Page 36 of Of Oaths and Secrets

I study her face, trying to read her expression. “You said you didn’t mind,” I say carefully, searching for a clue. “Do you?”

She glances down, breaking our eye contact, and I hate the sudden loss of connection. “No,” she says softly, “but tonight, maybe I do.”

Her admission tugs at something inside me, but I push the feeling aside, my jaw tightening. “No, I’m not,” I tell her, my voice firm but quiet. “I’ll be in the office, the one connected by the closet. Nobody will know.”

I linger for a moment, caught between the urge to say something that might ease the tension and the instinct to retreat. Nora stands there, vulnerable and exposed in more ways than one, and the weight of her unspoken words presses down on me. I feel like I’m failing some test I didn’t even know I was taking.

She glances up, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before she looks away, and the silence between us grows thicker. I don’t have the right words—if there even are any. I’m not built for this, for comfort or reassurance. It’s not what she chose me for, and it’s not something I know how to give.

I clear my throat, the sound loud in the quiet room. “Get some rest,” I say, the words coming out harsher than I intended. She flinches slightly, and I can feel the sting of my own awkwardness, the discomfort of not knowing how to makethis right. But instead of staying, I turn away, forcing myself to ignore the pull I feel toward her.

I reach the door, pausing for just a moment to glance back. She’s standing there, a fragile figure wrapped in delicate white lace, her arms crossed as if she’s trying to hold herself together. There’s a tightness in her posture, a hint of something that looks like hurt, and it tugs at me in a way I’m not used to.

“I’ll never go back.” The words slip out before I can think, a promise I hadn’t planned on making.

She turns toward me, her blue eyes searching mine, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability there, the hurt. It causes a peculiar tightening in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation—someone else’s emotions affecting me in any way other than anger or annoyance.

“Where?” she asks, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

“The club. The upstairs. I’m married to you now; I’m not going back.”

Her face softens, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. It’s like watching a storm begin to calm. But I don’t wait for her to respond. I turn away, needing to create distance before I do something foolish. I pull the door closed behind me, the soft click louder than it should be in the stillness of the spare office.

I take a deep breath, staring at the dimly lit room, but even here, away from her, I can still feel the ghost of her presence clinging to the air. I try to focus on the papers scattered across the desk, on the familiar duties that usually ground me, but my mind keeps drifting back to Nora, to the way her eyes looked at me when I spoke.

There’s something about her that doesn’t fit into the neat boxes I’ve set up for my life, something that pulls at me in ways I don’t understand—and that I’m not sure I want to. For the first time, the call of work and duty doesn’t settle the storm inside me, and I’m left with the uneasy realization that I’m losingcontrol over something I’ve never had to handle before. She has a hold on me, small but real, and that’s dangerous.

After the way you left her in this room? Hurt, vulnerable, and alone? She’ll smother it for you.The thought is as unsettling as it is true, a cold reminder that I’ve already made mistakes that can’t be undone.

I glance at the door again, my fingers twitching with the urge to go back, to touch her, to make her believe the words I said. But I can’t. I can’t afford to let myself be that man.

“No,” I mutter to myself, sinking into the chair behind the desk. “No.” I grip the edges, forcing my focus back on the papers in front of me. The words blur together, but I stare at them anyway, refusing to give in to the pull that draws me back to her.

I drown myself in the work, pushing everything else aside. Because that’s what I know how to do. That’s what I’ve always done. And for now, it has to be enough.

Chapter Nine

Nora

Alone. That’s how I felt last night when Rafaele rejected me, and it’s the way I feel now, lying in this unfamiliar bed. I was scared to be left alone with him, haunted by the things my mother warned me about—rumors of his appetites, whispered secrets of his cruelty. I didn’t show it, but I was scared.

Sofia’s words only made it worse. Knowing Rafaele could be ruthless was one thing, but hearing it firsthand was entirely different. I thought I was prepared for this marriage, for the coldness and the calculated indifference, but I wasn’t ready for the sting of rejection. I didn’t expect him to push me away like that, and I certainly didn’t expect him to say he wouldn’t go back to the club.

Men in our world are rarely faithful. The few who are do it for love, something that clearly doesn’t exist between Rafaele and me. We’re not a love match—we’re barely a match at all.

I turn in the bed, the sheets rustling against my skin, and sigh. “Rafaele?” I call out softly, but the silence answers back. Frustration wells up inside me, and I push myself out of bed, grabbing the robe draped at the end. I tie it tightly around mywaist as I make my way to the office, my bare feet padding quietly across the cold floor.

I knock once, my heart hammering. “Rafaele?”

When there’s no reply, I open the door. The scent of his cologne—sharp, rich, and distinctly masculine, like a blend of woods and spices—hits me immediately, filling the room. I look around and see the blanket and rumpled pillow on the cramped two-seater Chesterfield sofa. The sight of it stirs the ache in my chest.

He would rather sleep in that uncomfortable, cramped space than share a bed with me.

I swallow hard, the bitter taste of rejection lingering like stale wine. I can’t help but wonder what it is about me that he finds so unappealing. It’s a foolish thought—this marriage was never about desire or attraction. But knowing that doesn’t make the hurt any less real. I turn away from the sight, hugging my robe tighter around me as if it could shield me from the truth I’m not ready to face.

I hurry into the bathroom, determined to push the feelings away and start my new life as the sottocapo’s wife. I go through the motions—washing my face, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair—but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in thoughts I don’t want to acknowledge.

When I finally open the door, I’m startled to see a guard standing in front of it, rigid and watchful, his presence an unwelcome reminder of the life I’ve stepped into.

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