6

Salvador Silver Mendoza.

Catalina.

Her name is silk and innocence. I swear, she’s like a veil between good and good. She has a face so pure, so soft, so lithe, and drenched in grace that a man like me cannot help but be curious. When I think of her, it circles back to a dove—every bit of her. That voice she uses to speak, so soft… but imagine it in a moan?

I heard her moan. And it struck me like lightning.

There’s a ruckus outside, but I pretend it doesn’t concern me.

I have work, like every other day—cash books, ledgers, cash flows of each of my businesses. I know no man would dare steal from me, but I still make sure my eyes stay hooked. A pen rests between my teeth, but my groin knows something else entirely.

How long has it been since I’ve manned a woman?

I can’t even remember. A year? Two? What the hell—I didn’t think it had been that long. I’ve been too caught up in my business. My mining empire, the Silver Dimes, pulls in thousands of diamonds, resold across the globe. It’s not easy for one man to control it all.

And now that I need my focus locked like a vice, my cock keeps remembering. The press, the pull—the way she fit—if she had stayed put, I wouldn’t have been between her legs for that long. I would’ve been gone the moment it happened, but my necklace had to add to the fire.

Oh, was it decadent, like a creamy affair?

I know I’ve been in unintentional celibacy, but again, with the casinos I own, I’m always surrounded by women of all kinds. They drape themselves over me like decorative vines, whisper sweet nothings, push their luck. But I’ve never been moved by them.

But her?

While I was above Catalina, her lips parted like a startled bird’s, and that cashmere tapestry of her skin flooded my senses.

But I am her monster and she is my collateral.

Nothing like that will ever happen again. It was only a mistake.

“You broke my vases!”

A shout echoes through the walls.

That is, without a doubt, Mama Doza’s voice. And vases? Does she mean the ones she planned to use for her tea party with the politicians’ wives today?

Whoever broke them is screwed and I will play no part in it.

The door spontaneously swings open. I set down my tea. Yeah… tea. I’m not some monster who drinks whiskey in the morning. I care about my health.

“Salvador!”

“Yes, mother.” I turn to look at her.

“Your fucking collateral has broken my vases, and if you do not intercede, I will punish her greatly myself. I will score her face with the broken shards, and I will leave her with marks.”

I blink. Catalina is the cause of this chaos?

“What happened?” I ask.

“What else would happen?” she snaps. “She intentionally bumped into the housekeepers on her own little way to revolt—to punish us for ruining her wedding and taking her lover away. Bring her in!”

The housekeepers shove Catalina forward. The same young woman I had just told to get out of my sight is now on her knees, sobbing. Her face is red and blotchy from crying, her cheeks flustered and pink. But above all, she looks like there’s no place she’d rather not be than here, in front of me. I understand that very well.

“Salvador, those vases are from China! If this bitch worked all her life, she wouldn’t be able to pay me back for them. You either punish her yourself or let me decide what I’ll do to her.” Mother points at her.

Everyone in this house knows—I am the master of punishments. Take Lucas and his brothers, for example. The way I branded my name into their skin. It’s why no one ever dares to step on the stem of my anger. Yet, as I look at her—this insufferable little thing, small in height and weight, a perfect damsel in distress—I can’t think of anything.

I should.

But I don’t.

“Do what you want with her.” I leave her fate in my mother’s hands because, though she is beautiful, I am a man hard in heart, and no—I will not soften for her tears.

“Mama Doza, why don’t you disgrace her instead? Make her work as one of the housekeepers. That will be a way to pay for her damages.” Sabrina suggests.

Sabrina is also a master at punishments. Even though Mama Doza can be worse, she is still a mother—she won’t go so far as to mar Catalina’s skin.

If it did come to that, then—

I would step in but for now, I return to my work.

“Henceforth, she is to scour, wash, do laundry, take out the trash, wash dishes—all day long. The only rest she is allowed is when the clock strikes 8 PM.” My mother orders. “Where is Madam Louise?”

“Here, Mrs. Mendoza!” The head of housekeeping rushes in.

“And I don’t want to see her in dresses like this anymore! She is not really my son’s wife. She is just collateral. That document she signed was nothing more than a certificate of debt, not a marriage. So, give her a housekeeping uniform and put her to work.”

With that, my mother storms out and Sabrina follows close behind.

Catalina is still on her knees when Madam Louise grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.

“You heard that, didn’t you? Now, take all the plates from Sir’s table and carry them to the kitchen. Wash them until they’re squeaky clean.”

Catalina starts gathering the plates and I pay a small glance at her from my ledgers.

Her hands are shaking.

Her lips are quivering.

She picks them up—one after the other, careful, methodical, almost as if she’s afraid of breaking anything else. And once she has them all gathered, she turns and starts leaving the dining room with Louise breathing down her neck.