Page 79 of Deceitful Oath

I take a few extra seconds to admire her, wishing I could shut the world out and pull her into bed instead. Instead, I slip my arms around her and squeeze tightly.

“I love you, Lux,” I whisper against her ear. A shiver runs through her, and I beg the universe that it’s lust, not fear. I don’t expect her to say it back, and she doesn’t, but I’m willing to give her as much time as she needs.

“Be safe,” she calls as I slip into the elevator and the doors close.

For you? Anything.

Chapter Thirty

Lux

I spend way too much time vegging out on the sofa, pretending to read Vogue. Meanwhile, my internal monologue continues circling back to the same thoughts, the same questions, and getting no answers.

Can I stay with him after all this? What about the baby? But what about the murder plan? But I love him. Is love enough? Blah, blah, blah, on and on.

Sick of myself and my situation, I toss the magazine onto the coffee table and wander around the living room.

The space is huge, decorated by an expert, no doubt. It screams masculinity and money, from the marble floors to the huge L-shaped couch that stretches across much of the room. A TV sits above the fireplace, cleverly designed to look like an abstract painting. Giant floor-to-ceiling windows take up an entire wall, giving me an unobstructed view of the city. I trace my gaze across the park, to the harbor, and over the bridge.

He can see everything from up here, as if it’s his own little empire.I wonder what it feels like to live on top of the world like this.I start with shock when I realize that this is my apartment now, too. Technically, Idolive on top of the world. I spin around the room, really seeing it for the first time.

This is my home now and I don’t even know what half of these rooms hold. I cross the living room to the wide hallway. The grand foyer is through the arch on my right, the master bedroom down at the end on my left. Three doors line the hallway between them and a staircase leads up to the second floor.

I bypass the first door, remembering that it’s the guest bedroom where I spent that nightmarish night after Rafael revealed his identity. Instead, I slowly peek into the middle room and discover it’s an extra bathroom—just as beautiful and luxurious as the one in the bedroom. One door left on this floor and I wonder if it’s just another boring bedroom.

When I swing it open, I discover that it’s a library-office combination. A huge wooden desk sits on the far side, framed by another set of sky-high windows. Shelves upon shelves lined with antique-looking books take up the rest of the walls. A thick fur rug and velvet chairs make the room feel much cozier than the ultra-modern living room.

I walk up and down the shelves, scanning book titles. Old medical books, poetry, vintage paperbacks, historical encyclopedias—the shelves are crammed full of variety. I catch a familiar-looking spine and pull the book off the shelf. I take in the beautiful vintage binding of this copy ofPride and Prejudice, turning it over in my hands lovingly.

What better way to take my mind off the fact that my husband is a mafia don who once wanted to kill me than… Jane Austen?

I glance around the room, looking for the perfect cozy place to curl up and escape into Elizabeth Bennet’s world. That’s whenI spot it—the slightest outline of a door behind the desk. It’s so seamlessly built into the wall that I wonder if I imagined it. I head toward it, curiosity pushing me forward.

I trail my fingertips against the wall, feeling the raised grooves of a door.That’s weird. Maybe there was a door here once, but they didn’t need it, so they covered it up?

I don’t know a lot about construction, but that sounds realistic enough. Satisfied with my explanation, my mind almost goes back to scouting for a cozy reading place but the painting near the door catches my eye. I study it, wondering why it’s weirding me out.

Sliding a finger down the side of the frame, I realize it’s not flush against the wall. It looks like something is causing it to jut out slightly, stretching the canvas just the tiniest bit.

With trembling hands, I move the painting away, peeking into the gap. I have no idea what I’ll find under there—maybe a secret safe where Rafael stashes his money?

A sleek object mounted to the wall comes into view.

A keypad?

My gaze darts between the keypad and the door outline, putting the pieces together. It’s a secret room, it has to be. There’s no way there’s a hidden door next to a keypad and they’re not related.

The excitement of discovering this secret has me pulling the painting off the wall before I realize that it’s a hidden room in a mafia don’s house.

I step back immediately, staring in horror at the painting in my hands and the keypad on the wall. My mind trips all over itself, running through the possibilities of what’s hidden behind that door. Money? Diamonds? Weapons? People?

Most of my knowledge of the mafia comes fromThe Sopranosand highly stylized Hollywood movies, but I know those aren’t true to life.

The real mafia world is darker, more depraved than anything they can portray on TV, even with a mature rating.

Goosebumps break out over my skin, sending shivers down my spine. My stomach twists and tumbles at the possibility of discovering hostages hidden behind the door, or murder victims even.Rafael wouldn’t do something like that, would he?

But I knew the answer to that. He’d told me himself last night—he’s killed many people. I stand, frozen in shock and indecision, staring at the door.Why couldn’t I just have spent the day in front of the TV? Why did I have to go exploring?