Chapter 1
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.
*****
"The bank's coming to appraise that Steinway your mother left behind tomorrow," Dante said.
At that moment, my whole body froze.
He knew everything. He knew that piano was the last piece my mother played before she died, and he knew it was the one thing I'd never let go of.
A brand-new Montblanc pen was pushed toward me, the white star emblem glinting with a chilling glare.
"Sign," Dante said, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. "Or I'll make the call right now and make you watch as that piano is chopped up for kindling."
I gripped the pen. The metal was cold as steel, while my palm was burning hot.
On either side of the long table, my cousins held their breath, the lawyer's fingers trembled, and Uncle Leo's glass rim was marked with sweaty fingerprints.
Everyone was waiting for me to bow my head, waiting for this ritual of sacrifice to finally play out.
Then, I did something that made time freeze.
I seized Dante's tie.
The deep blue silk tightened between my fingers as I pulled hard, making him lean in. We were so close that I could see the faint gray flecks in his irises, and I could feel the warmth of his breath.
"Mr. Castellan," I said, my voice low but sharp, "you can take the casinos, the docks, the house, and you can even burn that piano."
I locked eyes with him, watching his pupils contract, and spoke each word with deliberate force, "But you can never ever take me."
Right then, the pen punched straight through the paper.
It wasn't a signature. It was a hole torn right through the printed name "Ava Monroe". The sound of ripping fibers was razor-sharp in the silence, like cocking a gun.
I tossed the pen back onto the table and turned toward the door.
The bodyguard took a step, yet Dante didn't give him an order. My hand closed around the brass doorknob.
"Ava," Dante said from behind me.
His voice was steady but carried a dangerous undertone, newly sharpened.
I turned around.
He had a thin silver chain wrapped around his fingers. I had no clue when he'd slipped it off. At the end of the chain, the plain ring I'd worn for seven years dangled, gently swaying in the air.
"You forgot something," Dante said, closing his hand around the ring.
"What's mine should be returned to me," Dante said, his voice cold and resolute.
In that instant, my world went completely silent.