Page 73 of Brutal Crown

The floor tilts beneath me. My hands curl into fists at my sides. There’s a roaring in my ears, and I take deep, calmingbreaths to hold myself back from lunging at him. I try to remind myself why that is a terrible idea. It will only make things worse.

So I remain rooted where I am. If I take a step closer, I might just do what I’m struggling to convince myself not to.

My father’s voice cuts through the thick atmosphere. “Do you know what you have just done?”

“I’ll take responsibility,” Marco says again. His voice is steady, but the expression on his face is unreadable.

I want to know if he feels anything—guilt, shame, even a flicker of regret—for what he’s just done. I want to know his true intentions. Why would he claim, in front of everyone, a pregnancy he knows he had nothing to do with?

My eyes zoom in on Lia, searching her face. My heart tugs at the painful expression on her face. She looks lost, betrayed, and confused, like she doesn’t know what the hell is happening anymore.

Neither do I.

Because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to come out like this.

I didn’t return with the rest of my family after the Elders’ meeting. While they drove back to the estate, I went looking for answers.

I visited what remains of an old friend, a man who once thought he could rewrite his fate. A man like me.

Salvo Vescovi.

An heir to one of the founding families who defied the Elders when he fell in love with an outsider. A child was born out of that forbidden love, and it cost him everything. His lover and child were killed.

And he wasn’t left out.

His eyes were gouged out. His tongue was split into two. Now he lives blind in an underground monastery after he was disowned by his family, in a permanent prison where he has tolive out the rest of his days as punishment. They won’t let him die. They won’t let him kill himself. His life alone was meant to serve as a warning to men like me, yet I went to visit him, hoping I could find something—anything—that could get me and Lia out of this mess.

He recognized my voice from the times he used to visit when I was younger. He told me he still dreams of his girl—and that the last sound he remembers from his son wasn’t a cry, but a goodbye he never got to answer.

“You cannot change their minds, Francesco,” he whispered through broken teeth. “The Society doesn’t forgive blood crimes, especially not heirs who live to continue the bloodlines.”

I thought I could beg, reason, and promise him anything he wanted, anything to keep her safe. But it was no use. He said the only thing he wanted was death. There was nothing else that could make him happier. He said that the Elders would never reason with me. If they spared Lia’s life, it would open the door for others to follow. And if that happened, the world they built would burn.

I left with nothing but a warning ringing in my head:

Be careful. La Mano Nera doesn’t do well with rebellion.

I rushed back home, shoving the warning to the back of my mind.

Because, besides the warning, my only intention was to get to Lia—to take her away from this place, away from our world, somewhere the Society could never reach her, where their power meant nothing.

But I was minutes too late.

And instead of saving her, I walked into the sound of my brother’s voice—claiming my unborn child as his. And I feel everything I came to protect slipping through my fingers.

The look on my father’s face is one of pure venom. He hates this almost as much as I do, for different reasons. If it were up tohim, Lia would be found dead in her room tomorrow morning. That is easier and less messy than this public spectacle. The news of the pregnancy would never come out, and Lia’s death would be forgotten after a few days. The Romano name and legacy would be kept intact.

But his plans are ruined, just like mine. From what I’ve gathered, Zia Clara had a maid who was watching Lia. The maid reported her suspicions about Lia’s pregnancy, and Zia, being the spiteful woman that she is, decided to publicly humiliate Lia before reporting what she knows to my father.

My father looks at Marco with a kind of coldness I haven’t seen in a long time.

“Everyone out,” he says finally.

The staff scurry out of the room like rats fleeing fire, as if staying even a second longer will cost them their lives. My aunts take a little longer before walking out.

Lia remains standing with her head bent low in the center of the room.

“You too,” my father tells her.