Page 16 of Of Oaths and Secrets

Mr. Bellini nods, still visibly cautious, and gestures toward the display case. “Of course, right this way.”

“Can you show us these?” Rafaele says, pointing at a display filled with large, ostentatious rings. I can’t help but grimace as Mr. Bellini carefully places them on the counter.

“Great choice. These are all four carats or above,” Mr. Bellini says with enthusiasm.

“Something’s wrong?” Rafaele asks, and I realize too late that I’m still grimacing. His voice drops to a whisper, meant only for me. “Rethinking the union?” He lets go of my hand, the sudden absence of his touch colder than I expected.

“I—no, it’s fine if these are the ones you like,” I say, trying to keep my tone neutral, though the thought of wearing something so extravagant feels overwhelming.

“It’s—” Rafaele starts to speak but then stops, letting out a sigh. He turns to Mr. Bellini. “Can you give us a moment?”

The old man hesitates, his gaze shifting nervously between the rings on the counter and Rafaele. He’s clearly torn about leaving such valuable items unsupervised.

“Is it a problem, Signore Bellini?” Rafaele’s voice takes on an edge, a quiet menace that sends a shiver down my spine, and I’m grateful it’s not directed at me.

“N-no, of course not,” Mr. Bellini stammers. “I’ll be in the back. Just ring the bell when you need me.”

Rafaele nods, his eyes never leaving me. I can feel his dark gaze on the side of my face, a weight that’s hard to ignore as I look down at the rings on display.

Once Mr. Bellini retreats to the back, the air between us grows thick with tension.

“It’s not about what I like. It’s more about what you can live with,Norina. Because once the ring is on your finger, there’s no taking it off.”

I don’t like the slight mocking edge at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “It seems that everyone else does. Something that will need to stop once you’re Mrs. Lucchese.”

“They will stop, and you don’t need to start. It’s just people who have known me since I was a child who call me that.” I sigh, “As for the ring, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just not my style.”

“Okay, fine. What do you like then?”

I half expected him to make me wear the ring he wanted me to wear. The one that showed status, but he’s giving me the choice. At least, I think he is.

He remains silent, unmoving, almost like a statue, as I look at the rings in the display case.

I make a micro stop at one of the displays before continuing. The ring’s design catches my eye—delicate yet distinct, unlike anything I’ve seen before.

“Which one?” he asks, his voice cutting through my thoughts. It’s unbelievable how he doesn’t miss a thing. That level of attention makes me a bit apprehensive, leaving me to wonder, not for the first time, if choosing him is the right decision.

But then, I think of Leo—superficial and dumb. Just the thought of him makes me grimace again. There’s no comparison, really.

The tension between us is palpable as Rafaele’s attention remains fixed on me, unwavering. It’s like he’s searching for something, trying to understand me in a way that feels both unsettling and intimate.

“You like one. Which one is it?” he insists, his tone softer this time but still carrying that unmistakable command.

I take a deep breath and point to the ring that had caught my eye. The band is sleek, platinum, with a brilliant round diamond at the center, flanked by two pear-shaped violet gemstones that add an unexpected touch of color. Beneath the center stone, a tiny, almost imperceptible red accent glints in the light, a detail so subtle that it feels like a secret just for me.

He studies it for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing its significance. Then he turns to me, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Interesting choice.”

I can’t tell if he’s pleased or if there’s something more behind his words, but there’s no mistaking the connection I feel to the ring—a connection that feels strangely reassuring, as if picking this ring, this moment, is a step toward something real.

“Are you sure you don’t want something bigger? These stones are quite small,” he questions, his voice holding an edge of curiosity.

“They’re perfect,” I reply, the certainty in my voice surprising even me.

“Are they?” he asks again, almost as if testing my resolve.

I nod, meeting his gaze. “Yes. Not everything needs to be over the top to be meaningful.”

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