Page 26 of Of Oaths and Secrets

As we finish up, I can’t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. It might seem like a minor victory, but it’s astep toward making this wedding, this life, my own in whatever ways I can.

We make our way out of the bakery, the cake tasting complete, and as we walk back toward the car, I feel a strange mix of emotions—relief, determination, and something close to hope.

Lucia lingers beside me as my mother and Maria walk ahead. “You did well in there,” she says, nudging me lightly. “Don’t let them push you around.”

“Thanks, Lucia. I couldn’t handle this without you.”

“Anytime.” She grins, giving me a quick wink. “And don’t sweat it—Aunt Maria will come around eventually. She always does.”

I stifle a yawn. “Sorry, I’m just a little tired.”

Lucia laughs. “Don’t worry about it—time with Aunt Maria will drain the energy out of anyone.”

“I heard that, diavoletta!” Maria calls as she reaches her car.

“I know! I said it on purpose.” Lucia rolls her eyes. “Well, I’m off. I have to meet some friends.”

My mother glances between our car and Maria’s. “Go with Maria to the caterer. I’ll have the driver take me home.”

She leans down to kiss my cheek, whispering in my ear, “Are you in pain?”

I smile and squeeze her hand. “No, just tired.”

I watch as she gets into the car with Maria, who’s already bickering with her before the door even closes. As I settle into the back seat, I pull out my phone, feeling an odd urge to text Rafaele.

Thanks for sending Lucia—she’s something else. Not that it matters to you, but I picked vanilla and espresso for the cake. I remember you like espresso, so at least there’s one thing you might actually like at the wedding.

By the time I finally return home, I’m exhausted, both physically and emotionally. I collapse onto my bed, the image of the dress, the taste of the cake, and the looming reality of becoming the wife of the most unforgiving man in the Italian mafia all swirling in my mind.

As I drift off to sleep, one thought lingers: he hasn’t replied to my text message.

Chapter Six

Rafaele

I’m getting married tomorrow, and here I am, sitting with Paolo in the library of my father's house, drinking one too many glasses of brandy. I refused the repulsive idea of a stag party, opting instead to enjoy my last night as a single man the only way I know how: in peace and silence, with Paolo.

Of course, that's assuming I even have a bride tomorrow. I know she’s in the house—or at least that’s what my father and the staff say—but I haven’t seen or heard from Nora since I completely screwed up after that text she sent me.

Her message about the espresso in the cake caught me off guard. It touched me more than something so small and stupid should have. She did something thinking of me, and somehow, it seemed significant. But instead of responding, I just stared at the screen until my eyes crossed. I thought about taking her out for dinner, maybe getting to know her better, but that’s when all hell broke loose.

The Bonanno second-in-command turned out to be involved in the betrayal. I dealt with him—permanently—and the judge got involved, even though Francisco claimed everything wasfine. I ended up having to go to Sicily to deal with the original famiglia, asking for their approval to clean up the mess.

By the time I got back, I had a mountain of issues to handle, and I tried—I really did. Lucia mentioned that most women liked Hermes bags. Truth be told, they all look the same to me, but I got her one anyway. Sent it to her house. Didn’t even get a thank you text.

And then my brother’s words kept echoing in my mind. Why the hell would she pick me? My brother is a hedonistic idiot, but he’d probably handle her a million times better than I ever could.

I let out a loud groan, and Paolo glances over at me, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s up, princess? Getting cold feet?”

“She had no reason to pick me,” I mutter, scratching at my jaw. “What’s her endgame?”

Paolo smirks, swirling his drink in his glass. “You think she’s playing you? Maybe she just sees something in you that you don’t.”

I scoff, shaking my head. “And what would that be?”

He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe she’s looking for someone who can protect her. Someone who’s more than just a pretty face and a good time. Perhaps she’s smarter than we give her credit for.”

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