Sophia's POV
The ceremony had been unlike anything I could have imagined. Vincent Torrino had produced an ornate silver blade, its handle engraved with symbols that looked ancient and ominous. One by one, the men had stepped forward, pressing the edge to their thumbs until blood welled up bright and red against their skin.
"Blood of my blood," each had recited, their voices carrying the weight of absolute conviction. "Bound by honor, sealed by sacrifice. Death to those who break faith with the family."
When my turn came, my hands had shaken so violently I'd nearly dropped the blade. The cut had been shallow but sharp, the pain immediate and grounding.
They'll find out eventually, I thought, my thumb still throbbing from the ritual cut. Someone will slip up, or Isabella will get careles
