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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.

Chapter 15

Salwatchedhiswifedescend 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.”