Portia’s POV
People say grief makes you numb, but as I stood in my family's grand library, all I felt was the crushing, physical weight of it.
The room still carried the scent of my father's favorite pipe tobacco and the fresh jasmine my mother always kept arranged in the vases. Just days ago, they were alive, laughing at the dinner table, grounded and real. Today, my brothers were tearing their names apart.
"Sign the contract, Portia. Stop being a selfish little bitch and just sign it."
Dominic’s voice shattered the heavy silence. I watched my oldest brother standing by the bar, his hands trembling violently as he poured his third glass of scotch.
At thirty, he was supposed to be the anchor of the Vance family after our parents' sudden, horrific car crash. Instead, he was falling apart.
"I am not signing my life away to a criminal based on a piece of paper I haven't even verified," I said.
My voice came out steady, a stark contrast to my hands, which desperately wanted to shake.
I was only twenty-two, but in this moment, looking at the wreck of my family, I felt way older than both of my brothers combined.
“You don't have a choice!" Julian snapped from the shadows by the window. He stepped forward, his face twisted in anger.
I recognized that face instantly. He had always hated that our parents trusted my smarts over his reckless choices. He loathed that I had gone to college for business strategy while he and Dominic blew their trust funds on high-stakes poker games and reckless spending.
"You think this is a game?" Julian hissed.
"Mom and Dad are gone, Portia. They left behind a total disaster. They ruined us."
"That is a lie," I said, locking my gaze onto his. "Our parents were incredibly careful with money. They could never run up a multi-million-dollar debt overnight. It makes zero sense."
"It's the truth!" Dominic shouted.
He slammed his glass down onto the desk, sending liquor splashing everywhere.
Marching over, he shoved a thick leather folder hard against my chest.
"They owed the Salvatores millions. It doesn't matter how!" Dominic spat, his eyes wild. "The Salvatores rule the New York underworld, Portia. If we don’t pay, Dante Salvatore will kill us all. He gave us a choice. He takes you as his wife to clear the debt, or he takes our heads."
A cold spike of disbelief hit me. "Dante Salvatore doesn't even know who I am," I whispered. "Why would a man like him want to marry me?"
"Because his father’s will says he has to be married to inherit the family empire," Julian said coldly. "It's a clean trade. You unlock his fortune, and he cancels our debt. You're going, Portia. The Salvatore guards are already outside the gates. If you don't walk out willingly, we will drag you out ourselves."
I stared at my brothers, and in that quiet, terrible second, whatever faint shred of love I had left for them died completely. They had sold me. They were weaponizing my grief and a questionable debt to chain me to a monster.
My strategic mind instantly began weighing the board. If I stayed here, they would just find another way to ruin me. If I left, I would be walking directly into a trap. But inside that Salvatore fortress, away from these two cowards, I might actually have a fighting chance to figure out how my parents allegedly ran into a multi-million-dollar debt. My gut was screaming that there was something far deeper hidden beneath the surface.
"Fine," I said, lifting my chin. I reached out and took the pen. "I’ll sign."
Dominic let out a huge, trembling breath of relief as I pressed the ink to paper, writing Portia Vance, officially sealing my fate.
**********
Ten minutes later, the heavy iron gates groaned open. A sleek, armored black Maybach sat waiting in the pouring rain, ringed by massive men in dark suits.
Dominic and Julian didn't even bother to watch me walk down the steps. I heard the heavy front doors slam and lock behind me, they were throwing me to the wolves without a second thought.
The drive from Staten Island to Long Island blurred together in a haze of passing city lights and stifling silence.
I sat quietly in the leather interior, watching the rain beat against the thick, bulletproof glass. I refused to cry. Instead, I forced all my energy into keeping my breathing steady and my thoughts sharp.
Eventually, the car turned into a winding, heavily guarded driveway. At the end of the road stood a colossal mansion constructed of dark marble and glass, perched right on the edge of a sheer cliff over the ocean.
The car rocked to a stop. A guard yanked the door open and signaled for me to get out. I marched up the slick marble steps just as the giant double doors swung open, admitting me into a vast, imposing hallway.
"Wait here," the guard ordered shortly, before turning on his heel and walking back outside.
I was left completely alone.
Suddenly, the heavy rhythm of boots echoed out from a dark hallway ahead.
I turned my head slowly toward the sound. A man stepped out of the shadows, and every instinct in my body screamed that he was absolutely dangerous.
Dante Salvatore.
He was huge, easily 6'3" with broad shoulders cutting a sharp silhouette in a dark suit. His jawline looked as if it had been carved straight from stone.
But it was his eyes that sent a sudden chill straight through my veins, a piercing, icy blue, completely devoid of any human warmth.
He stopped just three feet away, his towering frame casting a shadow that completely covered me.
"Portia Vance," he said. His voice was a deep, rough baritone, entirely flat of emotion. "You're late."
"I was busy being sold out by my family," I replied smoothly. I swallowed the surge of panic and forced myself to look him dead in those icy eyes. "I assume you have the receipt?"
A tiny flicker of surprise crossed his face before his expression went completely blank again. He took a deliberate step closer, bringing with him the scent of expensive cologne and tobacco.
"Let’s get one thing straight," Dante said, dropping his voice to a dangerous whisper. "This marriage is a business deal. You are here for one reason: to fulfill my father’s will so I can get my inheritance. You are a legal loophole. Nothing more."
He raised his large, tattooed hand and pointed toward the left.
“That is the East Wing. It belongs to you. It has a full staff, and it's completely safe. You will live there. You will sleep there. You will not wander around, you will not ask questions, and you will stay out of my business."
He turned his body toward the dark hallway on the right. "The West Wing is my command center. It is strictly off-limits. If you cross that line, Portia, the contract is over."
He leaned in closer, his cold gaze pinning me down where I stood. "Do we understand each other?"
I stared right back at him, my mind already running the spatial layout of the house. "Perfectly," I whispered, forcing a fake smile to my lips.
Dante gave a single nod, turned around, and melted back into the shadows of the West Wing without looking back.
"Right this way, Mrs. Salvatore," a gentle voice said. An older woman dressed in a neat housekeeper's uniform stepped forward, her eyes brimming with quiet sympathy. "Let me show you to your wing. My name is Grace."
I followed her. The heavy door to the East Wing shut firmly behind me, and the electronic lock engaged with a chilling, definitive snap. I spun around at the sound, my heart leaping into my throat.
Grace turned to face me, her expression completely unreadable. I noticed light glinting off something long, sharp, and silver in her hand
A massive kitchen knife.
She raised the blade, stepping directly into my personal space. I froze, realizing in full, terrifying clarity that I had walked straight into a slaughterhouse.
