Page 7 of Of Oaths and Secrets

My father's expression darkens, his patience wearing thin. “Sit down, Leonardo,” he snaps, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “Remember your place. If she chooses you, you will marry her, and that’s the end of it.”

Leo opens his mouth to protest, but my father raises a hand to silence him. “This isn’t about love; it’s about duty. You think you’re the first man to marry for the famiglia? You’ll do as you’re told.”

Leo slumps back into his chair, glaring at me as if this entire situation is my fault. But our father isn’t finished.

“Nothing will stop you from sampling the girls from the club,” he continues, his tone icy and matter-of-fact. “You’ll still have your fun. You’ll just have a wife at home.” He narrows his gaze. “She’s nice and meek—you could do worse.”

Nice and meek… What he truly means is naive.

“How old is she?” I can’t help but ask. Most women in the mafia marry barely out of adolescence, and even if I’m not particularly interested in marriage, I’ve always found this fact quite bothersome.

“Twenty-two, I think. Older than most.”

Still way too young, I think, realizing she’s twelve years younger than I am. The thought doesn’t sit well with me, but this world rarely accommodates personal discomforts.

Not that she’d pick you,the voice in my head taunts. I glance down at Leo, who’s only five years older than her, but mentally, he’s probably five years behind. It’s a strange and unsettling situation, this notion of being chosen like a prize at some twisted fair. I’ve seen enough marriages in this world to know that most aren’t built on mutual respect or affection.

“Older than most,” my father repeats, his tone dismissive as if her age is just another trivial detail in a long list of things that don’t really matter. “But she’s still young enough to be molded, to learn her place.”

I stifle a sigh, knowing this conversation is heading into territory I’ve long since grown weary of. I’ve seen too many women suffocated by the roles forced upon them. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

But in this world, my opinions are often irrelevant. Duty, legacy, and power are what matter, and everything else falls by the wayside.

Not that she’d pick you, the voice in my head insists again, and this time, I can’t argue with it. Leo might not want this marriage, but if she chooses him, he’ll have no choice. And if she chooses me… well, that’s something I’m not sure I’m ready to think about just yet.

“I know you, Leonardo,” our father says, his tone darkening. “I know how charming you can be, and if you do anything to make her not pick you, I swear I’m taking your condo and car back, and you’ll move back here.”

Leo opens his mouth to whine, as I expected.

“But if you remain your charming self and she picks you? You know the club you like so much? It’ll be yours.”

I have a hard time hiding my surprise—giving my brother the strip club is a recipe for disaster.

“Will you? Really?” Leo’s eyes light up, a glimmer of interest finally breaking through his defiance.

“On my honor,” Father affirms.

“What’s her name?” Leo asks, suddenly curious. “I know most of the girls in the famiglia.”

“I know you do,” he mutters. “I’ve had to cover up so many scandals because you can’t keep that fucking dick in your pants.”

I don’t need to see my brother to know he’s rolling his eyes, the usual arrogance radiating off him.

“Nora, I think,” our father replies, his tone almost uninterested.

Leo thinks for a second and then shrugs. “Nope, nothing. She must be rather plain or really ugly because, normally, I don’t discriminate. A skirt is a skirt.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “That’s the most polite way I’ve ever heard you put it.”

Leo turns his head to the side and grins. “I’m maturing; what do you want? I think referring to my future wife as a walking pussy would be in bad taste.”

The crudeness of his words doesn’t surprise me, but it still grates on my nerves. Leo has always been reckless with his language and his actions, but this is a new low, even for him. It’s one thing to live carelessly, but to reduce a potential wife—someone who might be part of our family—to such a demeaning term shows just how little he respects the gravity of the situation.

“Show some respect, Leo,” I snap, unable to keep the edge out of my voice. “This isn’t a game.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, unfazed. “Relax, Rafaele. I’m just being honest. You know as well as I do that this marriage is about convenience, not love. So why pretend it’s something it’s not?”

“I’m not pretending,” I say, my voice cold. “But you could at least appear to be decent for once in your life.”

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