Page 56 of Of Oaths and Secrets

Leo: Where the hell are you?

Leo: I need you to call me.

Leo: Answer your fucking phone, it’s important.

My heart pounds harder as I reach the last message:

Leo: Rafa, please. I fucked up bad. Come help me.

I stare at the words, still tasting Nora on my lips. The sweet, intoxicating flavor lingers on my tongue, and I absently rub my lips, the memory of her moans playing over in my mind.

Every part of me wants to stay—wants to go back to her, kneel before her again, and taste her until she’s trembling with pleasure, calling my name. The thought alone makes my pulse quicken, a deep hunger rising inside me. I want her, need her. But…

I glance back at my phone at Leo’s desperate plea.

Fuck.

I stand up abruptly, dragging a hand over my face. Leo never calls me “Rafa,” never admits when he’s in trouble, never begs for help. Whatever he’s gotten himself into, it’s bad. The urgency of his words gnaws at me, even as the thought of leaving Nora behind twists in my gut.

I cast one last look at the bathroom door, frustration and guilt mixing in my chest.

“I’ll come back,” I mutter to myself, my fingers grazing my lips once more, still haunted by the taste of her. I have to deal with this—whatever mess Leo’s in—quickly. Then I’ll return. And when I do, nothing will stop me from finishing what we started.

“Nora, I’ll be back soon,” I say softly, my voice catching as I hover near the door. There’s no response from the bathroom, and I clench my jaw, torn between my brother’s crisis and the unfinished tension between us.

I’m conflicted—and annoyed with Leo—but I can’t just leave him to deal with this alone. Whatever shitstorm he’s caused, I’ll have to clean it up. She’s here, safe in our home, and I need to go save my little brother one more time. When I get back, I’ll fix whatever I’ve broken in this room.

I call Paolo on my way to my brother’s strip club, frustration building with every passing second. By the time I arrive, my irritation hasn’t dimmed—if anything, it’s only grown, fueled by whatever mess Leo has dragged me into this time.

But the moment I step into his office, irritation turns to shock. A Hispanic man lies dead on the floor, a bullet hole clean through his skull, blood pooling around him. Fredo, theclub's head of security, is tied up on a chair, gagged, with blood trickling down his forehead from a gash at his hairline.

“Rafa!” Leo’s voice trembles, pulling my attention to him.

I don’t bother masking my anger. “What the fuck did you do?” I snap, my gaze darting between the dead body and Fredo’s bruised, bloody face.

Leo’s disheveled appearance hits me harder than the scene itself. His shirt is untucked, his hair a mess—he looks scared. Really scared. I haven't seen that look on his face since we were kids. When I left for Sicily, he was still that scared boy, but when I returned, he was different—hedonistic, reckless. The boy who feared everything was gone, replaced by someone I barely recognized. And yet, here he is, standing before me like that scared kid all over again.

"It wasn’t supposed to go like this," Leo stammers again, eyes wide, hands shaking, as if repeating the words will somehow erase the mess he's standing in.

Fredo shouts again, muffled under the gag, but I ignore him for now. I need to hear Leo's explanation first, no matter how stupid it’s bound to be. Paolo steps in right then, his gaze moving from the body on the floor to Leo, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Che cazzo!" Paolo mutters.

"My thoughts exactly." I nod toward the door. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on the door. I need to deal with my little brother."

Paolo shuts the door behind him, his expression a mix of frustration and grim amusement. "You didn’t need to involve him," Leo whines, almost childlike in his complaint.

"I trust him." I narrow my eyes, my patience teetering on the edge. "Now, what the hell did you get yourself into, Leo? Is it the drugs? Were you really that stupid to deal with the cartel?"

"No, it’s not like that!" Leo says quickly, but he’s twitchy, his words holding barely any conviction.

Fredo groans through his gag again, louder this time, but I hold up a hand. "I’ll deal with you in a minute, Fredo." I turn back to Leo, my voice low and dangerous. "Talk. Now. While I grab a drink."

I walk over to the bar, pouring myself a double of scotch. As much as I hate to drown the lingering taste of Nora on my lips, I need something strong to deal with the disaster unraveling before me. The burn of the alcohol is a brief comfort, one I welcome as I brace myself for the stupidity I’m about to hear.

"It’s not the cartel," Leo mutters, his voice barely audible. "It’s just him. I let him sell his drugs here, and I take twenty percent."

I nod, taking another sip. "And tell me, little brother, where do you think those drugs come from?" My voice rises, the restraint slipping. "We haveour owndeals. We’re Italians, for God’s sake! What do you think Bonnano’s going to say about this?"

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