, she looked kissed. Because she had been. By Salvatore Romano, no less.
So…let them laugh!
For the first time in her life, Catarina didn’t wilt under mockery. Instead, her lips curved slowly, deliberately. She wasn’t just the daughter of Enrico Bianchi anymore.
She was a wife.
And she was done hiding.