Chapter 18
Brax
The gong slams through the arena three times, each strike rolling over my bones with enough weight to rattle the breath out of my lungs.
The crowd reacts, their heads snapping up, and new whispers surging into a single shiver of sound.
They're hawks, waiting for more prey, and Valentina and I are it.
I lock my hand over Valentina's waist and move her toward the exit.
The dry heat and ash burn my throat. Sweat clings to the back of my neck.
The chanting still rings in my ears. Every instinct I have demands I get her out of this place before the Underworld decides we haven't performed enough for them.
She stays rigid beside me, eyes fixed ahead. Her palm is damp. Her chest rises too fast.
"Keep walking," I mutter, pushing through more members.
Her heels skid. "Wait!"
My pulse spikes. "For what?"
She twists out of my grip and looks sharply over her shoulder toward the center platform. The torches lining the arena cast a restless glow over her glistening skin. Everywhere around us, the contrast of white and black dances from the flames.
I clench my jaw, ready to kill everyone in this room.
My bride was a force to be reckoned with and in a dress no other could pull off. Yet it only created more hatred for the Underworld.
They dressed her in black not to honor her strength but to shame her as if she carried a stain and was less. And yet she stood there with her head high enough to confront every person who tried to diminish her.
Despite the twisted meaning, she looked incredible. She was stunning in a way the Underworld doesn't deserve to witness. But she should have been in white, not these hypocritical members around us, screaming they were better than her.
It pissed me off the moment I saw it, and the anger spikes hotter now. My Minx was never less than anyone in this room. If anything, she's a hundred times better. Yet, I see the shame they've put in her head.
They're all going to pay.
"We have to go back," she whispers, voice punched with dread.
"What are you talking about? We're done. They announced it. We're leaving," I insist.
Her words tremble. "Three rings on the gong. You heard it and you know the rules."
I drag a harsh breath from my lungs. "What else do they want from us?"
Her expression tightens. It's not the usual storm of killer instinct and confidence. Her eyes widen in a slow stretch, her jaw tightens, and something raw creeps through the cracks of her composure. It isn't a weakness but a warning.
Her voice drops until it's just breath. "Brax, we have to go back."
And I hate it. Fear enters her expression, and that's not the woman I know her to be. No, my Minx will slit someone's throat if they look the wrong way, and I prefer it over her giving her power to these assholes.
Her hand lifts, fingers brushing the side of my face, her cool palm pressing against my cheek. "Brax…please."
I lean closer and murmur in her ear, "Don't let them intimidate you. You're Valentina Abruzzo O'Malley now." I pull back and lock my gaze into hers.
She takes a deep breath and nods.
I tug her into my chest, slide my arm around her waist, and turn us toward the chanting mass. I mumble, "Let's get this over with, Minx."
The crowd parts slowly, their voices scraping in a low hum. Torches return to hitting the ground, but unlike before, it's a soft touch instead of a violent beating.
I lead us up the steps and back onto the center stage toward the king and queen.
Kirill and Fiona stand side by side. He has a protective arm around her, and I can't say I blame him. The last time they were here, they almost got beheaded.
His heavy frame blocks one of the flames behind him, making the scar slicing across his cheek and peeking out from under his mask look darker.
I want to hate him, but I can't. Not for this moment.
Not when relief hit me hard when I realized it was him stepping forward instead of one of those Omni bastards who enjoy turning simple instructions into brutal punishments.
And deep down, I know he has to do what he has to do.
He didn't make up these rituals. Sean and Fiona's father did.
I still don't understand why. So as much as I don't want to admit it, I trust him.
He's a Petrov, and somehow, through all this craziness, I don't fear him.
Valentina is his only friend, and I know he would never willingly harm her.
But I still stare at him with caution. His job is to conduct the ritual, and who knows what else is in store for us.
I ask, "Why did you call us back?"
His voice booms, echoing against the stone columns, "You forgot something."
My gut knots hard. I tighten my hold on Valentina's waist until her breath shudders quietly against me. She doesn't pull away.
Kirill lifts a hand, ordering, "Bring them their robes."
Two members emerge through the shadows, each carrying a folded white robe across both arms. They're thick and luxurious.
Valentina tenses.
One of the robed members stands before her. I don't release her.
"It's okay. Let her put it on," Fiona quietly orders.
I look at her eyes through the mask.
She smiles and nods.
I reluctantly release Valentina.
"You too," Fiona states.
I help Valentina into hers first. Then I slide into mine, grinding my molars. This is just more symbolic theatrics. Every step into this world tightens something invisible around my throat. And I'll be damned if they hurt my wife any further.
My wife.
Jesus.
I'm married.
I tug Valentina back into me. "Thanks for the robes. Can we go now?"
Kirill's lips twitch. He angles his body toward the crowd and raises his voice again. "Tonight, they have proven themselves worthy."
The arena erupts, not in chaos but in a sick twist of reverence.
My spine stiffens. I don't trust it. I never will.
Kirill steps forward and announces, "Pay homage to those worthy of seats on the Royal Council!"
My head snaps toward Valentina.
I expect the arena's firelight to catch on her face, to brighten her eyes, to send some burst of triumph across her expression. She's chased this goal for years. She's bled for it. Sacrificed. Obeyed.
But her face shows nothing. There's no smile, excitement, or pride, just an eerie stillness that slices sharper than any blade I've seen tonight.
The arena shakes from the new chant, "Revarum! Revarum! "Revarum!"
I glance at Valentina, confused.
She got what she wanted. Why does she look like the ground beneath us shifted in a direction she didn't anticipate?
The chanting tapers into a low hum that crawls across the arena's curved walls. The members bow their heads. Torches dim. A hush settles over the space and prickles my skin.
Kirill steps forward, and the arena turns silent. His voice cracks through it. "The seat on the Royal Council requires more than perseverance. It requires vows that bind deeper than blood."
Here we go.
I tighten my hand on Valentina's waist.
She remains motionless beside me, her expression carved from marble without a single glimmer of anything reflecting what should be triumph.
It gnaws under my ribs, confusing me further. She should be shining. Instead, she stands distant, unreadable in a way that leaves my stomach tight.
"Repeat after me, together," Kirill commands.
A fresh knot twists inside me. All their vows and proclamations are another thing I hate. My loyalty will never be with the Underworld. I'm an O'Malley by choice, and I'll never choose this cult over my clan.
Kirill lifts both hands. "Through shadow and order, through silence and consequence, I pledge to the Royal Council."
I grind my jaw, but my voice matches Valentina's as the words roll out. "Through shadow and order, through silence and consequence, I pledge to the Royal Council."
Kirill continues. "My service is unbroken. My allegiance unshaken. My path intertwined with the Underworld. This is my true family."
We repeat it, and my stomach tightens enough to cramp.
My family is Finn and Brenna. That word is reserved for them and Sean, Fiona, Zara, and the rest of the O'Malleys.
Kirill's stare moves from Valentina to me. He drills it into my skull, as if he sees every internal objection without needing me to speak it aloud.
He continues, "I will guard the Underworld with my life. I will die in loyalty to the order that raised me anew."
My chest goes still.
Raised me anew?
The Underworld didn't raise me.
Finn and Brenna did.
He pulled me off the streets and taught me to swing a wrench. Brenna shoved books and vocabulary in my face so I could speak like someone who mattered. Declan and Nolan trained me to fight, hack, build, and repair. Sean became the closest thing to a brother I could ever have without sharing blood.
Those people raised me. This world didn't.
Beside me, Valentina repeats the words on command, her voice unshaken, unbroken, even as her face remains void of emotion.
I stare at her, heart thudding, trying to read anything in her eyes that might tell me she isn't willingly giving these people everything.
But she says the line again, steady, obedient, carved clean from every piece of control she's mastered over the years.
Kirill's gaze pins mine with something that borders on warning.
"Repeat it, Brax."
My jaw throbs. My breath grates at the edges of my lungs.
I can lie.
I can play along.
I can say the words.
But something inside me twists with the rebellion I grew up on. Men tried to own me my entire childhood. Gangs tried to drag me in. Dealers wanted me as a mule, an errand boy, or muscle. I never submitted. Not once. I stole, ran, fought, and survived alone until Finn saw something worth saving.
I owe loyalty to him until my last breath. Not to this masked ritual.
Fiona steps closer. She softly asks, "Do you need Kirill to repeat it?" Her eyes beg me not to rebel.