"Come now, be good. I'll take you to see the Boss. I'll make sure you get a fine position in the organization..."

But before the last word left his mouth, my stiletto was already buried in his chest.

Edoardo never even had time to react. He crumpled to the ground, eyes wide and glassy, dead before he hit the stone.

Every Valente soldier in the vicinity went rigid with shock. Weapons cleared leather, all trained on me.

Rosalia stumbled back two steps, her face white. "Nara, what kind of cursed thing are you holding?!"

She asked because Edoardo had already been made. The protection of the Valente name shielded him.

An ordinary blade couldn't have gotten within arm's reach before a dozen soldiers cut you down.

So in her mind, my weapon had to be something unholy.

I raised the stiletto, letting the light catch its edge. My voice was flat and cold. "Cursed? No common killer is worthy of wielding this."

"But you'll find out what it is soon enough."

I crouched beside Edoardo's body and drew the blade across his chest, slow and deliberate, blooding the steel.

"Since our dear senior brother had no loyalty to speak of, his blood might as well serve a better purpose. A blood offering for my blade."

"Nara, you vicious monster!"

Rosalia's eyes went red with rage. She pulled a gun from beneath her jacket and lunged toward me.

But at the critical moment, a Valente soldier beside her seized her arm and hauled her back, his hand trembling as he pointed at the stiletto hovering over Edoardo's body, the black handle slick and gleaming.

"Lady Rosalia, look. Your junior sister's blade... something's wrong with it. It's drinking the blood on its own."

Rosalia didn't care. She scoffed, flipping her hair over her left shoulder. "Old weapons never play by the rules. What's so strange about that?"

The soldier shook his head frantically. "No, you don't understand. You've only just been made."

"In all the generations since the families first formed, there has only ever been one blade that craves the blood of made men..."

Rosalia blinked, clueless. "What blade?"

The soldier's lips trembled around one word: "Mietitore."

Rosalia's jaw dropped. The color drained from her face.

But before she could gather her wits, a voice split the air from somewhere above the compound walls, heavy with authority that needed no anger to terrify.

"Silence!"