Page 100 of Of Oaths and Secrets

I shake my head. “How? Lucia, did you tell anyone?”

“N-no, I swear. I didn’t even book before yesterday. We got some pamphlet in the mail, and I?—”

I freeze. “A pamphlet?”

Lucia nods, trembling, her swollen face streaked with tears. “Yes, it was just one of those advertising flyers. It looked normal. I didn’t think?—”

I stiffen, my mind racing. A pamphlet delivered to her home, to Aunt Maria’s home. My chest tightens as suspicion coils like a snake around my thoughts.

Paolo glances at me, his expression darkening. “Maria.”

The name hangs in the air like a curse, and the pieces fall into place with a sickening clarity. My aunt, her righteous indignation, her veiled defiance in my office—could it all havebeen a smokescreen? And Sofia, her precious Sofia, the shadowy puppet master she protects at all costs.

I stand abruptly, The Reaper taking over completely. My movements are deliberate, every step echoing with deadly intent as I bark the command, “Bring me my Aunt Maria.”

Paolo steps in front of me, his hand raised in caution. “Rafa, listen to me. Be careful. Some actions you take now—if you’re wrong—could?—”

“Get her here!” I snap, my voice a whip crack of fury. My glare cuts through him, and he takes a reluctant step back.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, brother,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t argue further. He pulls out his phone and begins dialing.

I turn back to Lucia, her sobs quieter now as Paolo’s presence calms her. “Lucia,” I say, my voice softer but still tense. “You need to think. Was there anything else out of the ordinary? Anything unusual at all?”

“Not really. Well, a few nights ago, I snuck back home late, and she was talking on the phone, which I thought was weird because she goes to bed with the chickens.”

Secret calls at night? That’s enough for me. “Lucia, go upstairs. I’ll call the doctor.” I turn to Paolo. “Get me Maria. I’ll wait in the basement.”

I’ve never truly enjoyed torturing. The reasons behind it, yes—that dark satisfaction of dismantling an enemy’s plans, of protecting what is mine—but the act itself? Hurting people isn’t a hobby, and it doesn’t excite me the way some speculate. But right now? Right now, I know I’ll savor every cut, every scream. Touching my wife was the worst mistake they could have made. And for that, I will embrace my darkest tendencies without hesitation.

As I wait for Paolo, I call Vargas. My fingers tighten around the phone as I explain, each word clipped and sharp. “They took Nora. She’s pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, and I prepare to offer him anything—money, protection, territory—anything to secure his help. But I don’t have to.

“I’ll help,” Vargas says without hesitation, his voice firm. “I’ll call Derek and see what we find.”

The decency in his response catches me off guard, and in that moment, I decide something. When this is over, I’ll let him go. Let him and his people walk away, free from retribution or control.Fuck, I’d let everything go if it meant holding my Nora again, feeling her heartbeat against mine.

The sound of tires screeching outside signals Paolo’s return. He drags Aunt Maria into the basement, her heels scraping against the floor as she kicks and screams.

“I will never tell you where she is!” she spits, defiance flashing in her tear-filled eyes. “Do whatever you want to me.”

“Is that so,AuntMaria?” I reply, my tone cold as I twirl the scalpel in my fingers. “We’ll see how brave you are after I exercise some… surgical precision on that face of yours.”

Her eyes dart to the blade, widening in fear. “She’s my daughter! And you’ve already tortured her enough. She made the best of her marriage to that weak man, and you took everything from her.”

I shake my head slowly, stepping closer. “I don’t care about your daughter’s poor life choices. I want to know where my wife is.”

“Your wife?” Maria’s confusion seems genuine, and a sickening clarity strikes me—she doesn’t know what happened to Nora. But she knows Sofia is here. And if Sofia’s here, Nora can’t be far. “I don’t know anything about your wife,” she hisses.

“Maybe not,” I concede, my voice dropping dangerously low. “But you know plenty about your daughter. She’s not in Sicily anymore, is she? She’s back.”

Maria purses her lips, her defiance rekindling. I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Suit yourself.”

I strike without warning, the scalpel slicing into the corner of her lip. Her scream echoes in the room, raw and piercing. The sound fuels my hatred—hatred for her, for Sofia, and a sliver of hatred for myself. I should have ended this in that warehouse months ago. My mercy was a mistake I won’t repeat.

“I’m your aunt!” she shrieks, blood dripping down her chin. “I’m a woman!”

I laugh darkly. “And what does your gender have to do with anything? Weren’t you told? I’m a feminist.” I strike again, slashing the other corner of her mouth.

---