But she didn’t misstep.
“…should I ever break this oath,” she finished, “let my line be hunted down to the last member, my name erased from our history, my legacy burned to ash.”
The second surge of magic felt… different.
Sharper. Like the torque on a screw being tightened too far. My eyes narrowed, flicking to my father. For the smallest fraction of a second, something passed over his face. Not surprise—he didn’t allow himself that—but interest. Then it was gone.
“Your oath is accepted,” he fixed her with a dark stare.
The tension in the room eased a fraction as Emilia pulled her hand back, giving my father a smile that somehow managed to look both sincere and scathing as her sons ascended the dais, repeating the ceremony. The lesser members lined up, followed by the black-robed priests. One after another, the DiSangue bloodline bled and pledged their fealty until the herald’s staff slammed into the marble once again.
“The Demente Syndicate.”
Rocco dragged himself up the steps with his cane, and the Basin accepted his offering. The magic throbbed, the oath locked around his bloodline. Each new member made the same vow, each promise layered over the last, weaving a web of obedience that stretched across families, across centuries.
I glanced at my watch. Two hours had passed.
Three families to go.
“The Draconi Brotherhood.”
Severin set the blade down with unhurried precision and stepped in front of the Basin.
“I, Severin Draconi,” he pledged, “Master of the Draconi Brotherhood, First Sword of the Don, swear my life and line to Don Marcello Dominico.”
He didn’t speak of family.
The Brotherhoodwashis family, all of them—even Nico—sharing the same surname.
“I swear my blood, my steel, my soul. I am your hand. Your shadow. Your wrath. Should I break this oath,”—he sliced his wrist deeply, crimson pouring into the Basin like a small river—“let every brother I have ever claimed be dragged into the dark with me.”
The magic rose like a wave, crackling against my skin like a whip, a few vampires in the crowd hissing. Severin just grinned.
The Brotherhood didn’t do anything by halves.
My father’s eyes gleamed, approving. “Your oath is accepted.”
Severin’s wound closed as if it had never been, and he took his seat beside Emilia in one of the five gold chairs, a mountain of muscle and lethal intent as the first of his soldiers—Nico, naturally—climbed the steps.
As black-suited soldiers lined up and the ritual went on, my focus never wavered.
My father listened, accepted, and judged. I watched.
I saw the way Emilia DiSangue’s eyes flickered toward the main doors every few minutes, as if she was expecting someone. I noted the twitch in one of the younger Demente’s hands every time the worderasedwas spoken. And my entire body turned into a coiled wire at the way Emberline DiRavello’s fiery gaze remained fixed on my father—not on his face…
But his throat.
9
EMBERLINE
Only two families remained.
Every shaky inhale tasted electric, every second felt like it could be my last.
Bloodlust hung so heavy in the palace, I was choking.
Hundreds of vampires were gathered here tonight, most from Italy and the surrounding provinces, but there were new faces mixed in with old, plenty of too-wide smiles and too-bright eyes, ready to hunt this city tonight.
