The Contract

Chapter 170-The Binding

TRAVIS'S P.O.V

The Scarred Accord

That was everything the Society stood for, everything they were known for.

Cicatrici. The Scar.

The Scar became their emblem, symbolizing resilience and their willingness to cut away weaknesses to achieve power.

They operate as a global shadow government, deeply rooted in major organizations, corporations, and political systems. They don’t just run the country—they run the world, using their wealth and influence to maintain control.

They were inevitable.

They are involved in every sector, Arms trade, supplying governments and rebels alike, fueling conflicts to create opportunities. Exploiting the vulnerable to maintain a steady flow of resources and leverage over key figures. Manipulating stock markets, currencies, and trade deals to maintain economic dominance.

The air filled with smoke and tension as we approached the table where the Committee were seated. The six of them, their expression rigid and judgemental.

They were hoping I wouldn't comply, anything to end the Ferraris'.

We stopped at the table and Donaldson was the first to get up, "Ferrari" he called out proudly. The others weren't as elated, they were all playing their own game.

The room buzzed with quiet intensity. A soft, operatic melody plays in the background, adding an air of sophistication and control. "Let's begin!" Hastings proclaimed.

There were three steps for the initiation:

The Oath. I stood before the Committee, and they evaluated my motivations, loyalty, and resolve. Each question is sharp and designed to unnerve me, testing my ability to stay composed under pressure.

The Blood Oath

The room was silent except for the soft, operatic melody humming in the background. The tension grew thicker with every second as Hastings motioned for an ornate silver dagger to be brought forward. Its blade gleamed under the dim light, sharp enough to cut through bone, and its hilt was engraved with The Cicatrici’s emblem: a stylized scar slashed across the steel.

Donaldson stood beside me, watching with an unnerving grin that only fueled the weight of the moment. Hastings spoke, his voice low but commanding.

"The Oath is not just a tradition. It is a binding contract, written in blood. A scar to mark your allegiance, to seal your place among us."

My throat felt dry, but I nodded, my face betraying nothing. My hand tightened into a fist as I stepped closer to the table.

"Your blood, Ferrari, is your promise. Your scar will be your memory." Hastings gestured toward my left forearm.

I rolled up my sleeve, exposing my skin to the cold air. The dagger felt heavier than it looked as I gripped it, the room watching every move I made.

"Cut away hesitation. Cut away weakness," Hastings urged.

Without a word, I pressed the blade to my arm, just below the elbow. The cold steel burned as it kissed my skin. With one swift motion, I dragged it across, leaving a deep, clean line.

The pain was sharp but grounding, a reminder of what was at stake. Blood trickled down my arm, pooling into the silver bowl placed beneath me. The crimson liquid shimmered, its flow steady, deliberate.

Hastings dipped his fingers into the bowl, smearing my blood across the surface of the dagger. He then held it up for the Committee to see.

"Blood ties us together. Through scars, we thrive. Through loyalty, we endure," he declared, his voice echoing in the chamber.