Page 148 of Brutal Crown
39
LIA
Something is happening tonight.
I can feel it in my bones, in the way the air around me stills—heavy, tense, threatening to choke the breath from my lungs.
I’ve been locked up in this room for days now, and for the first time, I want to get out. I want to know what’s happening outside, what’s happening in that cathedral tonight.
It’s the night of the Reckoning.
Dante and Marco filled me in on their plans, though they didn’t go into much detail.
My heart pounds relentlessly in my chest. I’m scared for Francesco, even though I know I probably shouldn’t be. They’ve been planning tonight for months, and there’s only a small chance that anything will go wrong.
Yet, I can’t help but be scared.
It’s the Elders we’re talking about here. Going against them on its own can be seen as an act of treason. Anything could go wrong.
I clench my fists on the edge of the bed. I want to pace around the room, but my feet are currently propped on a cushionedstool. Although there are no bandages on them today, thanks to how well I’ve been healing, I’ve still been advised to walk only when absolutely necessary.
Beneath the panic, there’s a strange calm I can’t explain. Things are starting to get better, and tonight will decide if that continues. If everything goes as planned, our lives could finally be perfect.
I close my eyes and press a hand to my belly. It’s probably nothing, yet I swear I feel the faintest swell beneath my fingers. My child. Our child.
A part of me wants to pray to every god on earth for Francesco’s life—for his safety. Another part already knows: He’s made it through the storm. Tonight, he’ll get exactly what he’s been fighting for.
The door creaks open again, and this time, it isn’t a nurse. It’s Marco.
His silhouette is softened by the light—dressed in black, hair tousled, a quiet smile playing on his lips.
“It’s time,” he says.
My heart stutters.
They dress me in silence. A dark cloak settles over my shoulders, the hood drawn low to shadow my face. I walk slowly, still limping, supported by Marco’s hand. He doesn’t speak—just holds me gently, like something fragile. And I suppose I am, though it stings to admit it.
We pass through a door I hadn’t noticed before, hidden behind a tapestry. A stone stairwell spirals downward like a coiled serpent. The deeper we go, the colder the air becomes. Torches flicker along the walls, stretching our shadows long across the floor.
At the bottom, a narrow corridor stretches ahead. We walk it in silence. Somewhere, water drips in a slow, steady rhythm. Ithink I hear a whisper, but when I glance at Marco and see his eyes fixed forward, I know it’s just my fear talking.
Right turn. Left turn. Another tunnel, then a short flight of stairs. The maze twists and winds, until the truth hits me at the final step.
We’re beneath the cathedral.
At the end of the long corridor, Lorenzo waits, flanked by two armed guards. He nods once and steps aside. Behind the heavy doors ahead, I can hear a low, steady hum.
“Have we… been on cathedral grounds this whole time?” I manage.
“This was the one place no one would think to look for you,” Marco answers. He glances at me. “You ready?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod.
The doors open with a groan, releasing a cold gust that carries the faint scent of incense and fire.
And then I see him.
Francesco stands at an altar, tall and unmoving, a ring of fire encircling him and painting the marble Sanctum in gold and shadow. Around him, the great families watch in perfect silence—the Romanos, the Morettis, the De Lucas, the Altieris, the Vescovis, and the Salvatores. All present. The last words of the ceremony echo like scripture against stone.
