Page 1 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Nikos

“Don’t kill him, Nikos,” my uncle pressures, but his voice is just a blur.

I was just a boy once, too. It didn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter now either because the world is merciless.

I was far younger when I first knew what kind of a deadly swamp life is.

I was a little kid when I first saw death right before my eyes.

The world has no mercy. Neither do I. I am unforgiving, brutal, vindictive; you name it.

People call me the God of the Dead. Hades himself.

Partially because of my Greek heritage and partially— mostly —because of my staggering body count.

I’ve taken so many lives I could rule over the Underworld itself.

The boy swallows hard. There’s a tear tracing a path on his bruised cheek.

He tries to wriggle on the chair that’s bolted to the floor, but he’s unable to move even an inch.

His hands are cuffed to the metal armrests attached to the chain dangling from the ceiling.

Above, a solitary bulb keeps swinging, casting shadows on his broken fingers and the small, grimy table next to him.

The same table that holds various pliers, knives, and other toys of coercion that I had the pleasure of using to make him confess his sins.

I hear his ragged breath quicken; his muscles visibly tense. Is he praying now? He should be. Does he regret the decision that led him here? He most definitely should.

The heavy door of the warehouse opens with a screech, followed by a few steady steps.

“The boy’s father’s here,” my right-hand man whispers to my uncle. “He is pleading for his son’s life. He has a deal for Nikos.” Then he lowers his voice and continues speaking so I can no longer hear. So the boy cannot hear.

My uncle moves closer but stops a step behind me. I feel his hand gripping my right shoulder, the same side that I’m holding the gun in my hand, ready to shoot.

“Lucio Conti is here,” he intones with a thick, melodic Greek accent. “Nikos, if not for the sake of the past or my friendship with Lucio, please do it for the sake of me. Please do it for me, ανιψι? .” Nephew .

The sake of the past.

I let out a dry chuckle.

Lucio has been a close friend of my uncle’s for over a decade, having worked for the Romanos for as long as I can remember.

His unwavering loyalty to the clan was evident, but he was among the rare few who stood by my mother’s side.

Sadly, his efforts weren’t enough to prevent her death.

Years later, after my father’s passing , my uncle moved to Italy to support me, his only nephew.

He formed a bond with Lucio because of the allegiance Lucio had shown to my mother—my uncle’s only beloved sister.

So, while Lucio might hold any significance to my uncle, he means little more to me than the next body I’ll bury.

My uncle is sentimental. I am not. I do not forge friendships, do not believe something like this exists. Only blood ties matter.

And even that, not always.

My uncle is the sole reason I am here, and the boy is still alive. If it weren’t for him, the traitor would have perished long ago, and none of this would concern me.

“Lucio wants to offer you something in exchange for his son’s life.” My uncle persists after seeing that his previous pleas have failed to deter me.

“Why would he think I could possibly want anything else instead of his life?” I cock my gun. “Is there anything more rewarding than savoring the death of a traitor?”

Like the God of the Dead would, I relish taking lives. Particularly those who dare to cross me. And the boy here has been inciting a riot against me. At least, he was trying to because it’s been taken care of before his plans could even begin.

“I think it’s something you might want to hear,” he says.

Still holding the gun pressed to the boy’s temple, I turn to my uncle, my head inclining as I meet his steady gaze. “One sentence. If he doesn’t convince me with one sentence to trade his son’s life for whatever it is he has to offer, the boy dies. Is that clear, Dimitris?”

My uncle nods, his lip twitches faintly, hands jointed over his core.

Dimitris is a better man than I am. If there’s a way to handle things and avoid violence, he’s going for it.

Especially when the possibility of violence concerns those he cares about.

Unlike me. I choose death over anything else.

I bring darkness and destruction. That’s all I know.

That’s what makes people fear me, and fear brings respect.

Living in the corrupt world as the Don of one of the most formidable mafia syndicates in Italy, that’s all I need.

Fear and respect. Thanks to it, I own Palermo.

I rule Sicily, where my word is the law. I am the law.

“Let him in,” I order.

Without turning my gaze away from Dimitri, I lower the gun from the boy’s head.

One of my soldiers gags the boy with a black cloth, tying it on the back of his head, while I focus on the thick and rusted metal door that another one of my waiting men opens.

There goes the screech again, and then I see Lucio.

A few strands of his curly black hair with a grayish hint cover his troubled face.

His brows are narrowed, accentuating the wrinkles on his forehead.

Around his greenish-blue eyes, the very ones that meet mine, are dread and despise.

I nod, signaling for him to enter. He steps in slowly, scanning the bunker-like room.

The high, barred windows allow only faint slivers of light to pierce the heavy gloom.

The soundproofed and impenetrable walls promise that whatever happens here stays buried.

His gaze finally locks on his only son. His pupils dilate, and desperation floods his eyes as he takes in the blood, the bruises, the broken bones I’ve inflicted.

“Salvatore!” he cries, reaching for his son, but my men swiftly hold him back. His gaze locks onto mine—cold, hollow, dead , as they all say—and fear tightens his throat as he struggles to swallow.

“Speak. Remember, you have one sentence to change the outcome. One sentence only.” I slowly clasp my hands, still holding the weapon in my right hand.

Lucio’s gaze follows my movements and fixes on the gun for a moment before our glances lock again.

“If you spare my son’s life, I’ll give you one of my daughters to wed.” His lower lip trembles, voice cracking, while the son in question struggles, muffled protests escaping through the gag.

My eyes flicker between Lucio’s. I see he’s close to breaking down.

It must’ve cost him all his strength and dignity to say those words aloud.

The lengths people are willing to go to save their loved ones.

This is why I don’t do love. I don’t do feelings at all.

I care about nothing, so I have nothing to lose.

Clearly, though, Lucio cares more about his son than his daughters.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even dared to come to me with such a deal—trading one life for another.

If he had any dignity, he would’ve offered his own life for his son’s, but he knows me well enough to understand that wouldn’t be a price I could—or would—accept.

So, while he lacks dignity, he does have a brain.

“I am in no need of a wife, and I could have any woman I want in Palermo and beyond.” A smirk of amusement tugs at my usually stone-carved mouth.

Paint me impressed because the old man managed to entertain me.

“You’re not someone important either, Lucio.

You’re a mere pawn in my syndicate. I could wipe out your whole family and leave no trace of your existence.

A marriage to your daughter would bring me no benefit. ”

Lucio straightens, and a hint of panic flashes across his face.

“Mr. Romano…my daughters, they’re all so beautiful—” he panics, but the gunshot to his son’s leg, followed by a sharp cry of pain, silences him.

His first instinct is to reach for his son, but a glance at me stops him cold.

If not for the furrow in his brow and the anguish in his eyes, one might forget he was the boy’s father.

“Shush,” I raise my fingers to my mouth with a stoic calm. “I told my uncle and you that you have one sentence to convince me to spare your son’s life. You’ve run out of your chances. Speak again, and the next bullet goes through his head.”

A desperate sigh escapes Lucio’s mouth, and his face falls, realizing that there isn’t much hope left for his son’s life.

I watch his body shaking. He wants to say something but holds it in, nibbling his lip nervously.

I inflict no physical harm, yet inside, he must feel like he’s writhing in the burning flames of Hell.

How unfortunate—for Hell is where I thrive.

Dimitris lets out a heavied sigh that I hear behind me. “Niko—” my uncle speaks, but I raise my left hand, signaling he should stop—and of course, he does.

I take a few slow steps toward Lucio and stop just inches away, hovering above him.

“I am in no need of a wife, but having your daughter for the rest of her days will be far better than taking your son’s life in a mere second. I will marry her so you remember, every day, the price you pay for your son’s life.”

My lips twitch up imperceptibly at the idea.

This is the right punishment. Taking Salvatore’s life would be so easy.

Too easy. It’d feel more like a punishment for his father, his family.

But having the traitor’s sister as my whim?

Making him torture himself over it, blaming himself, fearing for her, feeling constant guilt for the rest of his life?

The torment it’ll put him through feels way more satisfying.

And what do I get from it? Fun.

Fun and a beautiful woman.

I heard people talking about Lucio’s daughters.

Well, a daughter and stepdaughters since he remarried many years ago.

I heard they’re all beautiful, but it doesn’t matter.

That’s just a nice addition. Like I told the old man, I could have any woman I want.

One with a higher status, or an established position from an allied Mafia.

An enemy’s Mafia. Since I turned eighteen, marriage proposals have been offered like bargaining chips to forge new alliances or strengthen old ones.

Never interesting enough. As a leader of The Gods , a secret society that grants me international influence and enough power to do as I please, I do not need that.

I don’t seek love either—never believed in it.

Nevertheless, I do have some expectations to meet.

The society members have been whispering for quite some time now that I need a wife who will give me an heir.

Not interested in that, either. But marrying a nobody like Lucio’s daughter would be the perfect solution.

It would shut their mouths, at least about the marriage part.

Plus, a woman from a family like the Contis would obey my will, so no pressure about the heir.

What I do want, though, is merely a little twisted kind of entertainment.

In an instant, Lucio realizes what he’s done. Forging a pact with me is like striking a deal with the Devil. He’s just condemned his daughter’s soul for a lifetime. Once she marries me, she’ll be at my mercy—my personal plaything I will gladly bend and break to suit my own darkness.

His gaze drops to the ground as he’s no longer able to hold back his tears. He grips the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sobs, gagging on his emotion.

“Chin up, Lucio.” With a sharp press of the muzzle, I lift his head up to face me. “We’re going to be family. There’s a wedding coming. It’s time to celebrate,” I mock, a sardonic grin curling up the corner of my lips upward.

Lucio takes a deep breath. His teary eyes dart between mine as he nods. There’s a remaining drop on his wet lashes, and I wait until it drips down.

“Good.” I nod. “You should be proud that you, of all people, will have me as your son-in-law.”

“I am proud, Mr. Romano. It’s a privilege.” His voice falters intermittently, but he strives to conceal his simmering resentment.

I cast a devious sneer, “Don’t worry, Lucio. I’ll make good use of your daughter.”