Chapter 21
Sal watched as Catarina walked back into the house. He refused to admit, even to himself, that he’d been waiting for her return. Actively watching for her to come back.
Was he worried that she might have run away?
Yeah. Just a little.
Why the hell would he worry? She couldn’t drive. But she had a lot of cash, plus a credit card. And he knew that, if she left, he would still protect her.
So what was the concern? It wasn’t that he was starting to care for her.
Yes, she was lovely. Yes, her bright, eager personality was starting to emerge.
And yeah, Sal would admit to himself that he was entranced by that excitement for life that was starting to become so alluring.
He didn’t know anyone who could light up a room with just a smile like Catarina could.
Maybe because her smiles were so rare? No, that wasn’t true. Not anymore.
And that thought made his chest puff up like an idiot peacock. She was smiling more because she felt safe. Damn, that felt good.
So if she were showing all the signs of happiness and smiling more, why was he waiting for her to leave?
The answer hit him like a bomb. He was waiting…because his mother had left him. She’d been all smiles and happiness one day, then she’d just walked out the door, leaving him to figure out how to find food and shelter at the glorious age of seven.
Damn. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought about that memory. In fact, he’d probably shoved it so far down it had never seen daylight. He didn’t like admitting a weakness, even if it was only himself who knew about it.
“Boss?”
Sal turned, watching Tony approach. “I have some news about the shipments you’ve been waiting for.”
Sal sighed, shifting into business mode. He would deal with his mental revelations another time, when it was more convenient. Right now, he had to concentrate. And not think about Catarina.
But the universe clearly had other plans.
Catarina rushed past his office door, that floral dress wisping behind her like an eager breeze trying to catch up with the flower.
Sal forced himself to look back at Tony. He needed to focus on logistics, not on the curve of his wife’s hips—
Except then she breezed into the room, dumped her packages on the floor, and walked right up to him. There was eagerness in her eyes, but also determination. Was he reading her right?
Part of him suspected that he should duck and find cover.
But that went against his nature. Sal had learned throughout his life to get in front of problems, to face them head on.
Predators could sniff out prey, even when the prey was hidden.
Which meant that Sal had become the predator in his world.
So instead of hiding, he braced himself for whatever was coming at him.
The shock he felt when his lovely, previously quiet, shy wife grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him—hard—nearly knocked him flat.
He was stunned. And furious. Not because she’d kissed him, but because she walked away. After giving him a smile bright enough to level a man, she turned her back and sashayed out. The kiss had been too short, too teasing. He wanted more. Needed more.
Had he just licked his lips?
Sal wasn’t sure of anything as he watched his wife’s ass sway down the hall. Yes, she paused only long enough to scoop up her packages before disappearing once again.
There was a long silence after her departure. Then Tony cleared his throat. “We’re not getting anything done today, are we?”
“Shut up,” Sal muttered, still staring at the door.
But Tony was smirking now. “She’s got you by the balls, boss. Hate to say it, but it’s obvious.”
“Obvious to whom?” Sal snapped, turning his glare on him.
“Obvious to anyone with eyes.” Another voice chimed in—Paulo, who leaned back in his chair like he owned the place. “Even your enemies probably felt that kiss through the walls.”
Luca chuckled, lifting his glass. “I’ll drink to that. Reminds me of when Ava started looking at me like that. Game over.”
“You’re still drooling after your wife,” Paulo shot back. “Don’t act like you’re above it.”
“Damn right I am,” Luca replied with zero shame. “Why stop when she still makes me stupid?”
Tony snorted, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Boss here’s already stupid.”
Sal’s glare swung to him. “Careful, Tony.”
“Just saying,” Tony said innocently, though his grin ruined it.
Paulo grunted. “Newlyweds make me itch. All this staring and kissing and sighing. Revolting.”
Luca punched him in the arm. “You’ll eat your words one day. Wait until you meet the woman who floors you.”
“Not happening,” Paulo muttered darkly. Then, with a smirk, “Besides, I’d rather itch than drool all over the rug like Romano here.”
Sal growled, but Luca chuckled again. “You’ve got it bad, Sal. Admit it.”
He ignored them all, but the truth was burning in his chest. Catarina wasn’t just under his skin—she was in his blood now. And that was a problem he had no intention of fixing.
Sal finally pulled his eyes away from the door to glare at Tony. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Tony smirked, hands shoved casually into his pockets like he hadn’t just poked the bear.
“In the past, if I’d told you construction starts were up by forty-three percent, costs down by eight, and pre-sales climbing fourteen, you’d already be on me for settling.
You’d be rattling off ten new ways to streamline the work, build faster, safer, smarter—hell, your new ideas would probably cut weeks off the schedule.
” He paused deliberately, watching. Sal… glanced at the doorway again.
Tony’s grin widened. “Thought so.”
“Why don’t you go find out what she bought at the art store?” Tony suggested, his tone gruff as he gathered up the reports he’d been pretending to look at. “You didn’t hear a damn thing I just said.”
“Yeah, he’s cooked,” Luca added, utterly shameless.
Sal wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch Tony for his arrogance or promote him for giving him time to chase after Catarina. Then he mentally snorted. Promote him? He was already his second-in-command. Kiss him? Hell no.
Tony was halfway to the door when Sal called out, “Forty-three, eight, and fourteen, asshole!”
His underboss threw back his head and laughed, the deep sound echoing down the hallway as he sauntered out.
“Damn it,” Sal muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
The smart thing to do would’ve been to catch up with Tony and hash out the construction side of the business.
Sal owned half the damned supply chain—mortgage companies, factories, banks, even a research startup that was developing new building materials.
He should’ve been thinking about distribution, inventory, and margins.
Instead, he turned left.
He knew exactly where Catarina would be at this time of day. The sunny solarium. How did he know? He didn’t want to think too hard about it. He just knew. Same way he knew she preferred to curl up on the left side of the couch, where the light hit her hair and turned it into a halo of dark silk.
Maybe it had nothing to do with knowing.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that he’d made it her favorite spot.
He might have snuck a soft new sofa into the room two weeks ago.
Maybe a few more plants had just appeared to soften the space.
And perhaps he’d placed a stack of hand-picked books on the table beside her favorite spot.
It wasn’t a crime to want to occupy his wife’s mind and make her more comfortable, damn it.
Walking into the solarium now, he noticed the three books he’d put there yesterday sitting on the side table, although one had a torn scrap of paper tucked into the middle.
A makeshift bookmark. He frowned. That was unacceptable.
His wife deserved something better than torn paper.
He’d have his assistant track down a handful of leather-bound bookmarks by the end of the day.
But Catarina wasn’t reading.
She was perched on the sofa, legs tucked under her, her pretty pink tongue peeking out as she bent over a sketch pad. The new charcoal pencil flew across the page, her pinky finger smudging a line before darting back again.
And for one idiotic moment, Sal was jealous of the paper and pencil.
She looked up just then, spotting him in the entryway. Her lips curved into a smile, and the tension in his shoulders melted away like ice under the sun.
Stepping into the room, he sat beside her on the couch, close enough that his thigh brushed hers. “What are you drawing?” he asked, voice low.