Page 11 of Of Oaths and Secrets

“Why?” My father’s voice is low, but the question hangs heavily in the air, demanding an answer.

The question should offend me, but it doesn’t—because it’s the same question I want to ask.

“Does it matter?” Nora’s voice is steady, her gaze unwavering.

My father is taken aback, and if it weren’t for my own shock, I might have laughed. It’s not often that someone talks back to the capo.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” he concedes, though I can see the surprise lingering in his eyes. “It’s just that Rafaele is not the obvious choice.”

And it’s the one you didn’t want her to make.

“Nora, sweetheart,” her father interjects, his voice filled with concern. “Are you sure you’ve thought this through? I’m sure Capo Lucchese wouldn’t mind giving you a few more days to decide.”

My father is suddenly eager to agree. “Yes, of course, it’s a big decision.”

But Nora shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I won’t change my mind. Rafaele it is.”

Why does my chest feel warm suddenly? I reach up and rub at it, hoping the sensation will fade.

“But why?” Leo asks, or rather whines, and the sound is almost pathetic.

She looks at us all, her expression resolute. “I’m sorry, Capo. I mean no disrespect, but I was told this was my decision, and it seems that?—”

“It is your decision,” I interrupt, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them. I should let them convince her to marry Leo. I should let it slide, excuse myself, and go deal with whatever Russian Paolo managed to pick up. Pain and fear are the two arts I’m a master in; the rest is just inconsequential. And yet, here I am, supporting her choice to make me her husband—to make me her own boogeyman.

“I will marry you, Nora Falcone, if that is what you want.” I’ve spent my life controlling every aspect of my existence. I’ve made men bow to my will, instilled fear in the hearts of those who dare challenge me. But this… This is different. I’m being forced into a role I didn’t choose, and yet, the choice is hers. It’s a strange kind of powerlessness I’m not used to, and the part of me that thrives on control resents it.

“This is my choice,” she replies, and I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t say she wants it. She’s being forced into this, just as we all are.

The room is silent, the weight of her decision settling over us like a shroud. My father’s face is a mask of barely contained irritation, Leo looks like he’s been slapped, and her father… Her father seems to be struggling between anger and acceptance.

But Nora… She looks calm, as if this moment was inevitable. And perhaps, in a way, it was.

The warmth in my chest doesn’t fade, and I realize that this, too, is inevitable. I am a part of this now, tied to her choice, and it’s a path neither of us can turn back from.

Well, I guess I’m getting married… Congratulations to me, and thoughts and prayers for her.

Chapter Three

Nora

“Are you out of your damned mind?” My mother’s shrill voice cuts through the room, startling me awake. The door slams against the wall, and I wince at the sudden intrusion of light as she yanks open the heavy curtain, blinding me in the process.

“What?” I hiss, squinting against the brightness, my mind sluggishly trying to catch up. I blink toward the alarm clock. It’s only eight a.m.—way too early for my mother to be out of her room. I’d normally be up by now, but I fell asleep only two hours ago, my thoughts consumed by the disaster that was my decision.

I picked Rafaele Lucchese—Il Mietitore.

“I’m talking to you, Nora!” she snaps, her voice bringing me out of my daze.

I force my eyes back to her, taking in the sight of her standing there in her robe, hands on her hips, radiating anger. Her face is flushed, eyes narrowed with the kind of fury she usually reserves for drunken outbursts, but this is different—sharper, more focused.

“How did you find out?” I ask, my voice groggy, still trying to process the situation. It’s clearly not my dad who told her. I doubt he’s said a word since last night; he was silent the whole drive home. When we finally arrived, he kissed the top of my head, but it felt like a gesture of sorrow rather than comfort.

“Does it matter?” she hisses, advancing on me like a storm. “You had one job—to choose the lesser of two evils. And what do you do? You pick The Reaper! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

I push myself up in bed, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “I’m not trying to get myself killed, Mother.”

“Why?” she insists again, her voice sharper now, and I know she won’t let me go until I give her an answer.

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