Page 101 of Of Oaths and Secrets

Her sobs fill the silence as I step back, frustration bubbling beneath my calm facade. “Don’t you see? Your daughter doesn’t care about you. If she did, she wouldn’t have left you unprotected. She knew the moment she touched Nora, you’d be dead.”

Maria’s head snaps up, her bloodied face a mixture of shock and realization. Whether it’s the confirmation of her death or the betrayal of her daughter, I don’t care.

“You have no loyalty,” she spits weakly.

I crouch in front of her, my tone sharp. “You’re wrong. My loyalty is to my wife, to my family—something you’ve never known or understood. You’re just a pathetic woman, clinging to shadows, never knowing what it means to be cared for.”

The words cut deeper than my blade, and for a moment, the bravado drains from her face. She lets out a bitter laugh. “And whose fault is that?”

She shakes her head, her voice trembling. “You can torture me all you want. I wouldn’t tell you a thing, even if I knew where she was.”

Fuck.Of course, she knows nothing. Sofia is too smart to trust anyone I could reach. My rage simmers, coiled and deadly.

“I can’t let you live,” I murmur, more to myself than to her. Mercy isn’t an option this time. Not after the betrayal, not after Nora.

“I know,” she whispers, resignation settling into her features. “And I don’t want to—not after I know what you’ll do to her.”

Her words linger as I grip the scalpel tighter, steeling myself for the act. The Reaper doesn’t hesitate, and neither can I.

Before I strike, Paolo’s voice interrupts, tight and urgent. “Rafa. We’ve got a lead.”

I turn, my grip loosening on the blade, though my rage doesn’t abate. “What?”

“Sofia was spotted near the docks in Halifax,” he says, his gaze darting briefly to Maria’s limp form, then back to me. “It’s time.”

I straighten, nodding sharply. “Yes, it is.” Calmly, I place the scalpel back on the tray and pull my gun. I meet Maria’s tear-filled gaze one last time, her defiance gone, replaced by a quiet acceptance. “Goodbye.” The shot rings out, quick and final.

Paolo doesn’t flinch, his expression unreadable as he watches the life leave her. “This isn’t going to go down quietly,” he says, still staring at Maria’s lifeless form.

“I don’t care.” My voice is cold, final, as I jerk my head toward the basement exit. “What else do we know?”

“Not much,” Paolo admits as we ascend the stairs. “She got to Halifax on a Russian vessel. And before you ask, I sent men to check the house she was supposed to stay at in Sicily. She—or someone working with her—killed them all.”

“Efficient as always,” I mutter, my mind already racing. “I need to find Yuri. And I need to talk to my brother.”

Paolo stiffens slightly. “You think he’s involved?”

“With Nora’s disappearance? No.” My voice hardens. “Leo cares for her. He’d never hurt her. But I know he’s been helping Sofia. And I know—” I pause, shaking my head. “There are things he hasn’t told me. Ready or not, I need him to talk.”

We don’t have to wait long. As I step into the main hall, Leo is already there, pacing, his face pale, his usual bravado replaced by genuine worry. When he sees me, he strides forward. “Rafa,” he starts, his voice unsteady. “What can I do? Tell me what to do to help.”

I study him, weighing my words carefully. I nod my head toward the study—this is a conversation we need to have alone. “Come clean.”

He freezes, blinking in confusion. “What do you mean? I swear, Rafa, I had nothing to do with Nora being taken. I’d never hurt her. Never.”

I narrow my eyes. “I know. But you’ve been hiding something, Leo. Something about Sofia. I know you’ve been involved with her. For years.”

Leo takes a step back, his face draining of color. “What are you talking about?”

I cross my arms, my tone unwavering. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’ve known for a long time. I suspected it when we were younger, but now I know. You’ve been sleeping with her.”

“She’s not…” His voice trails off, and he swallows hard. “She’s not my cousin. You know that. I’m not?—”

“You’re not the capo’s son,” I finish, my voice low but firm. “I know. And I know you had a crush on her when we were teenagers. I don’t have the time to let you come clean on your own. I need my wife back, and I need you to fess up.”

He exhales shakily, nodding, his shoulders sagging. “She… she started flirting with me after you left for Sicily,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was fifteen, Rafa. She was twenty. She told me she knew my father—my real father.”

I stiffen, the name falling like a stone into the pit of my stomach. “Yuri?” I guess. That man is a true evil genius, and I am sure he’s creating far more trouble for Alexei than he admitted to me.

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