CHAPTER 133: THE FINAL TEST — THE MARK OF BLOOD

The dagger gleamed beneath the torchlight like liquid moonlight caught in steel.

Its edge was whisper-thin, carved with the ancient sigil of the Council Head—two serpents coiled around a bleeding rose.

The emissary held it with reverence as he stepped into the center of the chamber.

His voice carried the cold finality of tradition.

"The Mark of Blood," he declared, "demands not endurance, but offering. The test of loyalty made flesh."

Alessia stood still, every muscle taut, though her heart thundered in her chest.

The air in the hall was thick with incense and tension, every breath tasting faintly of iron.

Luca’s gaze burned into her from the shadows.

He wasn’t allowed to speak—no husband was, not during the Rite but his silence screamed louder than any word could.

The Council Head rose from his seat, his silver mask reflecting the flicker of firelight. "Alessia Morano," he intoned, "you have survived truth and silence.

You have proven resilience but the Mark of Blood asks something greater.

It asks—what will you bleed to protect the Morano name?"

Her throat tightened. "What is it you demand?"

"Not words," the man replied. "Action."

Two guards stepped forward, dragging between them a bound figure.

The man’s face was bruised, blood streaking his temple.

He was young, maybe mid-twenties, his eyes wild with fear.

When they threw him to the floor, Alessia’s breath hitched.

She knew that face.

"Tomas?" she whispered.

The guards forced him to his knees.

He had been one of their informants—loyal once, until he had sold family secrets to the rival Caruso syndicate in exchange for money and protection.

His betrayal had cost five Morano men their lives.

Luca had ordered him hunted down months ago.

They had assumed he was dead, until now.

The Council Head’s tone was calm, deliberate. "This man’s treachery nearly dismantled the family from within. He was captured alive by our operatives. His life was spared—for this moment."

He extended the dagger toward Alessia. "You will deliver his judgment. Before us all."

Alessia froze. "You want me to kill him?"

A ripple of murmurs spread through the Council chamber.

The Head’s voice was soft, but the softness cut like a blade. "We want you to choose. Mercy or execution. Both carry a price only one proves loyalty."

Her pulse roared in her ears. She could feel Luca’s eyes on her—burning, begging, warning.

Tomas’s voice broke through the tension, hoarse and shaking. "Please... Alessia... you are not like them. You don’t have to do this."

Her hands trembled as she looked at him. Images flickered—his laughter in the old courtyard, the night he’d saved one of the younger guards during an ambush.

He had betrayed them, yes but he had also once been family.

The Council watched in silence, as patient and merciless as gods.

Lauretta’s words echoed in her mind: "Conscience must either be forged into strength... or broken."

Alessia took a slow step forward. The dagger’s hilt felt cold against her palm, heavier than any weapon she’d ever held.

"Speak your truth, Tomas," she said quietly.

His voice cracked. "I did it for survival. They would have killed me. I didn’t want to die."

The Councilor to her left scoffed. "Cowardice is not truth—it is rot."

Alessia ignored him. Her gaze never left Tomas. "You took lives for your own."

"I know." His eyes filled with tears. "And I regret it..... Every day."

A tremor ran through her arm.

The Council waited. Luca stood utterly still, his expression carved from anguish.

If she killed Tomas, she would be proving she belonged to their world—to the blood and fear the Moranos ruled by.

If she spared him, she would be rejecting it—and in doing so, perhaps sealing her own fate.

She thought of Luca—his strength, his scars, his love. Of the nights they’d lain awake, speaking of the world beyond this one, the one where their names didn’t taste like iron.

And she thought of herself—the woman she used to be before power demanded her blood.

Her voice came out steady, though her heart felt like breaking glass. "You asked what I would bleed to protect the Morano name."

She lifted the dagger and turned it toward herself.

"Then let it be me." she said.

A collective gasp rippled through the chamber.

The Council Head’s voice thundered. "You defy the rite?"

"I honor it," Alessia said, her tone unshaken. "If loyalty must be proven through pain, then I will carry it myself. Because loyalty born of murder is not loyalty—it’s slavery."

Luca’s body tensed. He took a step forward, every instinct in him screaming to stop her, but one of the guards blocked his path.

"Alessia..... "

She didn’t look at him. Her gaze stayed locked on the Council. "You said truth is the beginning.

Then hear mine: the Morano name will endure not because it sheds blood, but because it dares to remember mercy."

Before anyone could move, she pressed the blade against her palm again and drove it across the same scar she’d earned in the first trial.

Blood welled bright and hot, spilling across her skin and onto the marble floor.

She didn’t flinch.

"This," she said through gritted teeth, "is my mark of blood not for vengeance but for honor."

The hall went utterly still.

The torches flickered violently, as if the chamber itself was deciding whether to punish or absolve her.

Then the Council Head spoke—his voice quieter now, uncertain. "You choose self-wounding over judgment?"

"I choose life over corruption," she replied. "If that makes me unworthy, then perhaps the Morano name needs redefining."

The silence that followed was thunderous.

And then—Lauretta’s voice broke through yet calm, controlled and dangerous.

"She speaks what your fathers feared to admit," she said, stepping from the shadows. "And for that, she has done what no woman in this family has dared. She has turned the test into truth."

The Council murmured in protest, but Lauretta raised a hand. "You demanded loyalty, and she gave you blood. You demanded sacrifice, and she gave her own. You asked for a mark—and she has carved it into herself.

The Council must acknowledge what it cannot deny."

The Head stared at her, then at Alessia, and finally gave a slow, measured nod.

"The Council accepts," he said. "Alessia Morano has completed the Mark of Blood."

The chamber erupted with low whispers.

Luca didn’t wait for permission this time.

He crossed the floor in three strides and caught her before she could sway.

Her blood stained his hands, warm and real. "You are insane," he whispered against her hair. "Completely insane."

Her laugh was weak, trembling. "You said once you fell in love with my madness."

He smiled against her temple. "I said I feared it."

She tilted her face up to him, eyes glistening. "Then fear me forever."

He kissed her then, there in front of the Council, their defiance wrapped in devotion.

The world could burn beyond those walls, but in that moment, they belonged to no one—not the Council, not tradition, not even fate.

When they pulled apart, Lauretta’s gaze lingered on them.

For the first time, her expression held something unguarded—pride, perhaps, or relief.

"Take her home," she said softly. "She has earned it."

Luca lifted Alessia into his arms, and as they passed the threshold, the torches dimmed, one by one, until only darkness remained.

Outside, night had fallen.

The rain had begun—soft, cleansing, almost forgiving.

As they reached the car, Alessia leaned her head against his chest. "Is it over?" she whispered.

Luca looked down at her, his voice low, reverent. "For them? Maybe for us?" He brushed his thumb along her cheek, tracing the blood that had dried like war paint. "This is where it begins."

The engine roared to life, drowning out the world’s whispers.

And as the car disappeared down the long road from the Council estate, thunder rolled behind them—like the sound of old gods conceding defeat.

Because tonight, love had bled... and won...

Alessia phone rang and the caller ID was Seraphina...