Claimed By The Godfather

Synopsis

I tore up the slave contract right in front of my father and the entire Castellan family. Shreds of paper drifted down onto the white linen tablecloth of the Michelin-starred restaurant. The pen I hurled stabbed through the fabric, ink bleeding out into a pool that slowly thickened like blood. The private room was dead silent. My father's cigar slipped from his fingers and dropped into the plate of half-melted ice cream with a gentle hiss—like the sound of some tiny life being snuffed out. Then, the door opened. First, the light vanished. Then his silhouette appeared. He entered like the room was his by birthright, and the rest of us were just intruders who didn't belong. He was Dante Castellan. Dentevile didn't need a crowned king. He was the law itself. Dressed in a black suit, he scanned the shredded contract on the table before settling on me. His gaze wasn't like seeing a person, but was like sizing up a once-prized artifact, reclaimed but now imperfect. "What you tore up wasn't just paper, Ava," Dante said. He sat across from me, picked up the untouched dessert fork from my plate, and used the tip to gently push the scraps aside, revealing a line of small, scratched-out text underneath: [During the marriage, the wife shall fulfill all obligations to meet Mr. Castellan's needs.] "What you destroyed," he said, setting the silver fork down with a cold, echoing clink, "was three years of reprieve for your father, the operating rights to two casinos in Bramsen, and..." Dante paused, his gaze shifting to my father. The man who had never once bowed his head in my memory was making a respectful bow right before our eyes.