She's Unveiling

CATALINA'S PERSPECTIVE

The moon was high, light spilling like milk across the floor-length windows. I sat across from Dante, the remnants of our dinner between us. He hadn’t spoken again, not since he agreed to the bookstore.

It should’ve felt awkward. It didn’t.

I was content.

More than that,

I was at peace.

And then… movement.

Just past the tall window, outside where the garden curved into darkness.

I didn’t flinch.

Didn’t let my eyes linger.

But I saw it.

A flicker of metal, quick and purposeful. A silhouette standing too still. Watching.

And there,

the blade.

Glimmering like a breath against moonlight.

I picked up my wine glass with a smile. Took a slow sip. Pretended.

All while scanning the angles. The doors. The distance from where he stood to where Dante sat, facing me, back exposed.

He was never here for me.

He wasn’t moving.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the Don to rise.

Dante stood moments later, wiping his mouth. He didn’t excuse himself. He never did.

He walked out of the dining hall with the same indifference he walked through blood.

I placed my fork down gently.

Waited ten seconds.

Then ten more.

Then I stood.

Quietly.

Barefoot.

Like always.

It was habit, moving like silence itself. Something Dante never questioned.

And now?

It gave me the edge.

I slipped through the corridor. Through the back of the house, where the shadows were deepest. No lights. No creaking wood.

The man outside moved.

From the shadows to the tree. A low, crooked thing just beside our bedroom balcony.

He climbed.

Not fast. Not slow. Confident. He’d done this before.

I watched him ascend. Counted his breaths. His steps. Calculated.

He wasn’t armed with just one blade.

I turned back. Calm. Fluid.

Reentered through the main hall, past the sitting room, and up the staircase. The rhythm of my heartbeat never changed.

Inside the bedroom, I didn’t reach for the curtains. I didn’t close the windows.

I removed my dress.

Slow. Unrushed. Letting the fabric glide down my bruised skin like a sigh.

The window was wide open.

He was there.

Watching.

And still, he didn’t move.

Because I wasn’t his target.

I faced the window, tying my hair loosely atop my head. Arms up. Exposed. Every curve deliberate.

A sigh escaped my lips. Soft. Tempting.

The intruder flinched.

Good.

I turned, back to the window now, and began walking toward the bath. My hips swayed, my bare heels silent against the marble.

And just then,

The door clicked open.

Dante.

Still blood-stained. Tired.

He stepped inside and froze for a split second when he saw me.

Naked.

And smiling faintly like I had no idea someone was watching.

His mouth parted. His eyes dipped. And in that moment,

The attacker moved.

I saw it.

The throw.

Quick. Silent. Accurate.

The dagger flew, aimed directly at the back of the man who owned me.

So I moved.

I crossed the room and reached him fast. I kissed him.

Soft. Deep. Deliberate.

He didn’t move at first, then his hands gripped my waist.

And as his mouth captured mine, my right hand reached up,

Caught the blade mid-air.

The impact stung my palm, but I didn’t stop.

I pulled away only to whisper something against his lips. Something that sounded like a whimper but was only breath.

Then I turned, bare and poised, and launched the dagger back,

It sliced through the air with deadly elegance.

A wet sound.

Then a thud.

Heavy. Lifeless.

Dante stiffened.

“What was-”

I kissed him again. Pressed my bare chest against the blood-soaked silk of his shirt. Let him feel the heat of my skin, the press of my thighs, the lie of my innocence.

My hands smoothed over his ribs. Calming. Distracting.

He was staring at me. But I never blinked.

Not once.

He pulled back slightly, scanning my face, eyes narrow. “What was that sound?”

I tilted my head, feigning confusion. “I didn’t hear anything.”

A moment passed.

He looked past me. Then back.

Something tightened in his jaw, but he didn’t move.

I pressed against him, chest to chest, skin to shirt. Warm. Bare. Purposeful.

He stiffened. I felt it in the way his hand hovered at my waist, like he wasn’t sure if he should pull me closer or push me away. His gaze darted to the window, then back to me. The sound outside didn’t slip past him.

I didn’t give him time to think.

“Thank you,” I whispered. Calm. Steady. “For the bookstore.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” I added, reaching up, brushing my fingers down the center of his bloodstained shirt like it meant something to me. “No one’s ever given me that kind of freedom.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t pull away.

So I dropped to my knees.

No hesitation. No words.

Just smooth movements. Precise.

I undid his belt. Button. Zipper. All while keeping my face down. Not submissive, controlled. Like every second I stayed on the ground was on my terms, not his.

He let out a sharp breath as I traced every inch of his cock with my tongue. Then, my mouth, taking him as deeply as I can. His hand found my hair. Not tight. Not guiding. Just holding.

He leaned back against the vanity, steadying himself with one hand, eyes locked on me like I’d just become someone else entirely.

“Shit…” he muttered..

My tongue moved with purpose. Nothing rushed. Nothing shy. Every motion dragged him further from the window, further from what just happened. I kept him still. Anchored.

His breath got louder. Harsher.

He came fast, hard, and shoved his cock deeply, hitting the back of my throat.

I swallowed everything and rose just as calmly as I’d knelt.

Kissed his chest once. Light. Clean.

Then I stepped away.

“You should shower,” I said, already walking to the tub. “You’re a mess.”

He said nothing.

Still catching his breath. Still trying to make sense of what just happened.

But I didn’t give him time.

I left the towel on the edge of the tub and turned away.

Let him stare.

Let him wonder.

Because outside that window, a man was dead.

And I was already planning the next move.