Page 117 of Brutal Crown

They’d break her for loving me.

And I’d never forgive myself for being the reason they turned her into ashes.

The grand doors to the room at the end of the hallway are thrown open. Inside, I see a few Society members, all dressed in black cloaks marked with symbols of La Mano Nera. I brush a hand over the front of my coat and take a deep breath in, a sorry attempt at trying to calm myself down. The scent of incense and smoke gets thicker as I get closer to the door.

Just before I step in, I catch a streak of white at the corner of my eye.

I turn just in time to see Marco tugging Lia behind a large pillar.

They shouldn’t be seen together, especially not right before the ceremony. It’s bad luck, kind of like a bride shouldn’t see her groom before she walks down the aisle. But this is far darker and more twisted.

My legs lead me toward their direction before my brain catches up. I walk carefully, trying to be discreet, and lean against a nearby wall. From my position, I can see the back of Lia’s head and Marco’s side profile, but they can’t see me.

“…you can fake it,” I hear him saying. His voice sounds hushed and urgent; I strain my ears to hear more. “…don’t make a mistake that might cost you your life, Lia. This is the real deal! It’s the most important rite we have to complete before we can be bound together.”

She doesn’t answer him. Her gaze stays fixed on the stone path wall before her.

My throat tightens.

I want her to say something. I want to know what she’s thinking behind those eyes of hers.

Most importantly, I want to drag her away from all of this, rip this entire ceremony apart, and throw it in the Elders’ smug faces. But I stay still. Watching. Because this is her moment. Her battle. This is when she chooses what she thinks is best for her.

“You don’t have to mean it,” I hear Marco saying. “Just… walk the path, say the words, and we can figure it out later. They’ll spare you if you obey. And I’ll carry it for both of us, Lia. I swear. Just… don’t fight them.” He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s painful, but you’re strong,Stellina. I know you can do it. I know you’ll make me happy.”

My hands clench into fists. I grit my teeth and step into the room before I do something stupid.

The room is long and rectangular, lined with old stone, and colder than it should be, save for the middle, where a path of burning coals glows like a wound. The red heat pulses up from the center of the stone aisle, casting dancing shadows on the walls and flickering across the golden masks of the Elders seated on their thrones.

They say the fire is symbolic. That the pain purifies the union. That devotion is proven through the endurance.

I say it’s barbaric.

The Rite of Hearts is supposed to make her choice look noble and voluntary, as though this isn’t a sentence disguised as a ceremony. But everyone here knows the truth.

This isn’t about love. It’s about obedience and submission to power.

It’s meant to break the outsiders—like metal heated until it’s malleable, bendable, ready to be shaped by force.

In Lia’s case, she’s not just an outsider. Her blood carries the stain of rebellion and betrayal. So to marry into a namelike Romano, a name that sits among La Mano Nera’s highest thrones, she must walk the fire.

Literally.

The path of burning coals is meant to be walked on.

Marco is the first to walk in. Entering from the opposite end of the room, he steps forward and positions himself before the coal path. He’s dressed in ceremonial black, his arms loose at his sides, his jaw clenched. From across the room, I recognize the fear in his eyes.

I feel the exact same way.

The six masked Elders sit silently on raised thrones just beyond Marco. Other prominent Society families form a semicircle along the edges of the room. We are all standing. No one is allowed to sit in the presence of the rite except the Elders.

I stay near the back, near the last marble column beside the door. I’m still close enough to see everything but far enough to protect my sanity. I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I stand too close. I don’t know why I came. Maybe I wanted to make sure she went through with it. Maybe I needed to know she’d survive—even if it meant watching her give herself to him, to them. Or maybe… some part of me just couldn’t stand the thought of her facing it alone, even if she doesn’t know I’m here.

Lia is led into the room barefoot. Her dress is white, almost translucent under the overhead light. She doesn’t flinch at the heat rising from the coals. She doesn’t blink as the guards position her directly in front of the path.

She already knows what’s expected of her.

The moment you’re chosen for the Rite, there’s no way out. The knowledge alone is considered a threat. If she doesn’t walk, she dies. If she walks and refuses the match—well, no one’s ever done that before. But I imagine the outcome would be the same. They don’t offer second chances. They don’t handle defiance well.