The priest’s hands were shaking so hard the pages rustled.

“Begin,” Alessandro said.

The ceremony took less than five minutes.

The priest spoke in Latin, his voice a low, hurried mumble.

I did not understand the words, but I knew what they meant.

I was being bound to a dying empire.

When it was time to sign the registry, Matteo handed me a heavy fountain pen.

“Sign here,” Matteo whispered, pointing a scarred finger at the bottom of the parchment.

I looked at him.

His face was completely blank, but his eyes were wide and tense.

I pressed the nib to the paper and wrote my name: *Emily Carter Vitale*.

The ink looked black, almost like dried blood on the yellowed page.

Alessandro signed below me, his handwriting jagged and weak.

“It is done,” the priest whispered, crossing himself.

“No,” Alessandro corrected him. “Now we must show the family.”

We moved to the grand dining room on the main floor.

A long wooden table was set with heavy silver plates and crystal glasses.

About twenty people were already seated, their faces pale and serious.