Page 33 of Of Oaths and Secrets

Nora watches him go, then turns to me, her expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, charged and heavy, before I finally speak.

“You handled that well,” I admit, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “Better than I would have.”

She meets my gaze, and for a split second, I think I see a trace of something—appreciation, maybe, or understanding. But it’s gone just as quickly, replaced by the calm, composed mask she’s perfected.

“Thank you,” she says simply, her voice steady. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

I nod, accepting the truth of her words. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I won’t. You are my wife, Nora Lucchese.”

She takes a sharp breath, her eyes widening slightly as I lean in, not entirely sure why. It’s that scent of hers again, drawing me in like a beacon.

My nose brushes the apple of her cheek, and I can feel the warmth of her skin, the soft hitch of her breath?—

“Ah, here you are!” My father’s voice cuts through the moment, a hint of amusement lacing his tone. “Now’s not the time, Rafaele. You can do whatever you want with your wife in a couple of hours, but for now, I need you in my office.”

I step back abruptly, shooting a glare at my father. I’m not even sure if the anger is for him interrupting this moment I hadn’t realized I craved or for Nora and the strange pull she has on me that I can’t quite shake.

Nora’s eyes are still wide, and she takes a small step back, regaining her composure with a swift, practiced ease. The mask slips back on, and she’s once again the untouchable, unflinching woman who walked down the aisle with me just hours ago.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, her voice cool and controlled as if nothing had just happened. “You should go.”

I give her a last look, trying to read the hidden depths of her calm façade, but she’s already turned away, her focus elsewhere. With a frustrated sigh, I nod to my father and follow him down the hallway, every step feeling heavier than the last.

As we walk, my father smirks, clearly pleased with his interruption. “Seems like this marriage won’t be as much of a burden as you thought.”

There’s no way I’m entertaining this conversation—especially not about Nora. “What do you need?” I ask as he settles beside the wet bar, pouring drinks with a deliberate slowness.

“A drink?” he offers, holding out a glass.

I nod, knowing better than to refuse. He hands me a glass of scotch and takes his seat behind the desk, his eyes never leaving me.

“I’m actually impressed with the Falcone girl,” he says, taking a sip. “Handled herself well today. She might be a better choice than I initially thought.”

“She’s not the Falcone girl anymore. She’s my wife.”

His smirk widens slightly. “Yes, and judging by how you were looking at her in that corridor, it seems it won’t take long for the Lucchese line to continue.”

I keep my face impassive. “That’s not why I married her.”

“Of course,” he says, waving off my response. But his gaze sharpens. “The fact remains—she’s got potential. I’d keep an eye on her.”

I take a long sip of the scotch, letting the burn of it settle the irritation building inside me. “What’s the real reason you called me here? I doubt it was to discuss my wife.”

“There are two reasons, actually. First, Alexei is displeased, and he called me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Alexei Mirsov? The head of the Russian Bratva who hates Italians and, more specifically, hates you?”

“He mentioned you killed some of his men.”

“Did he also mention that those men were in my warehouse when it happened?” I roll my eyes. “I could’ve launched a full-scale war if I wanted to.”

“Why don’t you?”

I can’t believe he’s even asking. I may be ruthless, but I’m not reckless. “Because it’s unnecessary. I know Alexei isn’t dumb enough to be involved in this directly, and now he has to clean up his ranks just as much as I need to clean ours.” I shrug.

“He wants to meet with you.”

“He called you to arrange a meeting with me?”

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