Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters. I also do not support or indulge any kiddies to go out and join crime organizations.

NOTE: REWRITE- This story is still graphic and gory. I am leaving the chapters up, but they are going to be replaced soon.


"Yubitsume" The deep, monotone voice announced piercing through the once impenetrable silence. A tiny whimper emerged from the 'victim' kneeling at the steps in front of the throne that held his Oyabun. A servant emerged from the huge mahogany doors that lead into the throne room. No one even glanced in the direction of the servant. Their focus was on the man who prostrated himself across the floor. None seemed to be bothered by the macabre scene that was about to take place in the pristine room of the mansion. This room had been baptized in blood, and now they were all here to reconfirm their faith in it.

The soft click of the servant's shoes hitting against the pure white granite floors echoed ominously. The man kneeling at the Father's feet trembled as the servant, dressed in white to accentuate the fact that he was nothing but an accessory in the room, approached him from behind. White gloved hands held out a blade patiently waiting for the man to take hold and accept his fate.

The man lifted his left hand shakily, barely managing to grip onto the blade. His eyes wandered over the intricate designs that marked the hilt of the knife. It would have left him breathless, if he had not been so terrified. The deep undertones of black onyx and silver twined around the grip and the ruby eyes of the dragon that had been carved into it, were frightening. The dragon was fierce and mocking. Its eyes glanced up at him as if it were gleefully waiting to taste his blood and bone. His eyes wandered down the hilt until it landed on the pommel. There lie the sign of what all of this was for. The fan of the Uchiha was embedded brilliantly into the pommel. The curved fan was made of striking pearl and the same rubies of the malicious eyes of the mocking dragon. This was the knife of traitors.

Oyabun had been merciful this time, and this time alone. Never again could or would he cross his master, next time it would be seppuku. This was a small price to be paid; after all he had betrayed his Oyabun's trust. This was a just punishment, and the acknowledgement of that made the terror abate, if only for a moment. He had been preparing himself for the possible outcomes of his 'trial'. He knew what was to come, but he was unsure how to approach this, especially since he was weak with his left hand. He looked at the spiraling tattoo that covered his center finger, judging where the end of the knuckle was. He had heard of what failure to carry out the ritual meant. He had only a few minutes to make sure everything went perfectly. His hand and the knife were still quivering and he could feel the others eyes burning into his back. He knew that the others had wagers going to see if his incompetence would be as great as they expected.

He grasped the knife with his left hand tightly as the engravings tore slightly into the palm of his left hand. A small droplet of pure crimson slid down his hand and dripped to the floor, a foreshadowing of what was soon to come. As the droplet collided with the pure white of the soon to be stained ground, the silence became heavier. The others were holding their breaths waiting for the continuous flow of blood that was soon to follow. Oyabun's eyes were unfocussed, and he seemed disinterested from the droplets staining his white floor. Oyabun never flinched, he was perfect, and such things as blood or gore never even made him flinch. He had been that way since childhood, back then he had still been known as a demon. The man looked up into the eyes of his Oyabun. The crimson that had splattered upon the floor matched the color of the endless depths of blood red that addressed him disdainfully.

"No more stalling, I am sorry, Oyabun-sama" the cracked voice of the man finally exhaled and he began his task. He placed his right hand onto the ground and used his left to carefully press into the skin. He pricked the area of flesh beneath the knuckle and allowed a small drop to reveal the cutting point. With that, he drew back the knife and slammed it down onto his center finger beneath the knuckle or so he believed. His scream pierced through the silence in the room. The guards and members there to witness it did not move or flinch, the result was clear; the cut did not pass cleanly. The knife had severed the flesh and nerves on one side of the finger, but most of the bone remained. The knife did not come down in a straight arc and it had torn in a slant ruining flesh, but not completing the task. The head of the center bone was open for all of the members to see. Blood flowed down his arm as he lifted his hand to the light; he was screaming in pain and obvious mortification for failing once again. The sleek covering of muscle and the grease from the small amount of fat on his finger made the bone shine emphasizing his newest failure. With each pulse of his heart, the blood flowed more freely. The smirks of the men surrounding him brought his thoughts back to reality.

Realizing his obvious mistake, he placed his hand back down on the blood-spattered floor quivering from the pain and shock. As he leaned forward, his hands slid into the blood and he fell into the small puddle on the floor, the knife skidding away. He quickly picked himself up and scrambled to reach for the knife. Once he thought he had a solid grip on the knife, he immediately slammed it down onto his finger once more. This time it had passed through cleanly. The man bit into his own lip hard enough to make it bleed. He was covered in his own blood and shame. He had failed again.

Light-headed and still losing blood he walked up the steps, the section of his finger that had been removed had been placed on the pillow with the knife. "Oyabun, forgive me for I have sinned. Please, take this O...offering of my blood and body as a token of gratitude for hearing my apology." His vision had blurred for a second and his voice wavered revealing his obvious pain. He immediately fell to his knees onto the floor forehead touching his still bleeding hand, as he lay sprawled out on the pristine floor.

There was no sound of acknowledgement or sign that the apology had been heard. The silence was his sign of forgiveness. The air was tense and heavy. He could feel the disgust rolling off of his Oyabun and the others in the room. He had expected more emotion from his Oyabun, but then again he had dropped from favor. He was no longer one of the favorites and no longer a child of Saiko-komon's second. He had been demoted and degraded. He was nothing to Oyabun and now he bore the disfigurement to prove it. The man fled the large echoing summoning chamber. He had to find somewhere to stop the bleeding and hopefully get treated. Otherwise his wound would cause him to bleed out or it would become infected, and he could afford no more shame.

"Clean this up and dispose of his gift." The darkened voice once again announced to the ominous silence in the room. Immediately several men left to retrieve cleaning supplies and another took the blade to be cleansed and 'gift' to be disposed of. Oyabun had placed his hands on the armrests of his 'throne'. Once again, a man he trusted had turned his back on him. The number of men he could trust was beginning to dwindle. There would need to be another cleansing of his ranks if this kept up. Oyabun stood up and stepped down the isle, his shoes now clicking softly clashing against the floor. He moved around the bloody path left by the fool, leaving his black shoes spotless. He needed some relief from the tension headache that was beginning to form behind his eyes. Maybe his wife could be of some assistance, or he could go to one of the medics for his emerging headache. But then again the chances of seeing that disgusting worm of a man getting his wound treated there was much too great. That disgraceful scene was enough of that man for his lifetime. It was decided then, he would find his wife.

As he wandered the almost endless hallways, he heard two voices around the corner, near the giant garden, his wedding gift to his wife. He turned the corner quickly, only to find his wife cupping the hand of the traitor. She was winding bandages around the gnarled stump of his finger, smiling gently at the man. She knew what that shameful disfigurement meant, yet still she helped? Unacceptable.

After finishing her work and releasing her intense concentration from the mans hand, she looked up to see her husband standing there, his legendary eyes flaring in pure spite. "Itachi-sama?" She questioned in her petite voice.

"Hinata, come with me… now."


Terminology

Yubitsume- finger cutting is a form of penance or apology. Usually a punishment for something that brought shame upon a man or his clan.

Oyabun- The 'father' or leader of a clan in the Yakuza. Relatable to the godfather of the mafia.

Saiko-komon- immediately under in branch of the Oyabun second only to the Waka-gashira and the Oyabun. Mostly handles accounting money etc.

Child- Basically the children of the group younger generation, usually heirs to a position etc.

This is the official REWRITE. I will leave the unedited chapters up, but they will be replaced one by one, probably daily, over the next week. Please comment and review if there is anything you see that needs altered or if you have a clear idea of how to alter other sections. There will be a ton of grammar and typo clean up. I submitted most chapters' unbeta-ed and it is very clear. I am debating about whether or not I should keep or remove the Japanese phrases. Comment in your review if you would like me to try to rewrite without them from now on.

Thanks for sticking with me,

Riza