Page 13 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Serena

My fingers nervously toy with the wedding band that is now on my finger, next to the black diamond ring, as the passing scenery flashes through the tinted window of the limo on our way home. Home. More like a lion’s den for me.

My stomach has been in knots the entire ride. I know what happens after the couple gets married—after the wedding reception.

It’s time for our… wedding night .

I gulp. The mere thought fills me with dread.

My very first time will be out of obligation.

Coercion. It’s not how I pictured it. I’m terrified to even imagine what it will be like.

Nikos doesn’t seem like a gentleman. More like a savage who will ravage me for his own wicked satisfaction.

He’s pretty much told me that’s what will happen.

The headlights pierce the darkness, illuminating the steely gates of the Romano residence.

We’ve arrived. My anxiety intensifies. I peek through the window, taken aback by the sight of the enormous mansion.

It’s more like a castle rather than a house, with grand towers and expansive wings.

The gates open, and the limo moves down a long driveway lined with impeccable hedges and blooming flowers.

Security stations with guards positioned at every corner seem like statues that come with the design.

Mesmerized, I scan the area. There’s a shimmering pool surrounded by elegant lounge chairs and a helipad—should’ve expected that.

My lips part slightly at the marble statues in the lush gardens and a massive fountain sparkling under the moonlight.

The place is so beautiful. Regal. Perhaps, under different circumstances, I could be very happy here, surrounded by these breathtaking pieces of art.

I could lead the fairytale life of a princess here.

If only I could have another man by my side.

A man I was in love with. One who was also in love with me.

Instead, I’m stuck with a man with no heart.

Nikos Romano isn’t capable of loving anyone…

but then again, I could never love him, either.

My brows raise, snapping me out of my daydream as I spot a tennis court. A fucking tennis court. Does he even play tennis? I very much doubt it.

The car pulls up in front of the grand entrance, an impressive pair of double doors embellished with baroque-like carvings.

Remo swiftly steps out of the front of the limo and opens the door for Nikos.

He exits with his usual commanding presence before opening the door for me.

Twice in one night, he’s helped me out of the car.

If I didn’t know any better, I would suspect that he is actually a gentleman.

“Welcome home,” he says with a mysterious smile that sends a wave of chills through me.

Lifting the fabric of my wedding gown, I step out of the vehicle, my legs feeling unsteady. I can’t help but glance around at the rest of the property, taking in the sheer luxury of the place. How rich is this man? I’m sure he doesn’t use half of the amenities this property offers.

Then I hear something terrifying. Instinctively, my eyes search for the source of a sinister sound that sends waves of chills through me.

I find it: three black Italian mastiffs with cropped ears are growling as one of Nikos’ servants leads them toward us on a leash.

They stop a few inches away, sitting in perfect sync, their eyes glistening in the dark as they gaze at me.

They look as dangerous as their owner. My mind races as one of the dogs swallows loudly.

Are these the dogs that were fed Claudio’s… manhood?

“They are,” Nikos murmurs as if he read my mind. “Any man who dares to touch you will end up being a snack for my dogs.” His words, combined with the growls of the mastiffs, trigger a shiver deep in my bones.

I quiver when Nikos rests his hand possessively on the small of my back and leads me inside.

The interior of the mansion is even more astonishing.

Crystal chandeliers hang from high ceilings, and pristine, polished marble floors shine like a sheet of glass.

Antique furniture and priceless art pieces line the hallways and the grand staircase.

But what catches my attention is the darkness this place exudes.

The walls, the stair banister, and columns are all black, lending a touch of dark, sophisticated elegance to the interior and perfectly mirroring the hue of his soul.

“We’re alone now, wicked one , but this is where the real ceremony begins.”

I hardly swallow at the sinister glint in his eyes, the wicked amusement in his voice.

He scoops me up princess-style, carrying me so effortlessly, as if we were happily married , up the staircase to one of the bedrooms. My hands wrap intuitively around his neck, but I refuse to meet his gaze.

I don’t want to see the twisted satisfaction or lust in his eyes.

What should be one of the most romantic, memorable moments of my life feels like a trap.

I feel like prey in the hands of a hunter.

We enter the bedroom. It’s as dark as the rest of the house and has the same regal vibe. I suppose Nikos enjoys feeling like a king; the residence is his castle, and the Mafia is his empire. Too bad the entirety of it is carved from blood and bone.

He places me on my feet in the center of the room before closing the door. Before the latch clicks shut, I notice two bodyguards taking their positions behind the door in the hallway, as if to remind me that escape is not an option.

This is it… I’m going to be his sex slave.

“Are you scared, wicked one ?” His husky tone rings in my ears as he traces the contours of my face.

The gold wedding band, contrasting against the black leather gloves, catches my attention.

Why does he wear them almost non-stop? The gloves.

So far, the only time he took them off was to…

touch me intimately back there at the house in front of Claudio.

He can’t even feel through them, can he?

My eyes slowly meet his. “I’m not scared,” I mumble.

I’m fucking horrified.

But I won’t admit that. It wouldn’t change anything anyway, and I don’t want him to revel in more satisfaction than he already does.

His mouth tilts into a smile that is far from innocent as his hand roams down my side while he deliberately unzips my gown.

My heart races so wildly inside me that I can hear my own heartbeat.

He places his hands on my shoulders, sliding the fabric of my dress down my arms. It pools at my feet, exposing the bridal lingerie my stepmother made me wear.

She warned me not to fight anything he does because it would only make things worse and make the whole experience even more unpleasant.

And if I surrender to the inevitable, it might not be that bad.

As she said, I am now his wife, and in the mafia world, being married to a man like him means I am his to do with as he pleases.

He possesses me.

He owns me.

Whether I like it or not.

My eyes close for a moment, my chest heaving with each breath. I feel vulnerable and exposed. Just like he wanted me. It stirs up my hatred for him because he gets everything his way, even though he deserves none of it.

“You are so…” he murmurs, licking his bottom lip, devouring the sight of my half-naked body with the kind of predatory hunger in his dark gaze, “fucking pure.”

What an odd compliment. I am fucking… pure. Not gorgeous. Not sexy. Fucking pure. Fucking . He’s fixated on the idea of innocence, I guess. Is it what tipped the scales in his choice of a wife? Rather than going after Valeria? Is my purity my curse?

“Take off my clothes, wicked one .”

His commanding tone makes my breath hitch in my throat. I flick my eyes between his for a moment, hoping to find compassion in his gaze—but that was all in vain. There’s only darkness and desire. I reach for his hand, wanting to remove the gloves first, but he growls darkly.

“Not the gloves.”

What is it about the gloves? I mean, there’s clearly something?

I swallow my rush of fear and nod. He’s towering over me by at least eight inches.

His head is bent down as he watches me unbuttoning the jacket of his tuxedo.

I slide it off his muscled, toned arms. Then, his shirt, revealing a body that’s been sculpted by the gods themselves.

My brows twitch faintly as my gaze lands on his heavily inked torso.

I didn’t know he was inked. He doesn’t have any visible tattoos while he’s dressed.

But these aren’t just tattoos. They’re a detailed canvas covering numerous scars on his chest and toned abs.

I can’t help myself as I trace the marks.

His muscles visibly tense as I rake my fingertips down the path made of scars, and the moment I realize what I’ve just done, my body tenses too.

I touched him. Touched the scars he’s obviously trying to hide—without his permission.

My fingers hover over the marks, unsure whether to pull away or let them stay.

“What are these scars?” I whisper hesitantly. I’m scared I might ask the wrong question, hit the wrong spot, and unleash the beast in him.

“We’re not here to talk.” There goes the low, guttural sound again, which causes my heart to palpitate. “Now, unbuckle my belt and take off my pants,” he commands.

My teeth grit, but I do as he says. I hate this game he’s playing. He wants to exert his control over me because he enjoys having people at his mercy.