Chapter 1: Flour and Sweat
The air in the kitchen was thick with the smell of burnt garlic and old grease, the lingering scent of a meal abandoned hours ago. A single bar of weak, yellow light cut through the grime on the window, slicing across the butcher block counter now dusted with flour from a torn sack. Catalina’s straightened hair, dark as strong coffee, was splayed across that dusty marble, each strand catching the low glow. Diego’s hands, rough from years of wrenching on cold metal, were firm on the curves of her hips, his grip possessive and sure.
He moved against her with a rhythm that was neither gentle nor asking permission.It was a statement. The edge of the counter bit into the soft skin of her stomach, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, driving heat building within her. She gasped, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick surface, finding only empty air before curling into tight fists.
“Easy,” he grunted, the word more a vibration against her spine than a sound.She didn’t want easy. She pushed back against him, a challenge and an invitation all at once, earning a low growl and a shift in his angle that made her vision spark. The rattling hum of the old refrigerator filled the silences between their ragged breaths.With a suddenness that left her cold, he pulled out. Before the protest could form on her lips, his arms were around her waist, lifting her off her feet as if she weighed nothing. He carried her the few stumbling steps into the living room, the shift from hard counter to worn leather couch a jarring transition. He tumbled down with her, his larger frame caging her in, his eyes searching her face in the semi-darkness.
She looked up, the green of her eyes luminous even in the poor light. A slow, knowing smile touched her lips as she felt the urgent weight of him against her thigh. She arched a single brow, her voice a low, smoky purr. “Are you really trying to impregnate me again, or are you just bad at pulling out?”
Diego froze for a half-second, then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. He braced himself above her, his tattoos a swirling landscape of dark ink in the shadows. “You say that like it’s an accident, Cat.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You know it’s not.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, his breath hot against her pulse. “You know exactly what I’m doing.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him down into her. “I know you’re trying to claim something.”
“It’s already claimed.” The words were final, leaving no room for argument. He settled into a different rhythm here, deeper, slower, connected in a way that made the earlier frenzy feel like just a prelude. Her sharp wit dissolved into soft, broken sounds, her fingers tracing the raised lines of a rose inked over his heart.
Afterward, they lay tangled in the quiet, the only sound their breathing and the relentless buzz of the fridge.Sweat cooled on their skin. Diego’s hand absently stroked the length of her arm.
“Lorenzo called today,” he said, his voice a rumble in his chest under her ear.Catalina went still. “What did he want?”
“Just checking in. He hears things.”
She propped herself up on an elbow, her hair falling around her face.“What kind of things?”
“That you were seen having lunch downtown. With a man in a suit.” Diego’s eyes were dark, unreadable pools. “Tell me it was for your gallery.”
She held his gaze, her green eyes not wavering. “It was for the gallery.A potential investor from New York. Angelo set it up, you can ask him.”
He watched her for a long moment, then gave a single, slow nod. The tension bled from his shoulders. “Okay.”
“You don’t trust me?” she asked, a flicker of her earlier playfulness returning.
“I trust you.” He pulled her back down, his arms banding around her. “I don’t trust men in suits from New York.”
She laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. “Noted.”
They lapsed into silence again, but it was different now, charged with an unspoken history. Catalina traced the lines of an Aztec symbol on his bicep. “You can’t keep everyone away from me, you know.This isn’t like before. You’re not his enforcer anymore.”
“I’ll always be your enforcer,” he said, simply.As if it was a law of physics.
Her phone buzzed on the floor, vibrating against the wood. She ignored it, focusing on the steady beat of his heart.It buzzed again.And again.Insistent.
With a sigh, she slithered out from his grasp and retrieved it. The screen showed a string of text messages, not from a saved number.Unknown: Cat, it’s me.
Unknown: We need to talk.Unknown: I’m in town.Don’t ignore this.
Her blood ran cold. She quickly flipped the phone face down, but not before Diego saw the change in her expression, the slight tremble in her hand.
“Who was that?” His voice was quiet, too quiet.“No one,” she said, too quickly. She climbed back onto the couch, trying to mold herself back into the warmth of his body. “Just spam.”
Diego didn’t pull her close again.He sat up, the leather creaking under his weight. He looked at the phone, then at her face, reading the lie in the tight line of her mouth and the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. The protective, possessive calm from moments before was gone, replaced by a watchful, calculating intensity.
“Catalina,” he said, her full name a warning bell. “Don’t lie to me.”
Before she could formulate a reply, her phone rang in her hand, the screen lighting up the dim room.The same unknown number. It buzzed, a hostile little insect against her palm.
Diego held out his hand, his palm up, his gaze unwavering.Waiting.
The kitchen light behind him cast his face in shadow, but his eyes gleamed, fixed on hers. The humming of the fridge seemed to grow louder, a predator’s drone filling the sudden, immense silence between them.