Page 88 of Of Oaths and Secrets

I sigh, leaning back against the bed. "I was diagnosed when I was fourteen. Turned out I wasn’t just 'lazy,'” I say, laughing to ease the sting of old memories. But his eyes darken as if sensing every cutting remark my mother ever threw at me. "It was tough,but I learned to live with it. The worst of it comes and goes, these flare-ups—they bring more pain and exhaustion, but I manage."

He’s quiet, but I know he’s listening deeply, carefully. "What do you mean, ‘more’?"

There’s no hiding now; his attention never wavers. "I always feel a certain level of pain,” I admit, his hand tightening around mine in response. “But it’s like a dull ache in the background most of the time. I’ve gotten used to it, learned to work around it."

His expression softens as he watches me, something deep and unguarded flickering in his eyes—a pride and protectiveness that roots me to the spot.

“But during flares,” I continue, “it’s a different story. The pain can be… unbearable. Even moving takes so much energy it’s like my body becomes a weight I can barely carry.” I swallow, glancing at him, expecting pity but finding only quiet respect.

"And you just… handle that?" His voice is low, tinged with disbelief.

"I do what I have to," I say softly, shrugging as if to brush it off, though my heart races under his gaze.

He’s silent, his eyes never leaving mine, and I can see the intensity of his admiration, the weight of his understanding, settling over him. “Was it a flare-up… when you had that cold?”

There’s no more hiding—I nod, unable to meet his eyes as I push myself up from the bed, but his hands are immediately there, steadying me.

“Nora.” He sighs, shaking his head as he watches me. “Where did I fail you?” he asks quietly, his hand tightening on mine. “Why didn’t you think you could come to me?”

“It’s not that… It’s just—” I struggle to find the right words, pulling my sweater dress over my shoulders. “You’re so… steady, so controlled, so perfect all the time. I feel like I’m stumbling around in my flaws.”

He lets out a soft scoff, glancing down at himself with a smirk. “Perfect?” He taps his chest. “I’m so far from perfect. Flaws? Amore, I’m an encyclopedia of failures.”

“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Then tell me one.”

He leans back, looking at me thoughtfully, but he’s silent for so long that I think he won’t answer.

Finally, he murmurs, “My brother lied to you.”

Confused, I frown, taking a seat beside him as he pats the space beside him on the bed. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, his eyes hold an unusual vulnerability. “I never touched Camilla. I never touched any woman before you, Nora.” He hesitates, then looks me straight in the eye.

I blink, stunned, as I try to wrap my head around his words. “That’s… not possible.”

A muscle tenses in his jaw, and he gives a slight, bitter smile. “Why? Because I’m a mafia boss in my thirties? I didn’t expect you to be so narrow-minded.”

“No!” I shake my head. “No, that’s not it. It’s just…” I trail off, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “You’re just… really good at it.”

His frown fades, replaced by that boyish grin I know is only for me. “Oh, well,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice, “I might not have practiced, but I knew the theory. And my first priority was always to make sure you found pleasure.” His eyes darken slightly as he takes my hand, drawing me closer. “You were worth waiting for.”

A warmth spreads through me, filling me with awe and tenderness as I hold his gaze. The man who once believed himself to be a hardened, unfeeling “Reaper” is here, opening himself up to me with a raw honesty I know doesn’t come easily.

He pauses, letting out a deep breath. “For so long, I thought I was broken,” he admits. “People would call me a sociopath, sayI was incapable of love, and maybe I started to believe it. But then… I met you, and now I realize maybe I just hadn’t found the right person.MyNora.”

His words settle into me, grounding me in a way I can’t explain. “Rafaele…” I murmur, my voice catching in my throat.

He holds me close, his hand resting over my heart. “I’d do anything to protect you, Nora. Anything. But this…” He looks at me, his gaze fierce but tender. “This pain you carry—it’s part of you, and I’d never ask you to change. I just want to be here, to shoulder it with you.”

The moment is broken as the nurse enters, carrying my discharge papers, but the intensity in Rafaele’s gaze remains. After the paperwork is signed and instructions are handed over, he holds me steady, one arm protectively wrapped around my waist as we leave the hospital. His presence is a quiet, unspoken reassurance that seeps into me, easing my nerves.

Outside, Paolo is waiting for us. For the first time, he doesn’t crack a joke or make a comment. Instead, he pulls me into a gentle hug, whispering quietly in my ear, “Don’t scare our boy like that again, okay? He won’t survive it.”

I glance at Rafaele, whose jaw tightens just a bit at seeing me in Paolo’s arms. He’s still his possessive self, and it makes me smile. “I’ll try my best,” I murmur, squeezing Paolo’s arm before stepping back to Rafaele’s side.

Once we arrive home, the comforting familiarity of the place calms me further. As we walk into the foyer, I’m surprised to find Leo waiting. He shifts his weight awkwardly, concern etched on his face. “I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Rafaele’s expression is immediately guarded, a cool mask settling over his features. “You could have called.”

---