Chapter 3

Enzo's POV

Right after that, Rocco strolled into the private ward with a grin, wrapped his arms around Portia, and leaned down to claim her lips like a man planting a flag on conquered ground.

Their tongues tangled. They swapped spit like teenagers behind a social club.

I'd watched this scene too many times to count. It didn't make me jealous, didn't make me territorial, didn't stir anything in me anymore.

They were deep in the middle of it when a knock at the door cut through the room.

A poised woman stepped inside, her heels clicking soft and deliberate against the tile, the kind of walk that told every man in a room she answered to no one.

"Consigliera Vitale," I said, recognizing her instantly.

"Adriana?! What are you doing here?" Portia's eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face.

Adriana smiled, casual and professional in the same breath. "Delivering the papers of release."

"The what?" Portia froze. For a heartbeat her whole body went still, as if she'd been struck. Then her face turned to ice.

I reached for the papers Adriana held out. "Thank you," I said, and managed a smile. "Dinner's on me sometime."

"No need." She reached out, touched my forehead, and smiled faintly. "Glad the fever's gone. Call me if you need anything, alright? Remember, you're not alone."

She had barely cleared the doorway when Portia's eyes narrowed into blades.

"What now?" she spat. "Planning to crawl to Adriana next? You two were awfully cozy back in your school days. But someone like you? A Vitale would only keep you around for sport."

I wasn't in the mood to argue. I simply held out the papers.

"Sign this," I said. "Let's both be free."

All the arguments. All the times I'd bent my neck. All the ways I'd tried to please her.

I'd done it hoping Portia would come to her senses, honor the alliance that bound us, and give me the time I needed to dig out the truth.

But it only made things worse.

The more I bent, the more she broke me. The more I gave, the more she hated.

Now I was just… tired. Utterly, bone-deep exhausted.

She had never loved me. But instead of signing, Portia tore the papers of release in half, then again, then again, until the shredded pieces rained down into my lap like ash.

"You're my dog!" she screamed. "A dog doesn't get to choose his master!"

She turned to Rocco. "Take him to the car. I'll settle things with the doctors."

Rocco, smug and obedient as any low soldier eager to please, dragged me out like a piece of luggage.

But the second the doors sealed behind us and we were alone, his face twisted into something uglier.

He backhanded me hard.

"You son of a bitch. Just looking at your face makes my blood boil."

Same as the eighteen before him. No reason. Just hate. Some strange reflex they all shared the moment they understood I was still here, still standing where they wanted to stand.

I hated myself for still being this weak.

Eight years of swallowing bile and pretending it tasted fine would end here. I pressed my thumb hard against the inside of my left wrist, counting the beats the way I'd learned to as a boy, waiting them out. Now, at last, I was finding the strength to walk away from this ruin of an alliance.

"You know what?" he sneered. He licked his lower lip, eyes flicking once toward the stairwell door. "I'm gonna have your wife tonight. Do anything for you? Huh? Excited? Jealous? Want to watch?"

Hearing nothing from me, he snapped, "Say something!"

His fist went up again. But just then, the clack of heels echoed down the stairwell.

Rocco's eyes darted, and just like that he threw himself backward, rolling out of the car like a rat scrambling for its hole, painting me the villain all over again.

"Man, I was just trying to help you into the seat. Why'd you shove me?"

Portia rushed over to help him up. Then she rounded on me, wrenched open the door beside me, and hauled me out by the collar.

"You piece of filth! Beating on Rocco the moment my back's turned? You know what? You can sleep in the gutter tonight!"

She cursed at me, screaming as if I'd broken some sacred law of the Family.

I only gave her a bitter, tired smile. I didn't bother explaining.

Because none of this was new.

Her first consort accused me of scalding him with boiling water. The water had been cold. But Portia never cared for facts, never cared for details.

Just like that, she beat me with a feather duster and made me kneel, head bowed, hands raised in apology.

The second claimed I'd stepped on his shoes on purpose.

Just like that, Portia made me kneel again. That time, to lick them clean.

The third said I'd salted his food too heavily and accused me of trying to poison him, the way a made man fears the meal set before him by an enemy.

Just like that, Portia forced four spoonfuls of salt down my throat. I landed in the emergency ward that night.

The fourth botched a deal himself and laid it at my feet. Portia never once checked whether it was true.

Just like that, she marched me to his office, made me kneel before his whole crew, and forced a public confession from my mouth, taking all the blame onto myself before the eyes of the Family.

And that was only the surface of it. I could fill a book and still not reach the bottom.

In the beginning, I tried everything. Explaining. Swearing my innocence. Begging my wife to forgive me.