Chapter 15
Sal watched his wife descend the stairs, every slow step testing the limits of his patience.
She was stunning. The faint redness on her cheeks and jawline—remnants of his scruff—had eased, but there was still enough pink to remind him of what they’d been doing before Luca had arrived.
Fifteen more minutes. That was all he would’ve needed. Fifteen more damned minutes and he would’ve had her beneath him, arching into his touch.
The thought made his body tighten. Hell, who was he kidding?
When he finally made love to Catarina, it wouldn’t be fifteen minutes—it would be hours.
Days. Weeks if he had his way. He was starving for her, and when she finally trusted him enough to surrender, he’d gorge himself until she couldn’t walk without remembering exactly who she belonged to.
But not yet. He forced his fists to unclench at his sides.
He wouldn’t scare her, wouldn’t risk hurting her.
She deserved gentleness. Still, every ounce of discipline he’d honed over the years was fraying whenever she looked at him with those dark, hopeful eyes.
She dissolved his control like sugar in hot water.
“You okay?” Luca called out lazily from behind him.
Before Sal could snap at him for interrupting, the doorbell rang.
Another damn interruption.
Sal swore under his breath, his gaze dragging back to his wife.
Catarina stood halfway down the stairs in a soft floral dress, the fabric skimming over new curves he’d been greedy enough to notice these past few weeks.
She’d filled out just enough since their wedding—her breasts fuller, her waist still slim, those long legs bare beneath the hem.
She was mouthwatering. His. And yet the world insisted on barging in every time he got close enough to take a taste of her beauty.
Tony’s heavy steps echoed in the hallway as he opened the door.
Moments later, a man’s deep, irritated voice filled the room. “Romano, you old bastard! Do you have a death wish?”
Paulo Ruffino strode in, his presence filling the doorway before his words even landed.
Detroit’s boss carried himself with the quiet weight of power—broad shoulders straining against his dark suit, his jawline hard beneath the rough shadow of scruff.
His dark hair was cut close, sharp, and his eyes glinted with a predator’s focus.
Muscular, solid, he was built like a man who could fight his way through a dozen enemies and still have the strength left to break your neck with his bare hands.
Sal’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. He didn’t move, didn’t blink—just let the menace build in his silence until Paulo, another alpha in his own right, shifted slightly under the weight of that stare.
“Why do you care?” Sal finally demanded, though his voice had lost some of its edge.
Paulo exhaled hard, broad chest rising before he gave a half-smile. “Because you usually keep things steady. No wars, no chaos. But then you go and marry the daughter of a lunatic.” His gaze flicked up the staircase, his tone more wry than sharp. “That one.”
Sal turned his head just enough to see Catarina’s fingers white-knuckled around the railing. His wife was trembling, the color drained from her face.
And then she ran. Straight into his arms.
He caught her easily, his muscles tightening around her trembling body. Her scent hit him—soap and strawberries and the warmth of her skin—and something inside him snarled in satisfaction. Right. This was where she belonged.
“I’ll leave,” she whispered frantically as she pulled back to look up at him, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her big brown eyes locked on his, terrified and pleading. “I can’t let my father hurt you, Sal.”
His chest rumbled as he pulled her tighter, one hand gripping her waist possessively. “You’re not leaving.” The words were a growl, absolute, and there was no room for argument.
“I will,” she vowed, desperate now. “My father isn’t a good man.”
Sal chuckled darkly, pressing his lips against her hair. “Cara, I’m not a good man.”
She shook her head hard, her fingers digging into his arms. “No, you don’t understand.
You…you have rules. A reputation. People say you’re fair, even if you’re dangerous.
My father—” her voice cracked, low and urgent, “—he hurts people for fun. He cheats, he lies, he destroys everything just to prove he can. He doesn’t have a soul, Sal. ”
Sal heard her words and suspected she had no idea how powerful they were. At least, to him. His need to protect her doubled in that moment.
“Cata, you are mine. I will not allow your father to hurt you.”
She blinked, her breath catching. For a moment, she searched his face, half-afraid to believe what she’d heard. Then a slow, dangerously seductive smile curved her lips. “You mean that?”
Before he could answer, she shook her head sharply, as if dragging herself back to reality. The glow in her eyes hardened, her pulse visible at her throat. “It doesn’t matter. My father will find a way to hurt you. He always does.”
Tony gave a short, dismissive grunt. “He’s well protected.”
Sal didn’t look away from her. He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone, his voice soft.
“You still haven’t eaten breakfast, cara mia.
” He kissed her lightly—too lightly for the storm brewing in her eyes—and pulled back.
“Let me discuss some things with these men, and I’ll meet you later for lunch, okay? ”
The tenderness broke something in her. Her expression shifted from fragile hope to sharp irritation.
“Did you seriously just give me a little pat on the head and tell me to be a good girl?” Her voice dropped low, each word clipped with warning.
Sal blinked, caught off guard. “I just…?”
“You did.” Her tone left no room for argument. For a long moment, she simply watched him flounder for words—his mouth opening, closing, searching for something that might undo what he’d just done.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything, Cata,” he said finally, trying to sound firm, reassuring.
“So you patronized me.”
She didn’t raise her voice, but the quiet steel in it made the men nearby glance up. Folding her arms, she tapped her foot once, deliberate and sharp. Turning her gaze to Luca, she asked, “Tell me, would you ever do that to Ava?”
He looked horrified, shaking his head. “Never,” he said—and then, more quietly, “I know better.”
Sal glared at his friend, then swung back to her. “I didn’t patronize you.”
Catarina tilted her head, regarding him as though he’d just confirmed her suspicions.
“Yeah. You did.” She turned and started for the door, her steps unhurried, confident.
“And things were going so well,” she murmured, her tone cool and cutting.
At the doorway, she paused just long enough to glance back, her expression unreadable.
“You gave the little lady a pat on the head and sent her away and that could be dangerous.”
Her final look was calm, dismissive—and it left him cold. Then she was gone.
Sal stared at the empty doorway. Dangerous? His sweet, beautiful, gentle Catarina? She was his, and he’d be damned if—
A throat cleared behind him.
He turned, realizing Tony, Luca, and Paulo had witnessed the entire exchange. Tony looked vaguely concerned. Luca looked like he was enjoying the show. Paulo—the smug bastard—looked like he was about to laugh in his face.
“What the hell are you here for?” Sal demanded, stalking toward his office. He waved a sharp hand, forcing them all inside.
Tony stayed wisely silent. Luca, however, arched a brow. “She’s got spirit, Romano. I like her.”
“She’s got your balls in a vice,” Paulo added with a slow grin. “Don’t worry, it happens to the weakest of us.”
Sal’s glare could have stripped paint. “You want to keep those smug teeth, Ruffino?”
Paulo chuckled, sprawling across the sofa like a man with nothing to fear. “Relax. I like her. That woman of yours? Fire and ice all at once. She’s perfect for you.”
“Better than the dead-eyed dolls you used to entertain,” Luca teased smoothly, pouring himself a glass of scotch from the sideboard, then turned to their host. “I’m surprised she hasn’t stabbed you yet, Sal.”
Sal grunted, ignoring them. He wasn’t about to admit that Catarina’s sudden flash of temper had set his blood on fire.
She never would have done that before. Then his mind flashed back to the night they’d met.
When she drank alcohol, she was different.
Apparently, that spirit was starting to come out without assistance.
And he loved it!
When they were settled, his voice snapped back to business. “What do you want?”
“Bianchi is furious,” Paulo explained. “He contacted me, asking to go full-on war with you. I told him I’d consider supporting him after I spoke with you.” He glanced between the others. “I doubt his claim is as outrageous as he makes it.”
Sal’s eyes narrowed. “What’s he saying?”
Luca answered, smooth as silk. “That you kidnapped his daughter and are raping her three times a day.”
For a moment, silence rang in the room. Then Tony let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, the reality is so much worse!”
Paulo smirked. “Jealous, Tony? Romano looks like the type who could manage it.”
Sal’s glare promised retribution, but the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
Still, the accusation burned. He might have laughed at the ridiculous claim if it wasn’t Enrico Bianchi making it. That bastard wasn’t just dangerous—he was unhinged.
“As you can see, Catarina is not being held captive. Nor am I raping her,” Sal replied dryly, his control snapping back into place.
Only Cata had the power to strip him of sense.
Other issues—such as Bianchi—he handled with cold, calculating precision.
He turned to Tony. “I suppose that, since the man is maligning my character, I should handle him without the gloves now.”
Tony’s smile was merciless. “I’ll come up with some ideas,” he said, rising smoothly to his feet.
Sal knew what that meant. Tony would head down to his security team—a den of nerd assassins armed with laptops instead of guns.
One of them, during his interview, had hacked into the country’s largest bank, plucked out the biggest account balance, and dropped it into Sal’s portfolio just to prove he could.
Sal had laughed, ordered the money returned, and hired the kid immediately.
Now, several genius-level techs worked for him. Why weren’t they working for the government? Because Sal paid triple, gave them better toys, and never asked them to wear a tie.
“So what else is happening in your area?” Paulo asked, leaning back with a lazy grin.
For the next hour, Sal, Paulo, and Luca talked about business, batted strategies back and forth like sharks playing with their food.
They discussed borderlines, money channels, and new ventures.
The three of them might deal in shadows, but the truth was clear: the most lucrative, untouchable profits came from businesses that were clean.
Legitimate. And these three men were masters at business strategy.
By the time the meeting wrapped up, Sal leaned back in his chair, a dark satisfaction settling over him. His enemies thought he was distracted, weakened, maybe even sentimental because of his new bride.
Let them think it.
He had his allies. He had his territory. And now, he had Catarina.
Enrico Bianchi had no idea just how badly he’d miscalculated.