Page 101 of Dance of Deception

Yeah.

The night of the engagement party rushes back, tingling through my veins. Carmine’s hand almost throbs against the small of my back. Then he ushers us forward.

The library doors loom ahead. Dark wood, intricately carved, practically black in the low light. Carmine pushes them open without a word, and the room devours us whole.

This is the heart of the Barone empire.

A small gathering awaits us. Nico, Dante and Tempest, Bianca with Kratos looming beside her. A handful of Vito’s top lieutenants too, watching Carmine studiously, as well as a man I briefly met at the wedding—Santino, Vito’s topconsigliere.

Carmine’s hand leaves my back. I glance to Bianca, who subtly gestures for me to join her.

The room falls silent as Vito steps forward to where Carmine is standing in the middle of the room.

“This is not a tradition of the Commission,” Vito says, his voice low and reverent as he indicates an ancient-looking dagger in his hands. “It is a tradition of the Barone bloodline.”

The blade gleams in the firelight.

“For generations, the men who have worn this crown have taken an oath to bleed for this family. To kill for it. To die for it.”

Carmine shrugs off his tuxedo jacket and removes his tie. He unbuttons his shirt, then peels it off his muscled shoulders.

I suck in my breath as Vito takes the blade and quickly slices a line across his own palm. Dark blood wells immediately.

Then he turns to Carmine.

Nico and Dante step forward, each taking one of Carmine’s arms, holding him steady. Nico hands his father a metal stencil with the design of a shield bearing a crown and sword. My face pales as I watch Nico grab his brother’s hand in his, squeezing tightly.

Vito’s voice is quieter now, something almost regretful slipping into its edges. “I’m truly sorry for what I must do, my son.”

Carmine just nods once.

Vito presses the stencil to the left side of Carmine’s bare chest, above his heart. Beside me, I feel Bianca slip her hand into mine, tightly.

Vito’s blade sinks into Carmine’s skin and begins to trace the design.

A sharp breath rushes from me, but Carmine doesn’t make a sound. Blood flows from the cut, running down his chest and abs in dark rivulets, staining the waistband of his pants.

Everyone in the room grimaces. Even Vito looks like he’s seconds away from stopping.

Carmine never flinches once.

When it’s over, Vito hands the blade and stencil to Santino, then turns back to his son with both pain and pride in his eyes.

“Carmine Barone, head of this house, the blade is yours. The blood is yours. The empire is yours.”

The men in the room bow their heads in silent recognition.

The king is dead. Long live the king.

I watch transfixed.

My husband.

The king.

I have no idea if I should kneel…orrun.

After the gruesome ritual,the lieutenants hand around glasses of cognac. There’s a toast to the new don, lots of clapping on shoulders, everyone apparently ignoring the fact that Carmine is still shirtless andbleeding.

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