The air in the sterile room was electric with the pain and humiliation of the branding. Their backs were raw, chests burning where the needle had completed its work. They were still standing where the tattoo artist had left them, exposed, vulnerable, and marked.
The true end of the ceremony began when Asrit stepped forward, crossing the space with the measured pace of a judge taking the bench. His voice was crisp, surgical, like he was delivering a court verdict on a piece of paper, not sentencing five people to a new existence.
"The marking is complete," Asrit stated, his gaze sweeping over their bare shoulders, lingering momentarily on the fresh, black crow. "Now, the rules."
There were no theatrics. No comfort. No illusions about "family loyalty" or second chances. Every word he spoke was a new chain snapping into place around their necks.
"Rule one: Your life is no longer your own. Your time, your decisions, your associates—all belong to the Corvini family. Disobedience is not punished; it is terminated."
Behind Asrit, Vikram stood sentinel. Silent, massive, radiating the pure, unfiltered threat of execution. Asrit didn't need to mention consequences; Vikram was the walking, breathing definition of consequence.
"Rule two: You are not founders. You are assets. You will not negotiate, you will not improvise, and you will not speak unless directed. Your only purpose is to execute the directives assigned to you by your handlers. Currently, that is Vikram or myself."
Pranav's jaw clenched so hard he felt the tendons in his neck strain. Assets. Weapons. Currency. He fought the urge to scream, to lash out, to simply deny the reality Asrit was calmly constructing around them.
"Rule three: You are currency. You are valuable only as long as you are useful. The crow on your back is a warning to others. The sigil on your heart is a claim on your pulse. If either is compromised by police, by rivals, or by carelessness, you become a liability. Liabilities are liquidated. The family accepts no debt."
---
Arpika, who had stood frozen since the tears of humiliation had escaped her, quickly wiped the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand, hoping that neither Asrit nor Vikram had noticed. But they had. Pranav knew they had. Every flicker of weakness, every sign of fracture, was being logged.
Sanvi trembled, a constant, low vibration of barely contained rage, trying desperately to recombine the shattered pieces of her pride and turn them into a weapon. But there were no openings left to strike. The entire world had been reduced to two figures: Asrit's absolute law and Vikram's absolute power.
Sathwik lowered his gaze and nodded once. A simple, automatic submission. For him, the world had merely shifted its allegiance. The authority had changed, but the duty to follow the strongest voice remained the same.
Gautham kept his eyes down, staring at the floor, his mind spinning furiously. Pranav knew he was mapping out theoretical tunnels, plotting escape routes that no longer existed, trying to find a mathematical flaw in the perfect, lethal certainty of Corvini control.
The ceremony wasn't just ink on skin. It was a verdict, delivered without appeal.
---
Asrit finally lowered his clipboard. "Your handlers will be assigned when they return. Until then, you will remain here."
He gestured to the side of the room. A final, cruel piece of stagecraft.
"Look at yourselves."
The five of them stood before a massive, polished mirror that ran the length of the far wall. They shuffled forward, hesitant, and looked into their own reflections.
Five figures stood exposed, shirts off, bodies glistening with sweat and new ink. Their backs were dominated by the aggressive, angular black lines of the Corvini crow. Their chests bore the intimate, proprietary claim of the sigil.
The image staring back was terrifyingly clear.
Pranav saw the fear in his own eyes, the white-hot fury boiling just beneath the surface, contained only by the knowledge of Vikram's presence. He saw the crow, ugly and stark, glowing faintly under the harsh overhead light, a brand, a warning, and a future he never wanted.
Arpika's reflection held a profound, bitter disbelief. Sanvi's showed naked resentment. Gautham's was pure, frozen panic. Sathwik's was simply empty, already adjusting to the burden.
They stood, raw and stripped bare, and the reflection told the final, inescapable truth: they hadn't joined the Corvini family. They had been swallowed whole. Their names, their dreams, and their autonomy were gone, consumed by the monstrous heart of the city.
The last shot lingered on the mirror. The tattoos glowed faintly under the light. Their reflections didn't look like kids trying to make a name for themselves anymore.
They looked like property.