He Looked, Make Him Jealous

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE

The garden was quiet.

I had only taken a few bites when I heard footsteps behind me, measured, deliberate, but not threatening.

I didn’t turn until the shadow stopped a few feet from the bench.

A man.

Tall. Sharp jaw, sun-kissed skin. A black collared shirt under his tailored suit jacket.

He looked too young to be standing in this garden, too untainted.

He shifted slightly, trying not to meet my eyes directly. “Apologies, Señora. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

I studied him over the rim of my glass. His eyes were a soft hazel, alert but uncertain. Not like the others.

“You’re new,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Assigned two days ago.”

“To guard me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I offered him the faintest smile, turning my gaze back to the roses.

“They never usually assign someone this young.”

He paused, unsure if he should respond.

So I asked, soft and casual, “How old are you?”

He blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “Uh, twenty-four.”

Younger than me.

I hummed, brushing crumbs from my lap.

“Funny,” I murmured. “You look older. Stronger.”

His shoulders straightened slightly. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said without looking at him. “Not out here.”

He hesitated. “Then what should I call you?”

I tilted my head, eyes still on the flowers. “Catalina is fine.”

A moment passed. The breeze shifted.

“You must be used to more exciting assignments,” I said, voice light, teasing. “Guarding the Don’s wife must seem… dull.”

He finally allowed himself a small smile. “Not dull. Just quiet.”

I laughed under my breath. “That’s exactly what they all think.”

There was something in his gaze, soft, interested. Not lustful. Not pitiful. Just… present.

No one had looked at me like that in a long time.

“You can sit, if you like,” I offered, gesturing to the far end of the bench. “I won’t bite.”

He glanced around, hesitated, then sat. A respectful distance between us.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said.

“Luca,” he replied. “Luca Alessi.”

“Hmm.” I smiled faintly, sipping my water.

“I think I’ll like having you around, Luca.”

Luca sat more relaxed now, his forearms resting on his thighs as he listened to me speak.

I had said something mildly ridiculous, on purpose, of course, and he laughed.

A real laugh. Full, genuine, slightly boyish.

I couldn’t help it. I giggled softly too, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of my glass as I looked away for a second, pretending to be bashful.

“I swear,” I said, smiling into my fingertips, “if you were here last month, you would’ve seen me fall face-first into the fountain trying to chase a damn cat.”

Luca nearly choked on his breath, eyes wide with amusement.

“You? Really?”

“Unfortunately.” I laughed again, voice warm and lilting. “It’s a well-kept secret. Don’t go telling the maids. They’d never let me live it down.”

He was still laughing when I felt it.

That shift in the air.

Like the garden itself held its breath.

My gaze flicked to the archway leading back to the mansion,

And there he was.

Dante Lucchese.

Suit jacket half-slipped off his shoulders. His white shirt soaked in blood, not his own, I was sure, but still open down the chest, revealing the ripple of muscle beneath.

His black tie hung loose, damp, and forgotten.

Hair tousled, lips drawn in a tight, unreadable line.

He looked like a man who had just crawled out of hell, and dragged half a dozen bodies behind him.

I didn’t flinch.

Just… looked.

Briefly. Softly. As if he was no more startling than a passing shadow.

And then I turned back to Luca.

Still smiling. Still speaking. Still the sweet, delicate wife with a bruised neck and a lovely laugh.

Luca didn’t notice him.

He was too caught up in the warmth I fed him. Too enchanted by the rare comfort of someone in this house treating him like a man instead of a pawn.

But Dante?

He saw everything.

~~~~~~~

DANTE'S PERSPECTIVE

The second I stepped out of the car, the heat clung to me.

That thick, dry Tuscan air, mixed with engine grease and the coppery tang of blood still staining my shirt.

But that wasn’t what stopped me.

What the fuck was that?

I froze mid-step.

That sound.

Her. Laughing.

Not the fake kind she used around the maids.

Not the polite shit she gave me when I spoke.

This was soft. Real. The kind that bubbled out without effort.

Then I heard him.

Some guy. New voice. Too casual. Too fucking close.

Her laugh again, louder this time.

Like she was comfortable.

I turned.

She was in the garden. Sitting on the damn bench like it was a weekend vacation, not my house.

Sun catching her hair. Dress hugging her like it was made for her.

Face lit up.

She looked… different.

And next to her?

Had to be one of the new guards. I hadn’t seen his face before. Didn’t give a shit what his name was.

What I cared about was the way her eyes never left him.

She was smiling. Like the bruises didn’t exist.

The ones I put on her neck. On her wrists.

And that smile?

Not once in three goddamn years had I seen it meant for me.

My teeth ground together.

She didn’t notice me walking past.

Neither of them did.

She didn’t get up.

Didn’t stop.

Just kept laughing like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing.

Blood was still fresh on my shirt.

Didn’t know whose. Lost count. Too many bodies.

My hands were still sore from the last punch I threw.

And now she was out there, acting like her world was spotless.

Acting like she wasn’t the wife of a man who killed before breakfast.

I shoved a hand through my hair, still wet with blood and sweat.

Nope. Not dealing with this.

Straight to the room.

Door slammed behind me.

Suit hit the floor. Shirt followed.

Ruined. Stuck to my skin like second flesh.

I tossed the tie. Didn’t even remember loosening it.

Cranked the water. Let it blast full heat.

It was hot, but not enough. I wanted it to burn.

Wanted it to hurt somewhere I could fucking feel.

But nothing.

Just heat and pressure.

Like everything else in this damn place, loud and empty.

I sat back.

Closed my eyes.

She was still there. In my head.

Laughing.

With him.

She was mine. But she looked more alive beside that stranger than she’d ever looked beside me.

And that,

That fucking pissed me off.

There was a knock.

Soft. Familiar.

Her.

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

She came in anyway. Careful. Quiet. Always walking on eggshells.

Good.

She knew what I was capable of.

I wasn’t brushing this off.