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“But—!”she gasped, clutching the robe tighter around herself.
“Oh, and there’s this.”He tossed something small toward her.
The dress tumbled to the floor, forgotten, as her fingers closed around a velvet box.Her heart slammed against her ribs.
A ring box.
Her throat worked, but no sound came out.
“Open it,” he ordered, his tone dark with challenge.
Catarina dragged her gaze up to him—only to stop at his chest.Broad.Tanned.A dusting of dark hair that drew her eyes downward to where the waistband of his track pants sat low on lean hips.Her mouth went dry.She actually imagined walking over, pressing her lips to that skin, following that trail of hair down, down—
She jerked in horror at her own thoughts, but too late.
When she dared to look up, his eyes were already on her.Amused.Knowing.He’d stood there and let her eyes feast on him, drinking in every ounce of her wayward desire.
Her cheeks flamed.She whipped her gaze away, stooping quickly to scoop up the dress as if smoothing the fabric would erase her humiliation.She clutched the gown and the ring box against her chest like armor.
“Why would you want to marry me?”Her voice cracked with confusion.“This will start a war with my father.”
“True.”He strolled to the coffee tray, unconcerned.“But you are going to give me information that will protect my people.”
Her stomach dropped.The memory came crashing back—her drunken whisper, her promise to tell him about her father’s plan.
“I can’t!”she hissed, clutching the dress tighter, as if silk could shield her.
“You can.”He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim with dark, steady eyes.“And you will.”
The words weren’t just confident.They were absolute.
“You will be my wife.And as my wife, your loyalty will be mine.Not your father’s.”
Her knees wobbled.He was right, and that terrified her.She’d always expected to marry one of her father’s chosen men, some thug eager to impress Enrico Bianchi.But this man—Salvatore Romano—wasn’t a thug.He was power incarnate.
“My father won’t stand for this,” she whispered.“He’ll come after you.”
Sal merely shrugged, unconcerned, pouring a second cup.“Then I’ll crush him under my heel.”He handed her the steaming coffee, his knuckles brushing hers, a subtle spark igniting her nerves.“Drink.I didn’t know what you’d want for breakfast, so I ordered everything.”
Turning back to his own cup, he added smoothly, “Once we’re married, you’ll tell me who the mole is.Then we’ll live in wedded bliss.”
“But…!”Her voice broke, desperate.“I can’t betray my father!”
He laughed softly, the sound rolling over her like thunder.“As I said, your loyalty will be with me.”
She stood frozen, the white dress still clutched in her arms, considering the wild, impossible thought: freedom.Could this marriage be an escape?Or was she only trading one cage for another?
The question spilled out before she could stop it.“What will you do if I defy you?”
Her own voice startled her.It sounded too sharp, too desperate.
He grinned at her over the rim of his coffee cup.“Then I’m not doing a good enough job of satisfying you in bed.”
Her cheeks flamed.Heat shot down her neck, her mind instantly supplying images she had no business imagining.In bed?Did he mean he’d convince her—physically—to be loyal?That thought should have horrified her.Instead, a tiny, traitorous spark of curiosity bloomed in her chest.
“You won’t beat me?”she whispered, the words trembling out before she could bite them back.
His cup stilled halfway to his mouth.His eyes darkened, unreadable.The silence stretched.Catarina wanted to laugh it off, disguise it as a joke, anything to cover her slip.But this was too important.The answer mattered more than her pride.
