Page 34 of Watch Me Burn

We’re never truly alone. Not here. There are eyes behind every surface, ears in the architecture, and too many people eager to trade information for the right price.

“We need to be extremely careful from this point forward. Every conversation, every glance, every moment.”

“Then let’s give them something worth watching,” Caterina whispers, stepping into my personal space. Her arms circle my neck, lips brushing my ear. “You want them to believe we’re madly in love, don’t you?”

I hesitate for exactly one heartbeat. Then my hands find her waist, fingers spreading across silk, pulse hammering where our bodies connect.

“Are we still pretending, Cat?”

Our mouths brush—barely contact, but it lingers like a question neither of us wants to answer.

“Guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. “I need to locate my father. See what I can learn about Lorenzo’s disappearance.”

“Want backup?”

“No.” Her gaze flicks toward the exit. “But find me soon.”

She presses a soft kiss to my cheek before turning away. I watch her leave, tension coiling in my chest, blood running hot enough to combust.

When the door clicks shut behind her, I force myself to exhale and reconstruct my mental mask.

Back into the lion’s den.

Inside, the ballroom thrums with artificial laughter and crystal percussion. I head toward the bar, then pause mid-stride when a conversation snags my attention.

“—been shifting territory since the warehouse incident. Mortelle’s organization is showing cracks.”

“Or desperation. Word is Lorenzo went dark completely. Could be internal housecleaning.”

I don’t recognize the voices, but the accents are clearly Irish. Too polished for street soldiers, too careful for legitimate businessmen.

I order another whiskey, drain half in one swallow, let it burn a trail down my throat. Then walk across the room to a quiet table in the corner—perfect sightlines, away from the power players, but close enough to monitor everything that matters.

Exits. Security positions. Potential threats.

And Caterina.

She moves through the crowd like smoke given form, graceful and poised as she exchanges pleasantries with practiced ease.

But now I can see what I missed before. The subtle tension in her shoulders.

The flicker of unease behind her social smile.

The way she takes a slight step back when certain people approach.

Has it always been there? Or am I finally learning how to really look at her?

“Shall we continue our conversation?” A familiar voice interrupts my show.

Keira Lynch slides into the chair across from me, already wearing a smug smile.

Of course she fucking tracked me down.

Maybe her entire mission tonight is keeping me distracted and off-balance.

Which means I should be thinking about Caterina’s safety right now.

Would they actually make a move against her here? She’s Mortelle’s daughter, that should provide some protection.

But should isn’t the same as will.

My eyes find Keira, but I keep Caterina in my peripheral vision, always.

“You orchestrated this whole encounter, didn’t you?”

Her head tilts, eyes sparkling with amusement. “What exactly do you think I orchestrated?”

“Cornering me alone. Asking loaded questions. Seeing if I’ll reveal something about my wife that you can use.”

She arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “And would you?”

“Would he what?”

Keira looks up as Caterina materializes behind me, her hand settling possessively on my shoulder.

“Ah. Caterina. How lovely to see you again.”

“Wish I could return the sentiment, Keira. What exactly do you want with my husband?”

I lean back, suddenly entertained by this territorial display.

Keira’s smile stretches wider. “Just making conversation. You know how I enjoy getting acquainted with interesting people.”

“Anything you want to discuss,” I interrupt, crossing my arms, “you can say in front of her.”

Keira’s attention ping-pongs between us, analyzing the dynamic with professional interest. “You two are quite the unconventional pair. Marrying outside traditional family alliances isn’t common in our circles.”

“You don’t think I’m worthy of her?”

“Oh, I think you might be too worthy. And the Irish don’t appreciate wild cards. We prefer pieces that stay where they’re placed on the board.”

“Is that a threat?” Caterina muses.

Keira’s grin never wavers. “Just a weather forecast. And the outlook isn’t particularly sunny for you two.”

“You can leave now, Keira,” Caterina says, lowering herself into my lap with fluid grace.

My body responds instantly, remembering exactly what happened the last time she positioned herself like this.

Fuck.

“Still playing territorial games? I thought you outgrew that phase in Rome.”

Rome? I file that detail away for later, though concentration is becoming difficult. Caterina catches my eye and winks before refocusing on Keira.

“Oh, I outgrew territorial behavior. But sometimes the most effective way to silence a barking dog is reminding it who holds the leash.”

Keira rises smoothly, placing her empty glass on the table.

“Well, this has been absolutely delightful,” she says, locking eyes with me. “I’ll be watching your progress with great interest. And Caterina? Be careful. The tighter you grip something, the more likely it is to slip through your fingers.”

Caterina laughs, brushing imaginary lint from my collar. “Oh, I don’t grip things.”

She leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper that carries just far enough.

“I bind them.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Then Keira’s gone, heels clicking as she vanishes back into the sea of power and secrets.

Caterina remains perfectly still in my lap, staring after her retreating form.

“Well,” I say finally, voice rougher than intended. “That wasn’t exactly subtle.”

She turns back to me, that devastating smirk returning like it never left. “Neither is your physical reaction. She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”

“She was not.”

“Please.” She shifts her hips deliberately, just enough pressure to make me suppress a groan. “She practically wrote her phone number on that whiskey glass.”

My mouth twitches despite everything. “Are you jealous?”

“Absolutely not,” she purrs—far too smoothly to be believable. Her nose brushes mine, breath warm and intoxicating.

“I just don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Her mouth hovers over mine like a promise.

My jaw flexes. I want to bite her bottom lip, drag her under this table and fuck her into oblivion.

Until she forgets every name except mine.

“You realize she’s going to be a significant problem,” I mutter, hands already gripping her hips.

“Good thing I’m much better at handling problems than you are.” She continues that slow, maddening movement against me.

“If you don’t stop, I’m going to spread you open in front of both the Irish and Italian mafia. Right here. Right now.”

Her pupils dilate with hunger. “You know I love being watched.”

This fucking woman…

She says it like a challenge, like she already knows exactly what that does to my self-control. Her hips press harder, slower, more deliberate, and my restraint frays at every edge.

“Keep testing me, and I’ll give them a show they’ll never forget,” I grit out.

“Do it.”

I grab the back of her neck and kiss her hard—no warning, no gentleness, no holding back.

She gasps into my mouth, and I take advantage, deepening the kiss until we’re both breathless.

Her nails rake down my chest, leaving trails of fire through my shirt.

When I finally pull away, she’s flushed and panting and completely unrepentant.

“You’re completely insane.” My eyes trace every inch of her face.

“And you’re utterly obsessed.”

My hand slides up her thigh, under the slit of her dress, finding delicate lace—and the slick heat beneath it. She’s already soaked.

Christ almighty.

“I could fuck you right here. Make you come on my fingers while they sit twenty feet away discussing territory and murder.”

Her breath catches. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I slip one finger beneath the lace, apply just enough pressure to make her arch against me. “Try me.”

She whimpers, biting her bottom lip hard enough to leave marks.

Then, voices approaching. Laughter getting closer.

I withdraw my hand ever so slowly. She moans at the loss, grabbing my wrist, trying to guide me back.

My mouth hovers millimeters from hers. “You want to come that badly? Then earn it. On your knees in my office. Crawling to me like the good girl I know you can be.”

She stares up at me, dazed and furious and completely, utterly mine.

“In your dreams, Jackson.”

Cat lifts off my lap, smoothing her dress like she isn’t trembling. Like she isn’t soaked. Like I didn’t just reduce her to pure, desperate need.

“Don’t make me wait too long,” I add, just to watch her composure crack further.

Rage and desire war across her face, and for a second I think she might climb back on top of me and fuck me into the marble.

Instead, she turns and walks away without another word. Doesn’t look back once.

Just leaves me sitting there with my pulse hammering, cock aching, the taste of blood in my mouth from biting back the urge to drag her into the shadows and fuck every ounce of rebellion out of her system.

I don’t care who might be watching anymore.

The taste of her still clings to my fingers. The sound of her moan still echoes in my skull.

I don’t just want to fuck her.

I want to completely ruin her.

It’s all I think about now.

When she enters a room.

When I close my eyes at night.

When I try to remember who the hell I used to be before Caterina Mortelle made obsession feel like breathing.

She’s going to be the end of me.

And I’m going to make damn sure I take her down with me.