Page 60 of Vicious Addictions

It’s just as I figured it would be—everymafiosowithin London’s proximity has made its way here tonight. Not for celebration, not to sip champagne and toast my eighteenth birthday.

They’re here to see if I have what it takes, to see if I can survive.

After witnessing the twins’ induction last year, Jude told me that the Outfit does their inductions differently than we do. Their ritual goes back to old Sicily, where saints held power over men’s hearts and actions. They pledge their lives to the syndicate by reciting the omertà and then slice their palms to bleed over their patron saint.

The Firm isn’t big on saints or bleeding for that part.

I’ll have to fight off my aggressors until the first rays of dawn emerge, ensuring that not a drop of my blood hits the floor.

It only takes one drop for me to lose any rights I have to my birthright.

And if I end up dying in the process, my father can’t avenge me.

Though Rolo might break protocol and do just that.

I purge that thought out of my mind and keep moving forward, my steps steady and unwavering. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone on the balcony—those who have claimed the perfect vantage point to overlook the grand foyer where my test will unfold.

I halt at the top of the staircase, admiring the great hall below, the marble floor gleaming under the grand chandelier above. The crowd instantly parts, making an oval around the foyer, the weight of their collective gaze straining my already frazzled nerves.

Not that I let them see it.

Instead, I descend the steps, each movement controlled and deliberate, with my head held high for all to see. Remus and Rolo follow closely behind me, silent shadows intent on ensuring I stay on course.

But I know it’s so much more than that.

The twins are sending a message.

If anyone still harbored hopes or had any nefarious schemes in persuading my father to name one of them as his heir, the unwavering way they walk at my back makes it perfectly clear that they will only ever follow the true Crane heir. And those who dare to oppose it will live to regret it.

My pulse drums a steady rhythm in my ears as I reach the bottom step and stride forward to the center of the marble floor.

Above me, the balcony is lined with too many figures to count, but I find my father easily enough, standing at its center like a king surveying his kingdom.

Though he keeps his expression unreadable, the pride in his eyes is unmistakable, even from where I’m standing. To his right stands Felix, his demeanor impassive as usual. However, the man standing to my father’s left has my stomach clenching—Jude. His brow is furrowed, visibly confused. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t. But now, as he stands on that balcony, it’s all becoming evidently clear what he’s about to witness. And as my father lifts his chin, I pray that I’ll live through this and get to kiss him again. Even if only once.

With a single nod, my father gives the signal to commence. Six figures emerge from the crowd and step onto the marble floor, encircling me. Their presence is immediate and suffocating. Two women, clad in skintight black suits identical to mine, display movements sharp and precise. The other four are men—hulking brutes, their faces carved from stone.

I take them all in, while ensuring to keep my pulse steady.

One breath.

Two.

Three.

And before I have time to exhale, the first strike comes.

The closest man springs forth, his blade flashing toward my ribs. The knife barely grazes my suit as I redirect his arm, driving my elbow into his gut. He grunts but doesn’t fall. Another attacker comes from behind, forcing me to duck just as his blade swipes past my shoulder. I catch his wrist midair, twisting it brutally until the knife clatters to the floor.

I don’t have time to celebrate since someone kicks me at my side, sending me stumbling backward. I turn just in time to block a strike from one of the women, her gaze filled with ruthless intent. I meet her attack head-on with a slash of my own, the tip of my knife grazing her forearm. She hisses out in pain, cursing when her blood tinges the floor at her feet.

But I don’t have time to breathe, let alone gloat.

A fist comes at my face, and I jerk my head to the side, the blow missing by inches. I drive my knee up, slamming it into the man’s midsection before spinning, slicing at the one closing in on my right.

A gash opens along his bicep, blood welling instantly.

Two down.

---