4

Salvador Silver Mendoza.

“Catali, did you not hear me?” I grind my cigarette into the silver tray.

I stare at her and before she answers, I think about that one question that’s been plaguing me: how can innocence and siren exist on the same face? And might I add that her voice is the most haunting thing I have ever heard… she sounds so soft, it is devastating for a man as hard as me.

Yesterday was a lot, but her beauty remained consistent regardless of the fact that she was in tears. How do I put this? She has the face of a doe, but her lips set her apart. Her aquiline nose is patterned to be a man’s fall, and the sight I got of her breasts after I mistakenly ripped her cloth was…

How do I say I’ve never seen skin like that? Like butter, whipped to white and fluffy. Even now, it has a contrast of shine to it—one that can be only attributed by a living sun, though there’s none here. I can only wonder what her nipples look like; would they be the shade of her lips?

Today, she is not in her woeful wedding gown. Instead, she wears a dress that represents a small prestige of our family. It is supposed to look cordial, but because of the person in it, it is far from it. It exposes the tiny size of her waist. Therefore, a man can only imagine what it would feel like in the asunder of my hands…like I could enclose it if I wanted.

Lucas, her so-called fiancé, arrived as early as the sun broke the sky—whether out of fear or because he spent the night wondering what I was doing to his bride. I may be ill-tempered, but not enough to overpower a woman. Not enough to hurt her more than I already have. I arrested her on her wedding day, dragged her here, and now I’m keeping her. I feel so bad for the poor dove.

Her eyes are hard on the gun on the table and I see wheels turn in her head. I tap my glass, reminding her to fill it. Like a good girl, she walks towards me until the fabric of her dress brushes against my chair, and she begins to fill my cup. I watch. That’s what I want to do this morning—watch the emotional bridge between her and Lucas.

For them to have reached the wedding aisle, it means they love each other to the chest. So, let me destroy that.

“Now, sit.” I say, and she faces me. Her eyes are a pallor of paleness, and she looks at Lucas first before looking back at me.

“I didn’t say you should look at my dog. I said you should sit on your husband’s lap.” I hiss.

Whether she likes it or not, my named is signed on that marriage certificate. I’m doing this because I hope Lucas will talk—hoping he’ll say, Stop. Don’t touch my woman. But he’s a coward. He just bobs his head like a fool.

Catali hesitates, but she knows she has to comply because her lover won’t fight for her.

She leaves the jug behind, doesn’t meet my eyes, and carefully perches on my legs—careful not to get too close to anything sensitive.

Yet my legs are sensitive enough to tell me plenty—that she has a soft ass, it is corpulent and bigger than average—a thing I shouldn’t know. It is the kind that would pulse if a pat came on it. On the nape of her neck is a scent called cashmere, warm vanilla, hidden by the black tendrils of her hair that drape over the swerve of her waist. She is a flawless weight on my lap.

“Lift your head, Lucas.” I say, and he does it. He looks straight at her, then at me. Bruno walks into the dining area. He knows what I’m doing, so he’s chuckling. We call it disengagement—the part where we show our enemies, and those who’ve wronged us, the control we have.

“Don’t we look perfect?” I ask and he nods.

“Use your mouth, dog,” Bruno incites.

“Yes, Salvador! You both look perfect.” He speaks in defeat and I hear the poor dove on my thigh gasp.

He cannot even fight for her?

“So, where is my diamond?” I reach for my cigarette again, and to reach at such length, my chest brushes against her back.

“I swear… we didn’t steal a diamond!” Lucas and his brothers collapse to their knees to plead. One of them is weeping so furiously you’d think I’d pointed a gun at his head.

“Do you believe them?” I ask. But I’m not talking to Lucas—I’m talking to Catali.

“Catali…”

She gasps again when she realizes I’m addressing her. And now that she knows, why is she hesitating to answer? Maybe it’s because if Lucas really did steal a ring and used it to propose. Therefore, she doesn’t even know what to believe anymore.

"Your ex-bride doesn’t even believe you." I say with a cold laugh before nodding to Bruno. He knows what to do—he knows to take the dogs out. They’ll work off their debt by packing shipments at my warehouse. Usually, I pay my boys for tasks like this. Today, these bastards will pay for the bills that keeps my grandmother alive.

It’s taking all my restraint not to put a bullet in their heads. My palms are itching to do it. But the diamond—its significance—needs to be uncovered first. As Bruno drags them away, Catali rises to her feet, watching. Then she turns back to me.

“What are you going to do to them?”

“What does it matter? You can’t stop it.” I lie, pretending I have worse intentions than I do. This young girl actually buys it—she clutching her chest as if the answer I need is hidden there.

Does she know how beautiful she looks in every reaction? There’s nothing she could do to ruin that face. What a curse. What a gift.

“You can’t—”

“I can’t?” I blow smoke from my mouth before she can finish.

She swallows her former sentence. “Can you not find it in your heart—”

“I don’t have a heart, Catali. But I do have a cock, so perhaps I’ll find it there.” I say and my words scorch her face. Red as a tomato. Has she never heard such crude talk before?

“Such language!” she snaps.

Ah, now it gets interesting. I smile.

“Oh, you prefer men who aren’t foul? Yet you were about to marry a thief—and an attempted murderer.”

I stand slowly and the tears I see in her eyes feels like some kind of reward.

She chokes out a rough sob. “You don’t even know me. Or what I stand for…”

“And yet here we are. I don’t care who you are, Catali but being with a man like Lucas must mean you’re not so different. You cloak yourself in this illusion of grace, but I see through it. You’re a bloody siren, and I’m going to rip your cover away."

“That’s enough!” she dares to yell.

“Yell at me one more time, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!” I seethe.

 My voice isn’t loud when I say this, but it thrums on a rarely used rasp, found in my vocals. Therefore, they are venomous. She jumps in fight and dares to lie.

“I’m not afraid of you…” she whispers.

“Then take your revenge.” I gesture to the gun on the table. “Pick it up. Shoot me. You’ll gain your freedom. But if you fail, you’ll stay here until I decide you can leave.” I whisper back, so close that I see when her neck turns red. After a good five minutes, her gaze shifts to the gun, and her fingers begin to reach for it—she is unsteady, slow, unsure, and I wait and wait.

When the gun finally rests in her shaking grip, she takes forever to point it—therefore my patience is done and dusted. I snap it from her fingers, unbeknownst of the force of my arm against a small statured dove. She is thrown off balance but my instincts are not.

Unfortunately, she is falling so fast in her fear. So, the last thing I can do before she hits the ground is cradle the back of her head with my hand. We fall together and it leaves me hovering above her.

At once, she wants me away from her, and the first thing she does is raise her knee—but guess what she ends up raising? My fuckin’ cock!