Page 12 of Of Oaths and Secrets

I sigh and move to the side, rubbing my temples. “Leo Lucchese is dull.” And I suspect as empty as a shell.

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “He’s very good-looking, and yes, he’s probably an idiot, but at least he’s not cruel.” Her lips purse as if she’s just tasted something bitter. “And his looks…”

I frown at that, the memory of yesterday’s dinner flashing through my mind. I had plenty of time to observe Rafaele, and I don’t see why she’s so harsh about his appearance. He may not have his brother’s obvious charm and classical good looks, but Rafaele is striking in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

With his tall, broad-shouldered frame and dark, unruly hair that always seems on the verge of falling into his intense, deep-set eyes, he has a presence that commands attention. His strong jawline and slightly crooked nose add character to his face, giving him a rugged, almost predatory allure. His eyes—so dark you can’t see where the iris ends and the pupil begins—are like two black holes, pulling you in, making it difficult to look away. There’s a raw power in his features, something primal and deeply unsettling yet captivating all the same.

He may not be what most would call traditionally handsome, but there’s no denying his magnetism. It’s as if every part of him is designed to exude authority and command respect—a man who is both feared and admired, a man who has earned the name Il Mietitore.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with his looks,” I reply quietly, more to myself than to her. But she catches it, her eyes narrowing.

“You think you can handle a man like Rafaele Lucchese? He’s not just a husband, Nora—he’s a force of nature. And once he has you in his grasp, he won’t let go.”

I meet her gaze, feeling the weight of her words but also the weight of my own decision. “Maybe that’s exactly what I need, Mother. Someone who won’t let go.”

She stares at me, stunned into silence, and for the first time, I see a glimpse of something other than anger in her eyes—fear, perhaps, or maybe just a sad kind of understanding.

I let out a sigh. “You told me to pick a man I could never love.” I shrug. “I listened.”

“You—” She shakes her head, then glances at the clock on my nightstand.

“It’s too early for a drink, Mother.”

Her eyes narrow at the corners. “With a daughter like you? No, probably not.”

I stand up and wince, shifting my weight from one hip to the other. My mother doesn’t miss the movement. It may seem irrelevant to most people, but not to her. Her face softens, her irritation giving way to something more like concern.

“I’m always a little stiff in the morning. It’s nothing,” I tell her as I slide on my slippers.

“You made the wrong choice,” she says, her voice losing some of its sharpness.

“For you, I made the wrong choice. But it’s pointless to discuss it anymore. I picked, and they agreed.” Despite Capo Lucchese being so obviously annoyed about it. “There’s no turning back.”

She doesn’t respond… just stands there, lost in thought. I begin making my bed, even though I know the staff can handle it. The motions are good for me, and they help ground me. I continue as though she’s no longer in the room, as if she’s already disappeared into her own world. I prepare my bathrobe and towel and am about to head to the bathroom to shower when she speaks again.

“Maybe we can ask Uncle Vittorio to make you disappear.”

I freeze, turning slowly, almost unable to believe what she’s just said. Uncle Vittorio, known asthe Shadow, is a master at making people disappear—whether alive or not. They call him an eraser, and he’s my mother’s brother, someone she hasn’t spoken to in years.

For a moment, I see something in her that I rarely do—an actual glimpse of her love for me. It’s fleeting, buried under layers of bitterness and regret, but it’s there, clear as day.

“Leave Vittorio where he is.” I’ve never met him, but during one of my mother’s drunken rants, she told me about her brother—the one who didn’t want her to marry my father. She didn’t listen, and it cost them both. After that, he disappeared into the mountains, making himself vanish from the world. She has a contact, probably the only one who does, but she swore that even death wouldn’t make her call him. I guess that doesn’t include me.

“Maybe we can tell him everything about you. He probably won’t want to marry you then.”

Her words sting deep, not because she means to hurt me, but because she genuinely believes I’m substandard as a wife.

Despite the tears burning at the back of my eyes, I stand up straighter. “Well, I guess that makes me a fitting wife for The Reaper then—a societal reject. But I won’t say anything because we both know it would mean Father tricked them, and that would likely lead to his death. That’s something you might celebrate, but I can’t stand by his grave knowing I’m responsible.” I pause, my voice softening. “Now, Mother, I would kindly ask you to leave my room. I followed your advice. I picked the man I’ll never love and who will never love me back.”

Without waiting for her response, I lock myself in the bathroom. I trail my fingers under the dark circles beneath my eyes. My pale skin is unforgiving after sleepless nights, showing every ounce of weariness to the world.

I know I’m not the prettiest—too short, too round, too weak. And yes, by my mother’s standards, I’m substandard. But how does it even matter? I could be the most beautiful woman in the world, and it wouldn’t make Rafaele Lucchese love me. Desire me? Maybe. But I’m not sure being desired by a man so cruel is anything to wish for.

I shake my head, pushing away the creeping thoughts of what life with Rafaele might entail. There’s no use dwelling on it. I made my choice, and now I have to live with it. I might as well face it on my own terms.

I shower quickly and move to the closet, running my fingers along the row of clothes. I’ve always loved bright colors, a quiet rebellion against the dark, oppressive tones that dominate mafia society. When I’m out in public, expected to play the role of the obedient daughter, I wear black, gray, or dark blue, blending into the shadows. But today, in this moment that’s just for me, I reach for a dress that makes me feel like myself—a royal-blue one that hugs my curves just enough to be flattering without drawing too much attention.

I pair it with yellow tights, the color vibrant and cheerful. The combination is bold, maybe even a little outrageous for someone in my position, but it’s me. A small snort escapes me as I pull the dress over my head and smooth it down, imagining the look of horror on Lucchese’s face if he saw me dressed like this. A dash of color in his otherwise dark world.

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