Page 13 of Brutal Crown

I stand frozen, my heart hammering in my chest. Marco certainly isn’t as evil as Francesco, and for a brief moment, his closeness made me feel… something.

Yet the only person I can think about as I continue my journey to the kitchen is his older and more terrible brother, Francesco.

4

FRANCESCO

My father’s study smells of leather, cigar smoke, and old paper.

Heavy velvet curtains drape over the windows, blocking out most of the daylight and shrouding the room in darkness.

The only light comes from an open window at the far right of the room facing the garden, and the giant projection from my father’s laptop that hums quietly at the front of the room. Pale, flickering images appear on the wall across the dark room.

I sit beside my father at the long mahogany table. My suit feels too tight across my shoulders, and my collar feels stiff against my neck. My fingers itch to loosen my tie and undo a few buttons.

Instead, I drum them against my lap. My father hasn’t said a word to me since we came in, and he hasn’t even acknowledged my return home after two years. But I see the hint of pride in his eyes. I’ve fulfilled my duty as a Romano heir. I’ve been initiated into the Society. That is what matters the most to him.

Emotions aren’t a thing in our family, especially not for men like Dante Romano. So he doesn’t need to recognize what I’ve done. What’s expected is already carved into my bones.

One by one, the Elders appear on the wall before us, six figures stand cloaked in black velvet. As usual, their hoods are up, thick, iron-forged masks covering their faces. The symbol of our society—a serpent wrapped around a bleeding hand—is embroidered over their hearts in deep crimson thread.

Their voices come layered through distortions, metallic and inhuman. Only the titles flashing on the screen tell me which Elder is speaking.

“Congratulations, Francesco,” says Lux Tertius. It’s almost impossible to tell the emotion behind the flat, robotic tone. “You have completed your initiations. You have honored your house.”

I grit my teeth behind a careful smile. I honored my house by spilling innocent blood. Honorable indeed.

“And soon, you will honor it further,” adds Sangius Quartus. “The bloodlines must be preserved. Your marriage to Silvia has been approved and blessed.”

I nod stiffly. My palms press against my sides to hide the way my fingers curl into fists.

This is how it’s always been. Words likeblessings,oaths, andbloodlinesare tossed around like we’re a bunch of livestock whose sole aim is to breed and multiply.

The Six Elders speak like kings, as if they rule the world. Well, they do. They rule my world, at least, and that of thousands of others like me. They speak as if the rest of us are nothing but pawns, useful until proven otherwise. Even my father bows his head when they speak. Even Dante Romano, mighty and powerful as he is, treats them like gods.

I glance sideways at him. The expression on his face is unreadable. It’s always been hard getting a good read on my father. It’s one of the reasons I saw him as the most powerful man in the world when I was younger.

He is unpredictable, yet smart and tactical. He can be aggressively violent. He can also be a slow poison. He stands tallamong men, feared and respected across continents, but in this room, in front of them, he is small, just like the rest of us.

I force myself to look back at the projection, pretending I don’t feel the familiar tightness creeping up my spine.

None of us knows who the Elders are, not even their own children. As a young boy, when I was first told about the Society and taught their history—our history—I used to wonder if my father was one of the Elders hiding behind that mask.

But when I was old enough to meet the Elders and I had my father right by my side, I knew he wasn’t. He was a common man like me. It made me fear the Society even more if my father, powerful as he is, was a mere subject to them.

Each of the six founding families in the La Mano Nera is represented by an Elder. So whoever is in the Romanos’ seat must be one of my seven uncles—my father’s brother’s—scattered across Italy.

Maybe even my grandfather, old and vicious as he still is. The thought makes my skin crawl. I have no good memory of the man.

“The Society will be gathered here in your home,” says Nero Primo, his voice so distorted it sounds like a choir speaking in unison. “Your house has been approved to host this sacred event that is your engagement. For now, we trust you will not be needing representatives from any of the other founding families to be in attendance?”

My father clears his throat and answers, “We assure you, we have it under control. The Morettis and the Romanos will be present, along with a few of our friends in high power. No need to extend invitations to keep us in check.”

“There will be no room for mishaps,” another Elder snaps. “On that night, you will stand before the Society and claim Silvia as your wife. Publicly and irrevocably.”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. Another relic of a suffocating tradition where we are meant to breed children to continue the lineage of blood and sin. I don’t want to bring a child into this world. Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice.

This is the life I was born into, the life I can never escape. My fate was engraved in stone the moment I was born, and as I’ve always known since I became conscious of myself, anyone who dares to defy the path set out for them curses their family’s bloodline to death.