Page 44 of Brutal Crown

In silence we rule. In blood we bind. In darkness we thrive.

To the House of Romano,

The Council has noted the continued delay in the binding ceremony. To ensure the sanctity of tradition, a family of the Council’s choosing will be sent to witness the ceremony and ensure the integrity of the rite. The chosen family will arrive within the week.

The union between House Romano and House Moretti will be sealed at dusk, seven days from the date of this notice.

Any further deviation from our customs will be regarded as dissent.

May your actions reflect the legacy of your blood.

—The Elders

I stare at the page long after I’ve finished reading, the words burning behind my eyes.

Dissent, my ass.They don’t ask. They order. Always with that cold, elegant precision that sounds like tradition but smells like death.

I fold the letter slowly, like it might explode.

Seven days. Seven days before I chain myself to a woman I don’t love, for a future I didn’t choose. And for what? Their approval? Their control?

They will be sending another family of their choosing to witness the upcoming ceremony. This only means that they are starting to get suspicious since I’ve been delaying my announcement and ritual for far too long.

I swallow thickly before folding the letter in half.

So, that’s it. I have just a week to figure my shit out.

I have just seven days before I have to get into an unbreakable union with a woman that I hardly talk to except when we’re in the presence of our families.

It just occurs to me that I haven’t even seen her in weeks. I didn’t even notice. I know she comes around the estate from time to time. She also sent a text that I haven’t checked about preparing for our vows and wishing she could escape this as well. I might not know her so well personally, except for when we were kids—but one thing I know is that if she could pick who she wanted to marry, it would not be me.

It’s already late in the night when I shove the box and folded letter into my desk drawer and stand. The chair scrapes against the marble as I push it back and step out of the room.

I head over to my bedroom, but I’m restless. I need something to take my mind off everything. Sleep is out of the question.

Walking to my bedside table, I pull the last drawer open and slip out a packet of cigarettes. I can’t remember the last time I smoked. Four years ago, maybe. I quit after a distant relative died of lung cancer. Cancer sucks. In my opinion, one of the worst ways to die. The sickness slowly eats you up from the inside until you’re nothing but thin—sometimes rotting—flesh and bones.

I prefer to die by the bullet. Easy and quick.

The only thing I miss about nicotine is how it always managed to take the edge off. And now, that’s exactly what I need.

Opening the packet, I take a stick out. However, I can’t find a lighter. I rummage through all the drawers and corners where they might be, but I find none.

Hissing in frustration, I shove the entire packet in my pants pocket and leave the room. The hallways are dark and quietas I head to the kitchen. After a one-minute search, I find a matchbox. I light a stick and head out of the kitchen, stepping into the nearest room.

The library.

Where I first saw her on my return. I should leave. I came out to forget about her, not do the opposite. Instead, I trail my fingers along the edge of a shelf as I move deeper into the room toward the armchairs near the unlit fireplace. The leather groans under my weight as I take a seat. I let out a billow of smoke, and the smell mixes with the lingering scent of old paper and leather.

Before I can take another puff, the door creaks.

My head snaps up as a very familiar figure walks in.

Lia freezes when she sees me.

She’s in an oversized nightgown, bare feet, her hair in a messy bun over her head like she wasn’t expecting to run into anyone. She blinks once, lips parting like she’s about to say something, before she turns to leave.

“Don’t let me stop you from your midnight espionage,” I say lazily.