Bound To The Mafia King: The Salvatore Vow のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

Portia’s POV The morning sun hit my face, waking me up from a heavy, restless sleep. My hand was still tightly closed around the heavy paper card Lady Moretti had slipped into my purse the night before. I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes, and reached out to my nightstand out of habit, searching for my phone. My fingers brushed against empty marble. I let out a low sigh, reality crashing back down on me. Dante had taken my phone days ago, the night he caught me taking pictures of his ledger in the West Wing command center. If I wanted to call the number on Lady Moretti’s card, I couldn't just pick up a handset and dial. I needed a way out. I sat back against the headboard, staring at the cursive handwriting on the back of the card. If you ever need a friend who understands the price of the cage... come to my estate. I didn't care

Portia’s POV For the first time since being brought to the Salvatore estate, I woke up happy. The early morning light was just beginning to streak through the long curtains, but I was already out of bed, fueled by a nervous, electric energy. I took a quick shower, blow-dried my hair into soft waves, and dressed in a pair of tailored navy trousers and a comfortable cream cashmere sweater. I needed clothes that allowed me to sit at a desk for hours without distraction. Just as I finished pulling my hair back into a loose clip, Grace knocked and entered, carrying a breakfast tray of fresh berries, warm croissants, and black coffee. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide as she looked at me standing by the window, already fully dressed and glowing with energy. "Goodness, Portia," Grace said, setting the tray down on the table. "You're up early. And you look... happy?"

Dante’s POV I didn't blink as Marc’s pathetically desperate screams filled the damp concrete basement. I gave a slight, deliberate tilt of my head toward the heavy-set guard standing beside the wooden table. The guard nodded once, stepped forward, and yanked the blindfold off Marc’s face. Before Marc could even adjust to the light, the guard grabbed a heavy, serrated iron rod from the tray and went straight to work on the traitor. The sound of snapping bone and wet, frantic gurgles echoed off the cold walls. I stood there calmly with my hands tucked deep into the pockets of my tailored trousers, watching the blood pool across the stone floor. Physical violence didn't move me. It was merely a tool, a crude, necessary language to maintain order in a world ruled by predators. After five minutes of brutal, methodical interrogation, Marc collapsed onto his side, barely breathing, h

Portia’s POV The amber liquid swirled gently inside my glass as I stared down at Dante. For a long, lingering moment, the heavy, suffocating silence hanging in the air of the office was the only sound existing between the two of us.  I didn't push him to fill the void, and I didn't break eye contact for even a fraction of a second. I just stood there, giving him the quiet, undisturbed space he needed to speak. Dante let out a slow, heavy breath. His broad shoulders dropped slightly, he turned his face away from me, looking out toward the dark, reflective glass of the office window. "He didn't teach me how to lead with love, Portia," Dante said, his voice dropping into a rough, distant murmur that sounded as though it were being pulled from a deep, buried place. "Without a mother from the day I was born, and with a father who looked at me like a corporate asset... you learn very quickly tha

Portia’s POV"Don't make me regret it, little bird." Dante leaned in slightly, his dark gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that held me rooted to the stone courtyard. "I didn't give you that access just to make your stay comfortable," he continued, his low voice dropping into a razor-thin rasp that seemed to cut right through the crisp morning air. "I need you to step up. I need a queen by my side, Portia, not a timid bride hiding in the shadows. There are greater wars coming, and the enemies inside the Council are already sharpening their knives." Before I could process the heavy weight of his words, or the sudden, suffocating shift in the air between us, he took a half-step back. "In two days, Don Bernardo is hosting his annual birthday summit at his estate in Long Island," Dante added, his tone businesslike, dropping the intense intimacy as quickly as he had summoned it. "