Page 22 of Of Oaths and Secrets

“Are you done?” I ask, my voice flat and impassive.

“Yes,” he replies, the grin still plastered on his face.

“Good. I have to go. I have an empire to run, and you have…” I pause, chuckling as I look him over. “Oh, that’s right, nothing. Have a good night, brother.”

I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving him to stew in his bitterness. The momentary satisfaction of putting him in his place is fleeting, though, as my mind quickly returns to the task at hand. The mission. The duty. The life I’ve chosen over everything else.

Chapter Five

Nora

Four weeks. It sounds absurd, as if this impending marriage isn’t already overwhelming enough. Well, three weeks now. I haven’t seen or heard from Rafaele since the engagement party, not that I truly expected to. Leo, of course, was eager to fill the silence with tales of his brother's ruthlessness and selfish nature. He seemed almost gleeful as he recounted Rafaele’s cold efficiency, taking pleasure in reminding me of the man I was about to marry.

But there’s a part of me that doesn’t fully believe Leo's narrative. I’m not sure why, but something about Rafaele seemed different. Maybe it was the way he chose the engagement ring—something small, subtle, and meaningful. Or perhaps it was the way he tried, in his own awkward way, to ease my discomfort during the engagement party. For a brief moment, I thought I saw something in him—something more human beneath the layers of cold calculation.

But now, as the days pass with no word from him, I wonder if I was simply grasping at straws. Maybe I was trying too hard to see something that wasn’t there, trying to find a sliver of hopein a situation that feels increasingly bleak. After all, why would a man like Rafaele Lucchese care about making me comfortable?

His absence and the obvious disinterest he’s shown since the engagement seem to fit Leo’s narrative all too well. I try to build the walls I know I’ll need to protect myself, reminding myself that I can’t afford to feel anything for this man—not when he’s so clearly uninterested in reciprocating.

For a fleeting moment after I chose him, I thought we could build something based on mutual respect, maybe even an intellectual connection. But that, too, was probably asking too much.

“What do you think, Nora?” My mother’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, taut with expectation. “It’s very traditional.”

I blink, shaking off the gloom as I turn to face her. She’s standing beside a stack of pristine white dresses that line the wall. The first dress she selected is a heavy ball gown with intricate lace detailing and a cathedral-length train. It looks like a giant, suffocating meringue, designed to conceal me rather than celebrate me.

I glance at Rafaele’s aunt, Maria, who sits on the sofa watching the scene unfold. She’s the capo’s sister, a woman of formidable presence whose sharp eyes miss nothing. I’m not naive; I know she’s here to approve every detail, to ensure that the Lucchese family’s expectations are met. Maria doesn’t say much, but her mere presence is enough to keep my mother on edge—no small feat.

My gaze shifts to Lucia, Rafaele's cousin and Paolo's younger sister, the woman who’s been appointed as my maid of honor. I have friends, but they’re not from our world. I met them at university, and I’ve kept them away from the mafia’s reach as much as I can. So when Maria asked who would be in my bridal party, I said no one.

That’s the only text I’ve received from Rafaele this week.

I’ve been informed you have no bridal party. I took the liberty of asking my cousin, Lucia, to be your maid of honor. Let me know if this is impracticable.

I was offended by the message and everything it implied, but in the grand scheme of things, it seemed trivial, so I simply replied:

Okay, thanks.

Today, I’m meeting Lucia for the first time, though she doesn’t seem to care much. She’s far more engrossed in her phone and the flute of champagne in her hand than anything happening in the store.

“This one is… lovely, but I’m not sure it’s quite me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

My mother’s lips press into a thin line of disapproval. “Nora, this is a big deal. You’re not just some bride—you’re marrying into the Lucchese family. Your dress should show that.” Her eyes narrow as she glances at the dress. “Besides, it’ll help smooth out those curves of yours.”

I suppress a sigh, glancing at the other options. They’re all similar—heavy, traditional, designed to overwhelm rather than flatter. I can’t help but long for something simpler, something that feels like me rather than just another piece in the Lucchese dynasty’s display of power.

Both Mom and I turn toward Maria, who just looks at the dress in my mother’s hands. “Well, let’s see what you have in mind,” she says, and once again, it feels like a test.

I turn toward the assistant. “I want something simple, pure line, and if you have a dash of color, I would love that.”

She smiles. “Give me a few minutes, Ms. Falcone. I think I have exactly what you need. Size fourteen?”

“I… Well, yes.”

She nods, and my mother clicks her tongue as soon as she’s gone.

“Color? This is not traditional.”

Maria nods as Lucia rolls her eyes, still looking at her phone.

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