Chapter 14 Francesco
FRANCESCO
The house doesn’t feel like mine tonight. It feels like a grave dressed in velvet.
Shadows flicker across the marble floors, cast by hundreds of candles perched in iron sconces and glass chandeliers. The air around me is thick, making my lungs feel tight. Slow, almost haunting music drifts through the corridors.
It’s not the usual celebratory jingles that are played during events like these. This isn’t a usual engagement party, after all. It’s a pact, an arrangement soaked in blood.
Outside, the guests have already started arriving, sleek black cars slithering into the estate one by one.
Outsiders rarely come into the Romano estate, so seeing the pool of cars parked outside feels almost foreign to me.
I watch from the upstairs landing as the masked guests emerge from their respective vehicles.
Men in tailored suits and cloaks lined in crimson.
Women in matching crimson dresses, with veils that shimmer like oil under moonlight.
Their faces are all covered, some with masks, some with veils. Fully covered or half-covered, there is one thing in common with every single person: All carry the mark of La Mano Nera.
Rings with the coiled serpent and dagger. Cufflinks bearing the bleeding hand. The symbol is embroidered into expensive fabric. The Society never hides what it is. Yet, even when visible, only a select few understand and recognize what the symbols signify.
Lower-class guests were allowed this time. It is a rare indulgence, approved by the Elders to settle blood debts. Some of them stare too long and linger by doors they don’t belong near. But even they know they can’t step out of line.
I descend the stairs, my arm linked with Silvia’s. She’s glowing in a long silver and crimson dress. Her pale skin is polished to perfection, her lips painted to match the garnet stone around her neck. It’s an heirloom piece she insisted on wearing “for good luck.”
I wonder if she believes in luck. If she were really lucky, this ceremony wouldn’t be happening in the first place. She wouldn’t have to marry me, and maybe her luck would make me a lucky man too.
Her features are schooled into a blank expression. I wonder what she’s thinking, if she feels the way I feel. Scared that we’re stepping into a covenant we will never be able to break.
The path leading to the ballroom is decorated with white roses soaked in a red fragrant substance, a proxy for blood.
A symbol for our union. She grips my arm tighter as we near the door.
We can already hear the hum and chatter of conversation coming from the other side of the door. It is getting real.
I place a large palm over her shaky hand, and she glances up at me.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say quietly, squeezing her hand. I’m comforting her, but I’m also comforting myself.
She swallows thickly and nods. Then, like the perfect actress she is, an easy smile takes over her features.
The moment we enter the ballroom, the crowd turns as one. Some are smiling as we walk to the front of the room. Others stare pointedly at us, their serious eyes flashing through their masks.
My father stands near the front, his features rigid like stone.
My brothers are by his side with similar expressions on their faces.
My eyes meet Marco’s. I hold his gaze for a second before looking away.
The Morettis are off to the left. They look slightly happier than my family.
They look proud of their daughter. I catch Lucia’s eye, and she winks at me.
Silvia and I get into position in front of the room. The ritual begins.
“Tonight,” I start, my voice even, “I offer this heirloom—kept through generations of the Romano bloodline—to Silvia Moretti. As a symbol of the bond we form tonight and the future we commit to together.”
I reach into my coat and pull out the handkerchief. It is made of black silk, edged in crimson, and stitched with the old family crest. It first belonged to my great-grandmother, then it was passed down to my grandmother, my mother, and now, my wife-to-be.
I place it in Silvia’s hands.
She accepts it with a graceful nod, but I catch the slight tremble in her hands as she lifts it to her lips and kisses it. Murmurs ripple through the room. She agreed.
Then the glasses come, carried on a black tray by a servant. They gleam under the chandelier. Old glass, etched with the Romano seal. I take one and hand her the other.
We slowly raise the cups to our lips and look into each other’s eyes. Her gray eyes pierce into mine, and we drink without breaking eye contact. The wine burns on the way down to my throat.
And that’s it.
In the eyes of La Mano Nera, we are no longer two. We are one.
I expect to feel something, maybe a new surge of emotion toward Silvia. The ritual has been described as being strong and powerful. That should be strong enough to spark something between me and my future wife.
But the only thing I feel is my stomach sinking into a deeper, darker pit.
There’s loud applause. Camera shutters click. I turn to look at our families. My father nods once, one of approval and relief. Giovanni is smiling at his wife, and the Moretti siblings are smiling at their sister. I don’t look at my brothers.
In the next few minutes, the atmosphere shifts. It’s a bit lighter now, even though the tension from the ritual still hangs over us like a cloud. People begin to move, talking and mingling amongst themselves. People walk up to us to offer their congratulations.
And that’s when I feel her.
Lia.
I catch her out of the corner of my eye, blending in with the servers, a tray in her hand, her head slightly bowed. She’s dressed in black like all the other help, but my body reacts to her like she’s the most colorful person in the room.
My chest tightens, and my fingers twitch.
I thought the ritual would at least take away this suffering, this want, this painful ache in my chest whenever I see her. I thought it would make me immune to the power she held over me.
I thought wrong.
I watch as she slips through the room, avoiding my gaze. I know she feels me looking at her. She feels this pull. Yet she doesn’t turn to spare me a glance.
She hasn’t looked at me in days. Not since that night. Not since I buried myself so deep inside her and branded my soul with her name.
I told myself that having sex with her once would get her out of my system. I was wrong. I can still smell her when I close my eyes.
She disappears down a side hallway. A part of me wants to follow her, chase after her, and demand she look me in the eye, but I can’t do that now. I’ve lost that privilege. I am bound to someone else, who is currently responding to the greetings from a guest in front of us.
“…such a beautiful couple. I hope you will be blessed with a child soon,” the elderly woman with kind eyes says. She’s a distant relative of one of the other founding families.
Silvia says something I can’t hear while I force a smile on my lips.
I hope not.
The evening goes by without a hitch. Almost.
As I step onto the terrace to clear my head, I see Lia walking down the hall with an empty tray. But she’s not alone, and she’s not aware that she’s not alone.
A man is following her. A familiar man.
Young, pale skin, hair slicked back, and movement too smooth to be harmless. He’s wearing a half-mask over his face, but beneath it, there’s something off. His eyes, a little too bright, fix on Lia as he follows her down the hall near the terrace.
Cassian De Luca.
He is the heir to the De Lucas, one of the founding families. He is notorious for his reputation of collecting women like infinity stones, but more than that, for his gift.
He is rumored to be a seer, a gift prominent in his family.
I trail behind him silently and carefully. I slip behind a wall, hidden near the archway, just as he catches up to her.
“Rosalia Ricci,” he calls out.
From my position, I see Lia freeze in her steps before turning slowly. I recognize the confusion on her face. It matches mine.
“You are as beautiful as they say,” he drawls in an all-knowing voice that grates my ears.
“I’m… sorry, I don’t—”
He cuts her off. “You don’t know me, and I don’t expect you to. I just… couldn’t resist talking to you tonight.”
I grit my teeth. I want to step out and intervene, but a bigger part of me is curious to hear what he wants to say to her.
“You walk like someone with secrets,” he says softly. His voice is almost a whisper; I have to strain my ears to hear. “You have secrets, don’t you?”
Lia stiffens at his statement, and his lips spread into an eerie smile.
“It’s okay. They are safe with me.”
What the fuck is he insinuating? Does he—
“I feel sorry for you. None of this is your fault. You carry someone else’s fate.”
My heart hammers against my chest. What does he mean by that?
Cassian’s head tilts. “The tides are already shifting,” he murmurs. “You’re a vessel not yet full for your purpose. The bloom before the blood.”
Lia’s expression hardens. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“I haven’t. I called you by your name, didn’t I? I know who you are, what you are. A daughter of fault, a fracture that cracks the wheel.”
With a huff, Lia moves to step around him, but then, he catches her wrist to stop her. Her tray clatters to the floor. The loud noise draws a few people’s attention toward the scene.
I see red. The moment I step forward, ready to intervene, Marco appears out of nowhere.
“Let go of her,” Marco says, his eyes locked on the man’s hand.
I ball my hands into fists, hating the tight position I’m in.
Cassian looks at him, but he doesn’t seem shocked or nervous at the way Marco is storming toward him. I step into view, and Cassian turns away from Marco to look at me.
His smile widens. Something dark and twisted curls up my spine.
“I was only offering insight,” he says, raising his hands in surrender as he looks between the two of us. We are flanked at his left and right sides. “It’s not my fault the truth unsettles.”
Lia is still standing directly in front of him.
There’s a mixture of fear and curiosity in her eyes.
When he turns back to her, lifts her hand, and brushes his lips across her knuckles, I have to remind myself that I’m a chained man.
I can’t drive my fist into his face for touching a maid, especially not with those watching.
His eyes flick to Marco and then to me.
“She’s part of the storm now. Whether you want her to be or not.”
Something in his tone snaps Marco’s restraint.
He marches forward, and his fist connects with Cassian’s jaw before I can say a word.
Cassian staggers a few steps back as Marco moves in to punch him again.
I don’t move to stop him. Lia turns to look at me, and there’s an unreadable emotion in her eyes.
The loud grunt and collision of the two men draw even more attention to us. Gasps ripple behind us as people see what’s happening. Heads turn to look at the scene. Across the room, I spot Silvia watching the scene with something burning deep in her eyes. I see my father’s eyes narrow.
Cassian straightens slowly. Blood trails down from his lip, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks… pleased.
When he smiles, his teeth are stained with blood.
“Your violence won’t stop what has already begun. It won’t stop the prophecy—”
I don’t realize I’m moving until my hand clasps firmly on Cassian’s shoulder.
“Get out,” I grit under my breath. “And I don’t want to see you step foot in this house again.”
My grip on his shoulder tightens, and I see a pained expression he tries so hard to hide cross his features.
When I let him go, he massages his shoulders, spares the small crowd that has gathered a small smile before turning and walking off, humming to himself.
I see Marco explaining the situation and trying to disperse the crowd. My eyes dart around as I look for Lia. When I find her, she’s standing frozen, her hands shaking slightly as she picks up the tray that fell to the ground.
“Are you all right?” I ask her.
She doesn’t answer.
I want to reach for her, but Silvia is walking toward us.
Lia bends her head in a small bow as Silvia comes to stand by my side. Then she rushes out of the room.
“What is it about her?” Silvia asks the moment she walks away. “That servant girl. The other night at dinner, I didn’t want to interfere. But now—”
“She’s the daughter of a traitor,” I interrupt before she finishes. “She’s not like the other servants.”
“Is that it?” Silvia asks, her eyes flashing. “I see the way you look at her, Francesco. She’s not just the daughter of a traitor to you.”
When I don’t answer, she huffs and walks away.
And I realize that whatever Cassian meant… I fear he’s right.
Something has already begun. And there’s no stopping it now.