Page 18 of Of Oaths and Secrets

He shrugs, clearly not used to this kind of casual conversation. “It gets the job done.”

The car ride continues in a somewhat tense silence, the conversation sputtering out as quickly as it began. Rafaele seems content to let it die, his attention already drifting elsewhere, likely back to whatever business dealings he’s mentally prioritizing. Paolo, on the other hand, looks like he’s holding back laughter, thoroughly amused by the awkwardness in the air.

As we pull up to my house, I realize that our time together is coming to an end, and I haven’t really learned anything about the man I’m supposed to marry. The thought leaves me feeling unsettled, like there’s something important slipping through my fingers.

“We should probably meet again,” I suggest, hoping to sound casual. “You know, to discuss dates and details for the wedding.”

Rafaele turns to me, his expression neutral but his eyes slightly narrowed, as though he’s trying to figure out why that would be necessary. “I think our fathers are already on top ofthat,” he replies, his tone as pragmatic as ever. “But if you have any special requirements or preferences, let me know. I’ll make sure they happen.”

The offer is so matter-of-fact, so businesslike, that it takes me a moment to realize it’s a genuine attempt to be considerate. I force a smile, trying not to feel too disappointed. “Of course. I’ll let you know if there’s anything.”

He nods, satisfied with the answer, and the car comes to a stop. Paolo is out of the car in an instant, opening the door for me. As I step out, Rafaele remains seated, clearly ready to move on to his next task.

“Thank you,” I say, turning back to him. “For the ring and for taking the time.”

He inclines his head slightly, the barest acknowledgment before he looks away, signaling to Paolo that they’re ready to leave.

I close the door, and I’m about to turn away when Rafaele rolls down the window, extending a sleek black card toward me. “Here,” he says, his tone as neutral as ever. “This is my cell number. Call or text if you think of anything.”

I take it, surprised by the gesture. It feels oddly personal coming from him. “Of course,” I reply, trying to keep the gratitude out of my voice. “Let me give you mine.”

He shakes his head before I can even reach for my phone. “No need.”

The quick dismissal stings a little, deflating the small bubble of connection I’d felt. But then he adds, almost as an afterthought, “I already have it.”

The words startle me, and I find myself blinking at him, unsure how to respond. Before I can say anything, he nods slightly like the matter is settled, and the window rolls up, cutting off the conversation.

I’m left standing there, the black card still in my hand, watching as the car drives away. The interaction was brief, almost clinical, but the fact that he already has my number feels significant in a way I can’t quite explain.

It’s a small moment, a subtle acknowledgment that despite his cold exterior, Rafaele is paying attention—to me, to this arrangement, to the details that make up our complicated situation.

As I turn back to the house, the ring on my finger catches the light, and I clutch the card a little tighter. Maybe this marriage will be more than just a business deal. Maybe there’s more to Rafaele Lucchese than meets the eye.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find a way to navigate this strange new world with him by my side.

Chapter Four

Rafaele

Iglance at the clock again, my irritation growing. Time is slipping away, and I have more pressing matters to attend to than a social gathering masquerading as an engagement party. Dressed in my tuxedo, I should be ready to step into the charade, but my mind is on the weapons shipment that vanished three days ago—a boat completely gone without a trace. Financially, it's not an issue. We can absorb the loss without so much as a dent in our operations, but the principle of the matter is different. No one targets the Lucchese family and walks away unscathed.

Two men were caught today at the strip club on Fifth—rats trying to nibble at the edges of our empire. Just being in that grimy basement for two hours was enough to make me question the will to live. The dancers were tired, the air was thick with the stench of desperation, and the dim lighting only added to the suffocating atmosphere.

Those men are downstairs now with Paolo. I gave him the time it took me to get ready for this damn party to get them to talk. Paolo has a knack for this sort of thing; he knows how toloosen tongues without much bloodshed. But if it comes to that, well, I’m not opposed to getting my hands dirty.

Truth be told, I don’t have to go to this engagement party. No one would bat an eye if Il Mietitore, The Reaper himself, decided to skip out on the festivities. People would understand—or at least pretend to. But something about leaving Nora to face the vultures alone doesn’t sit right with me. She’s walking into a world that’s as much about appearances as it is about power, and those people will eat her alive if they sense any weakness.

It’s strange, this feeling of obligation. I’ve never cared much for social niceties or the opinions of others. But Nora… there’s something about her that pulls at a part of me I didn’t know existed. Or maybe I just hate the idea of anyone thinking they can get the better of me—whether it’s some lowlife stealing my shipments or a room full of people sizing up my fiancée.

I roll my shoulders, loosening the tension that’s settled there, and make my decision. I’ll go to the party, make my appearance, and ensure Nora isn’t thrown to the wolves. After all, what’s one more night in the world of the living dead? At least this time, the mask of civility might make things interesting.

I descend into the basement, my footsteps echoing off the cold concrete walls. The air down here is heavy with the scent of sweat and fear, and as I approach, Paolo looks up from the two men slumped in their chairs. They’re bloody, bruised, and still silent—too silent for my liking.

Paolo shakes his head slightly, his expression grim. “They’re not talking, boss. Stubborn bastards.”

I let out a slow, exasperated breath, feeling the annoyance clawing its way up my spine. The engagement party is waiting, but these two are testing my patience. I slide out of my jacket, draping it carefully over a nearby chair. My movements are deliberate, unhurried, even as my temper simmers just beneath the surface.

“Okay, fine,” I say, my tone calm but laced with cold resolve. “I guess I’ll have to make it quick.”

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