Page 68 of Of Oaths and Secrets

And no matter what happens, we’ll always belong to each other.

Chapter Seventeen

Nora

Iam giddy as I get ready for my evening with Rafaele. I keep trying to convince myself that most of my excitement is because of the opera, not the man taking me—but I know that’s a lie.

My husband… Even in a million years, I would never have expected Rafaele Lucchese to be the man I know now. I’ve seen the cold, unforgiving, sadistic side of him that the world fears. But here, in the intimacy of our home, I’ve discovered someone else entirely. He’s kind, gentle, and considerate. And then there’s the passion that simmers between us—raw and undeniable. I never expected to want a man the way I want him, and with the way he devours me with his eyes, I know he feels the same.

I called Lucia earlier to help me pick out an evening dress for tonight, and after browsing for a couple of hours, we settled on something perfect—something that I hope will take Rafaele’s breath away. The dress is a stunning royal-blue that hugs my curves in all the right places, with a deep neckline and a subtle slit that adds a touch of allure. It feels sexy but sophisticated like it was made just for this moment.

I sweep my hair up into a sleek, vintage updo—loose curls pinned just right, giving a nod to the glamour of a 1950s pinup. My makeup is sultry, with smoky eyes that add an air of mystery, paired with a bold red lip. I catch my reflection in the mirror and smile, a little surprised at the woman looking back at me. Confident. Desirable.

There’s a knock at the door, and my heart skips a beat. I take a deep breath and walk over to open it, my pulse quickening in anticipation.

Rafaele stands on the other side, dressed in a perfectly tailored black tuxedo that highlights the sharp lines of his jaw and the powerful frame of his body. He looks dashing, every inch the formidable man I’ve come to know—and yet, as his eyes land on me, something flickers in his gaze, softening for just a moment.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his eyes slowly raking over my figure, taking in every detail. I can feel the heat in his stare, the hunger, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

"You…" His voice is rough, almost strained, as he steps closer. "You look… breathtaking."

A smile tugs at my lips as I watch him struggle to find the words. "You don’t look so bad yourself," I tease, though I can barely contain my admiration. He’s devastatingly handsome, and tonight, he’s mine.

He closes the distance between us, his hand reaching for mine. As his fingers gently entwine with mine, I feel the weight of his gaze on me again. He’s not just looking at me—he’s devouring me, drinking me in as if I’m the only thing that matters.

"You ready?" His voice is softer now, more intimate.

I nod, but before I can answer, he leans in, his lips brushing against my cheek, his breath warm against my skin. "You’rebeautiful, Nora," he whispers, his voice sending a delicious thrill through me. "More than you know."

I feel a flush rise in my cheeks, but I smile, my heart swelling with the quiet intensity between us. "Let’s not be late.”

We arrive at the opera house, and I feel the importance of the night pressing down on me—not in a bad way, but in a way that fills me with anticipation. The grandeur of the building, the elegant people milling about, the air buzzing with excitement—it’s everything I imagined and more. But nothing can compare to the man by my side.

Rafaele holds out his arm for me, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow. The moment we step through the doors, the energy in the room shifts. Heads turn. Conversations quiet. It’s as if the very air rearranges itself around him, creating space, creating awe.

It reminds me of videos of the sea when there’s a shark swimming in the middle of a gigantic school of fish, and they all part around it. That’s exactly what happens when Rafaele Lucchese walks into a room. And here I am, by his side, with the full knowledge that this man, this force of nature, is my husband.

We make our way to our booth, and I can feel the stares of those around us. It’s not just the fact that he commands attention wherever he goes—it’s the fact that we are together. The infamous Lucchese with his unknown wife.

When we finally settle into our seats, I let out a breath I was holding. The opera begins, the lights dimming as the stage comes to life. The moment the man starts to sing, everything else fades away. The mournful beauty of the lyrics strikes directly at my heart, the emotion woven into every note pulling me in deeper and deeper. My chest tightens as I listen, utterly captivated.

“I’ve never heard anything more beautiful,” I whisper, my voice catching as a tearless sob escapes me.

Rafaele shifts beside me, his hand covering mine. “I have,” he responds quietly, and the sincerity in his voice makes me turn to him.

I smile, assuming he’s talking about his vast experience with opera, the many times he’s been here before, while I’m here for the first time. “How lucky for you,” I say, a little envious of all the beauty he’s already experienced in his life.

But when I meet his eyes, I see something entirely different. His dark gaze is locked on mine, piercing into me with an intensity that makes me forget everything else. It feels like he’s not just looking at me—he’s seeing me, reaching into the depths of my soul.

“Yes,” he murmurs softly, his voice lowering as his fingers tighten around mine. “The first time I heard you laugh.”

The warmth of his words washes over me, and instinctively, I lean into him, seeking the closeness I’ve grown to crave. But this time, something’s different. He remains stiff, unmoving, his hand still on mine but offering no further affection.

And here it is—the pain. The one I suspect my mother feels, the one that resonates with me more than I’d care to admit. My heart aches, and I realize, in that moment, how much I’ve allowed myself to hope for more. How much I’ve allowed myself to fall.

I pull back, trying to mask the hurt, and turn my attention back to the stage. The haunting melodies swirl around me, but the tears in my eyes aren’t solely from the beauty of the music. They’re from the sting of rejection, the feeling of being close yet still so far away from the man who’s supposed to be mine.

I try to steady my breathing, willing the tears away, focusing on the spectacle before me, but it’s hard. The music, so full of sorrow, only amplifies the emotions inside me.

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