Page 86 of Of Oaths and Secrets

He points a finger at me. “Sofia has suffered enough. You think she’s a threat? She was involved because Sergio forced her, nothing more.”

“Did he?” I challenge, my voice low but unwavering. “Who’s to say she wasn’t the mastermind all along?”

My father scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Please. We both know that man had her under his thumb. She was so in love, she did everything he asked. And you already made her pay enough for it watching his death. You’ll leave her alone. That’s final.”

“Sofia, a poor, helpless victim?” I almost laugh. My father’s so entrenched in his view of women as weak and incapable. If Sofia wasn’t the brain behind her husband’s betrayal, she was certainly a willing participant. But my father refuses to see it, too convinced of her innocence—or, perhaps, too blinded by his own outdated beliefs.

“Your faith in her will be your mistake,” I say quietly, letting the impact of the words settle.

He raises his chin defiantly, his lip curling. “And your sudden eagerness to suspect everyone will be yours. You think you can see into people’s souls now, Rafaele? All because a woman has stirred your heart?” He practically spits out the last word, a bitter edge in his voice.

I open my mouth to argue, but just then, Paolo bursts into the room, his face pale, his eyes wide with something I’ve never seen there before—pure fear.

“What—” I start, taken aback by his uncharacteristic entrance.

“It’s Nora,” he says, his voice shaking. “They called me when they couldn’t reach you. She… she was taken to the hospital.”

A hollow dread fills me, colder than anything I’ve ever felt. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart thunders in my chest, drowning out every other sound. My father’s sneering face, his words—everything fades into nothingness. Only one thing matters now.

“Nora?” I barely recognize my own voice, raw and desperate.

Paolo nods. “They couldn’t get through to you. We need to go. Now.”

I don’t wait another second. I push past my father, ignoring his indignant calls, my legs carrying me faster than they ever have. Nothing exists but the need to get to her. Paolo is by my side, rushing out the door, and before I can reach the car, he grabs the keys.

“Let me drive,” he insists, his tone brooking no argument.

My hands are shaking too much to argue. I slide into the passenger seat, gripping the dashboard as he floors the gas, the tires screeching as we tear out of the driveway. The world outside is a blur, the pulse of fear pounding in my ears, loud and insistent. I can barely breathe, each heartbeat a reminder of how desperately I need her to be okay. I undo my tie, trying to relieve the pressure against my throat, but it doesn’t change a thing. This pressure is pure, unadulterated fear—something I’ve never felt before but saw so many times in the eyes of my victims, and I’m now on the receiving end.

In the silence between us, I feel Paolo’s hand grip my shoulder briefly, a rare gesture of comfort. “She’ll be alright,” he says, though his voice trembles slightly, betraying his own worry.

But all I can think of is her face, her laugh, the way she looked at me this morning, so blissfully satisfied. The possibility of losing her… it claws at my chest, threatening to suffocate me.

“Please,” I whisper, though I don’t know if it’s to Paolo, to fate, or to any higher power willing to listen. “Please let her be alright.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Nora

Everything unraveled far too quickly, landing me here in a sterile hospital bed, a heart monitor beeping steadily beside me.

I wasn’t ready for this—just hours ago, Rafaele left me satisfied in bed. But later, when I stood up, something felt off. At first, I brushed it off as stomach cramps, but then the pain deepened, and spotting appeared in my underwear. In that moment, all rational thought fled. Every horrible scenario I’d read in the doctor’s pamphlet flashed through my mind, and panic consumed me. Teresa’s husband drove me straight to the hospital, my head spinning with fear.

Now, as the worst of that initial panic fades, I can think clearly. I don’t want Rafaele to find out this way. If he discovers I kept something this serious from him, especially with our child involved, he may never forgive me. I need to go home, talk to him myself, and make sure he understands why I hesitated.

Just then, the door opens, and I sit up, prepared to plead with the doctor for an early discharge. “Doctor, I?—”

But my words die in my throat as I see who’s following him. Rafaele stands there, his face drained of color, his dark eyes filled with a fury I’ve never seen before.

“Rafaele…”

He ignores me which is not something he ever did before.

I swallow, nerves twisting inside me as I watch Rafaele settle into the chair beside my bed, his face a mask of controlled rage.

"So," he says slowly, turning to the doctor, "you were explaining how my wife's autoimmune conditions could affect her… and our child."

I bite down on my lip, tasting blood, and fight the urge to disappear under the covers. This is all on me—there’s no one else to blame. But the doctor, oblivious to the storm brewing in Rafaele’s eyes, continues without pause.

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