Chapter 2

Enzo's POV

My head was pounding so hard I could barely think. Rage surged through me, so hot it nearly knocked me out cold. I gripped the edge of the desk in the back office of the social club just to stay standing.

Before I could even speak, Portia sneered on the screen.

"When a dog misbehaves, it deserves to be disciplined," she purred. "Boys, any ideas on how we should teach Enzo his place?"

The group thread blew up again, soldiers who owed their tribute to the Falcone name racing to please the heir.

[Didn't he say he's burning up with fever? Let's cool him down. Ice on him!]

[Yesss! The freezing treatment, loser's edition!]

Every made man in the chat piled on to join the fun.

Portia gave the nod, and Rocco went off barking orders like the favorite hound at her heel.

"Ten buckets. Make them freezing."

I barely managed to whisper, "Portia… I really am sick…"

"Quit faking. I know your tricks," she spat, like the words themselves were filth.

'But what does she know about my pain, my helplessness, my sorrow? Even the thing that "ruined" her that night a few years ago—it wasn't even my choice…'

The first bucket hit, dragging me back to the cold stone floor of the club. While it soaked my burning skin with bone-deep cold, laughter erupted all around me, digital, cruel, echoing off the low ceiling.

Then the second bucket. Then the third. One after another. All under Rocco's instruction, that lieutenant of hers directing the men like this was the day-to-day of the rackets.

I was shaking, drenched, teeth chattering. But it didn't stop.

From her lounge chair on some private stretch of coast, Portia laughed and threw herself into the arms of her 18th consort, kissing him slow and deep.

I couldn't take it anymore. Everything went blurry. My knees buckled.

I collapsed forward, smacking my forehead hard on the sharp corner of the mahogany table.

My blood poured instantly.

And just before I blacked out, I thought I heard Portia's voice, shaky, not smug.

"Rocco, are you just going to stand there?! Get him to a doctor now! If anything happens to him, I swear you'll regret being alive!"

When I came to, the first face I saw… was hers.

"You're such a drama queen. Always sick, just like your mother. Must be the debt coming due," Portia began. "Getting bound to you was the worst damn luck I've ever had."

Arms crossed, she stared at me like I was something she'd scraped off her heel, the enormous heirloom ring on her right hand catching the light as she turned it, slow and idle.

Eight years ago, I was just the estate servant's kid. I'd just earned a seat at another Family's table, a real one, when the Falcones announced without warning that I'd be bound to Portia by blood-alliance.

They never even asked Portia.

She always thought my mother and I had schemed something to force her father's hand. No matter how many times I tried to explain, she didn't believe a word of it.

Then one day, I woke up after a night of drinking… in her bed.

It was done. Irreversible.

The union followed like a trap snapping shut, sealed to bind me into the bloodline forever.

But Portia never let go of her anger. She put men on it, dug for answers.

And when the Don pressed for the truth, my already-ill mother… took the blame. She said she was afraid Portia would never give me a chance, so she did something desperate.

I still remember the day Portia found out. She kicked me to the floor, trembling with rage.

"Damn it, Enzo! We were already together. I admired you! I even thought maybe… maybe I'd take you as my own one day!

"And you and your filthy mother went and pulled this disgusting, gutter-born move to force me into this alliance?!

"Both of you are nothing but garbage!

"You both deserve to die!"

That same night, she brought her first plaything into the estate and made me serve them wine while they bathed together.

She made me kneel outside the door, listening while they laughed and moaned.

But no matter how she punished me for what she believed, I never believed my mother did it.

She was a good woman. Raised me on her own, lived humbly, never chased money or a name.

She always told me, "As long as we're safe and healthy, that's enough."

She even refused the Don and his wife over and over, until they swore they'd put the question to Portia directly.

But none of that mattered to Portia. She refused to listen.

After a long silence, I looked her in the eye.

"I'll set you free."

She snorted. "Please. Every soldier in the Family knows you're my number-one dog. You'd crawl back to me in another life."

As if she remembered something, she clapped her hands and smirked.

"Oh, right! Let me introduce you to number nineteen."

She lifted her chin high, like she was about to show off some new property she'd taken.

She was flaunting her latest consort.

It was supposed to make me feel something. Jealousy. Rage. Heartbreak.

But all I felt was… nothing.

I looked at my so-called wife, and I pressed my thumb flat against the inside of my left wrist out of old habit, then slowly let the hand fall open. 'I don't really care now.'