Page 21 of Of Oaths and Secrets

“For now,” he agrees, his tone measured. “But we both know how quickly things can change.”

I watch as he takes a step back, his eyes glancing once more toward Nora, who is now engaged in a conversation with one of my aunts. There’s something in his gaze that makes my blood simmer with a possessiveness I’m not accustomed to.

My father’s voice booms across the room, cutting through the tension as he clinks a spoon against his glass. “Rafaele! Nora! Over here, please.”

Instead of heading straight to my father, I make a beeline for Nora, not wanting her to cross the room on her own. Withouteven thinking, I grab her hand, and the feeling of her small, soft hand in mine is both unfamiliar and unsettling, but it feels nice nonetheless.

Her cheeks are slightly pink, and I’m honest enough to admit that I enjoy this reaction from her. I enjoy that she’s not repulsed by my touch—maybe, dare I say, she likes it?

I squeeze her hand as we reach my father and hers, and she squeezes it right back.

“Don’t they just look perfect for each other?” My father beams. And if I didn’t know better, I might almost believe him.

Except that I do know better. I remember how annoyed he was in those first couple of weeks after Nora chose me. He had high hopes for our bloodlines—that any grandchildren would carry the blood of the daughter of one of the original famiglia. He was hoping to find me a wife straight from Sicily.

I also have a mirror, and Nora and I? No, we don't fit by any criteria. I’m too old, too tall, too jaded, too cruel, and emotionless. I’m hard and cold, and this reflects in every sharp angle of my face. Nora is all curves, softness, gentleness, and passion. I saw glimpses of that fire when we had dinner. She is life and light, and I’m death and darkness, so no—we do not fit.

But here we are, standing together, hand in hand, in front of everyone. And despite the circumstances, despite my father’s earlier frustrations, there’s a strange sense of rightness in the way Nora fits beside me.

My father beams at us, and I do my best not to roll my eyes. As I scan the crowd, I meet my brother’s glare and catch her mother’s disapproving look. She seems like she’s attending her daughter’s funeral instead of an engagement party.

Nora’s hand starts to sweat in mine, pulling my attention back to her. I glance down, noticing how she’s staring straight ahead, unfocused, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. I pull her a little closer, and when she looks up at me, her eyes areshining with what looks like tears. That strange protectiveness I’ve been feeling stirs again. I need to find a way to smother this—it has no place in my life. But for tonight, I give in.

I lean in close, keeping my voice low. "Il coraggio, uno, se non ce l'ha, mica se lo può dare," I whisper, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.

She startles slightly, her eyes meeting mine, surprise simmering in their depths. Then she gives me a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"Courage, if one doesn’t have it, cannot be given. Alessandro Manzoni, how fitting," she finishes, her voice soft yet steady. There’s a quiet strength in her, one that I’m sure most people miss, but I see it—and it’s far more appealing than anything else.

My father clears his throat, drawing the room’s attention back to him. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for being here to celebrate this special engagement. I couldn’t be more pleased with the addition of Nora Falcone to our family. After much discussion, Maurizio and I have agreed on a date. The wedding will take place exactly four weeks from today, on October fourth."

The announcement sends a ripple of murmurs through the crowd, but I’m not focused on them. Instead, I look down at Nora, who’s trying to process the whirlwind of events. Four weeks. Just four weeks, and everything will change.

The room erupts into applause, and people begin to approach us, offering their congratulations. I nod, acknowledging them without really seeing who’s who. My focus is divided, distracted by the vibration in my pocket. I pull out my phone discreetly and see a message from Paolo—he has all the details, and the team is ready to strike. But I want to be there too; I need to be there.

I glance down at Nora again, feeling a tug of something unfamiliar, something conflicting. This is too important to stay, but leaving her here alone doesn’t sit well with me.

“Nora,” I lean in slightly, “I need to take care of something.” Her shoulders tense almost imperceptibly, and she pulls away just enough to create distance.

“It’s fine,” she replies, but her voice lacks conviction, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere over my shoulder. “It’s not like I thought you cared. Truly. Do whatever you have to.”

Her dismissal grates on me in a way I didn’t expect. There’s a challenge in her tone, a quiet resignation that feels like a slap. For a moment, I hesitate, torn between my obligation and this strange, uncomfortable pull toward her.

But this mission is too important, and I can’t let sentimentality cloud my judgment. This should be simple. It’s always been simple. Duty comes first—always. But now, standing here, searching her eyes, I feel a heaviness I can’t quite shake. What is it about her that’s making me hesitate? I’ve never felt this—this pull to someone before. The logic of duty is clear, but for the first time, it’s not the only thing I’m thinking about. With a final nod, I turn and leave, the weight of her words settling uncomfortably in my chest as I head out to do what I must.

Just as I’m about to exit the house, I hear sniggering behind me. I turn to see my brother drunkenly staggering toward me.

“Go back to the party, Leo.” I sigh, already feeling the exhaustion creeping in.

“Are you even feeling a little bit bad for stealing the club from me?” His words are slurred, but the bitterness in them is clear.

Here we go again. I can’t help but roll my eyes. “No.”

“But you know what makes me feel better?” he continues, his grin widening as he sways slightly.

I glance at my watch, impatient. “No, what?” I reply, not bothering to hide my disinterest.

“There’s no way she chose you because she likes you better. You know that, right? There’s something else going on, and I can’t wait for it to be exposed.” He grins again, a drunken sneer that only deepens my irritation.

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