Page 45 of Of Oaths and Secrets

He shakes his head, his expression softening just a fraction. “I will be there, Nora. Just give me a time.”

I’m taken aback by his determination, by the way he insists on being by my side. “Seven,” I finally say, my voice quiet. “We’re expected at seven.”

He nods, the decision made. “I’ll be home in time.”

I nod, still a bit stunned by his insistence. “Thank you,” I murmur, my fingers playing with the edge of the book I’d been trying to read. The tension between us starts to ease, and I feel the weight of the day begin to lift… just a little.

He shifts in his seat, his gaze moving to the book on the console. “What are you reading?” he asks, the deep timbre of his voice resonating in the quiet room.

“It'sThe Sorrows of Young Wertherby Goethe,” I reply, almost without thinking. “It's about a young man who falls in love with a woman he can never have… it doesn’t end well.”

His eyebrow arches, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Sounds like a cheerful read.”

I chuckle softly. “It’s a bit tragic, yes. But there’s something about the way it’s written… The emotions feel so raw, so real.”

He leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Your voice… it’s soothing,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Deep and smoky. I bet you could make a fortune narrating audiobooks.”

His smirk turns into a genuine smile, and something in his eyes glimmers, an interest piqued. “Is that so?” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Let’s put that to the test.”

Before I can respond, he reaches for the book on the side table, his long fingers effortlessly flipping to a random page. He clears his throat, and then, in that same deep, smoky voice, he begins to read.

“‘She is sacred to me. All desires are silent in her presence; I do not know what has come over me…’” His voice wraps around the words, giving them new life, a depth I hadn’t noticed before.

I close my eyes, just for a moment, letting the sound of his voice wash over me. It’s soothing, like a lullaby, and I find myself drifting, the lines between reality and the story blurring.

Just for a minute, I tell myself.

When I open my eyes again, the sunlight is streaming through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. I blink, disoriented, and sit up, realizing with a start that I’m in my bed. My heart races as I piece together what must have happened.

He must have carried me here.

The thought sends a flurry of butterflies through my stomach, and I can feel the blush creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. I’ve never been this close to anyone before, let alone to someone as intimidating as Rafaele. The fact that he carried me, tucked me into bed… it’s unexpectedly tender, and it terrifies me how much I like the thought.

My heart pounds in my chest as I imagine the scene: Rafaele, with his strong arms and steady hands, lifting me with care, his face stoic, his woodsy cologne wrapping around me. It’s a ridiculous, romanticized notion, but I can’t help the way it makes me feel—flustered, vulnerable, and far too aware of the growing emotions inside me.

What does this mean? Why does it affect me so much?

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of sleep and confusion. But the feeling lingers, and no matter how much I try to deny it, I can’t ignore the simple truth: Rafaele is starting to matter more than I ever intended.

Chapter Twelve

Rafaele

Ifucked up—royally. And that's not something I do.Ever. But I feel as useless as Leo, stumbling through life like a damn fool. It’s like there are two versions of me now, and I fucking hate it. The cold, calculating Rafaele Lucchese, the one who owns this world—that’s who I am. That’s who I like being. But then there’s this other guy, the one who showed up the moment Nora came into my life and picked me.

I wanted to snuff him out at first, choke him down, but when I carried her last night, her soft, warm body tucked against mine, I couldn’t stop staring at her. Her lips… fuck, those lips. I wanted to kiss them more than I wanted to take my next breath.

That version of me, the one who wants her? He’s clawing his way out, and part of me wonders what would happen if I just let him loose.

I laid her down in bed, but I didn’t leave. I stood there, staring at her like a man possessed. My chest tightened with this ache I didn’t recognize. I brushed my fingers against her skin—soft, warm, perfect.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" I whispered. And she leaned into my touch like she belonged there.

I almost dropped to my knees.

Because for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it.

Then I saw her computer open, the screen dim but alive. I’m not sure what possessed me in that moment, but I swiped my finger on the trackpad, and it flickered to life. No password.

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