Page 38 of Of Oaths and Secrets

Rafaele’s contradictions confuse me—the stocked pantry, the thoughtfully placed flowers, the way this room feels like a soft landing instead of a cell. None of it was necessary, but he did it anyway. I don’t know if it’s an olive branch, a genuine attempt to make me feel welcome, or just another part of the role he’s playing.

I lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, torn between wanting to understand this man I’m now tied to and the instinct to keep my guard up. Teresa says I’ll be fine here, and maybe she’s right. But it’s going to take more than a beautiful room to bridge the distance between us.

I stand and walk to the window, gazing out at the garden below. I’m not sure what to make of this place, of this life I’m stepping into. But for now, I’ll take the small victories, the moments of unexpected kindness, and try to figure out where I fit in this new world.

Chapter Ten

Rafaele

“I’m not sure that meeting two hours out of town was needed.” I sigh as I take a seat across from Alexei in a seedy biker bar just off the highway. “We’re not enemies, Alexei.”

He leans back on his seat. “No, but we’re not friends either, and the accusations you’re making are very serious.”

I arch an eyebrow. “But not unfounded, otherwise you wouldn’t have called me to meet me. I sent you proofs.”

“You sent me dead bodies.” He sighs, running his hand in his graying hair. Alexei Mirsov has been the head of the New York Bratva for a record time—over thirty years and going strong. We are in no way allies, but I respect the man. He is cautious, smart, and cunning. He prevented unwanted wars and bloodshed, and I know he’s as reluctant to be here as I am.

“Dead rats.”

He gestures to the bartender, who brings him a glass of clear liquid I assume is vodka. “I would offer you one, but I assume you’re not into manly drinks.”

Paolo snorts as he takes a sip of his soda water, sitting two tables down with who I presume is Alexei’s own man of trust—neither of us foolish enough to show up alone and unarmed.

“I don’t need to get my insides bleached, thank you very much, and not at ten in the morning.”

“It’s five p.m. in Moscow.”

“Then, by all means, enjoy your vodka,” I reply, leaning back in my chair and keeping my gaze steady on him. “But let’s get to the point. I came here because we both have a problem, and it’s not going away unless we deal with it.”

Alexei nods slowly, taking a measured sip from his glass. “You think someone in my organization is working against you. That’s a serious accusation, Rafaele. If you’re wrong, it could mean war.”

“I’m not wrong,” I say firmly. “The bodies I sent weren’t just any of your men—they were inside my operations, disrupting shipments, trying to destabilize our business. Someone’s playing both sides, Alexei. And if they’re willing to betray me, they’ll eventually betray you too. And if you reached out and set up this meeting, it’s because you think so as well.”

He studies me, his gaze sharp and calculating. “And what do you propose?”

I don’t take the bait. “You wanted to see me. You tell me.”

“Umniy paren',” he mutters before taking another sip. “Find them. Clean house. I’m already doing it on my side, and I suspect you’re doing the same. We make them talk and share the names of our mutual rats. We don’t have to like each other, but we both understand the value of stability. I’m not interested in a war that neither of us can afford. Are you?”

“Why me? You’re the pakhan; I’m only the sottocapo.”

Alexei's gray eyes never leave my face as he smirks. “I hate your father, always have. He’s all ego and Italian pride. Far tooup his ass to know what’s good for him. And we both know that you’re the one in charge now, Reaper.”

I hold his gaze, feeling the gravity of his words settle between us. Alexei’s not one to mince words, and his blunt assessment of my father isn’t far off the mark. But hearing it from him only confirms what I’ve already known—that my position, my decisions, are no longer just in the shadows.

“So, you’re saying you’ll trust me over him?” I keep my tone even, betraying nothing of the slight unease his declaration stirs. “That’s a risky move, Alexei.”

He shrugs, a small, cynical smile tugging at his lips. “Not trust, Rafaele. I don’t trust anyone, especially not an Italian. But respect? Maybe. You’ve shown you can handle your business without the theatrics. And that’s what we need right now—someone who can see beyond their own ego.”

I take a slow breath. “Then we agree. We’ll both clean our house silently, share information with each other, and deal with the problem before it becomes a war neither of us can control.”

Alexei raises his glass in a mock toast, his expression still guarded. “To not needing each other,” he says, a wry twist to his smile. “But making it work anyway.”

I don’t bother lifting the glass of whatever drink they placed in front of me. Instead, I give a curt nod, our unspoken agreement hanging in the air between us.

He sighs, setting his glass back on the table. “I heard you got married yesterday. Svad'boy! It surprised me that you offered to meet today.”

You’re not the only one, I think, feeling Paolo’s eyes on me. Paolo doesn’t understand why I insisted on handling this today—he doesn’t have the full picture. And I can’t explain the hunch gnawing at me, the need to have everything settled before whatever I suspect comes to light, and I lose control of the narrative.

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