Page 16 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Serena

I walk down the stairs, and Nikos is waiting at the bottom.

He wears a tailored tuxedo, as black as the depths of his own being.

His eyes slowly rake over the length of my body.

A faint smile curls up his lips as I reach him, and I notice he’s holding something in his hands—a golden tiara he gently places on my head.

It looks like a myrtle wreath, perfectly complementing my hairstyle.

Now, it makes sense. His request for my hairstyle wasn’t coincidental either. Half up and half down in thick waves.

Deliberately, he walks behind me, his chest brushing my back as he leans in, his face near mine.

“Now, you truly look like a goddess.” His arms reach around me, gripping my chin and neck—once again wrapped in his signature black leather glove—guiding my face upward and slightly to the side just enough to meet his gaze.

The intensity in the way he looks at me pulses with raw, unfiltered lust, the kind I’ve never seen before.

“Now I’m torn whether we should attend the party…

” His eyes drop to my lips, which part under the weight of his proximity.

“...or whether I should rip that dress off you and ravish you.”

His words send a tremor through me, leaving me momentarily speechless.

I’m tempted to push his buttons, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But I hesitate, unsure if I want to start a game I might not be able to handle. Instead of a cheeky response, nothing leaves my mouth but a heavy breath mingling with his.

“Do I intimidate you, wicked one ?” His gaze meets mine challengingly.

Hell, yes, you do.

His perfect teeth graze his bottom lip as his mouth tilts in a teasing curve. I hate how effortlessly, ridiculously, irritatingly handsome he looks when he does that.

With casual ease, he steps back and extends his arm to me as if this entire exchange meant nothing to him. It takes me a second before I turn to him and accept it, linking my arm with his.

We enter an enormous garage, and I’m immediately struck by the sight of a collection of high-end, luxurious cars. Multiple Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Maseratis—all black, all shiny, all Italian brands. The newest models gleaming under the lights. Nikos looks at me, the playful grin still there.

“Choose one,” he says.

My lips part as I gaze at the cars. To me, they’re the stuff of dreams, unattainable and exquisite. But I love cars; I might not know much, but I love how sleek they look and the powerful roar of their engines. I walk toward one of them.

Nikos follows. “Lamborghini Revuelto, one of my favorites.”

The door opens upward, not the usual way, and he holds my hand to help me get in before circling to the other side and slipping into the driver’s seat.

I watch him as he starts the engine, his hand wrapped in the black leather glove rests on the steering wheel.

“Are we driving without any of your men today?” The delightful roar of the engine fills my ears.

“There’s nothing better than driving this car.” He allows an enigmatic smile, a low growl in his voice.“Where we’re going today, we won’t need them. They’ll follow behind for security, though.”

We leave the garage; the Lamborghini purrs to life.

We continue down the long driveway from his residence to the gate.

The vehicle’s lights illuminate the path ahead of us, casting a glow at the gate that swings open.

Cocooned in this luxurious interior, everything feels surreal.

What am I doing here? In this car that costs more than my childhood house, sitting next to Italy’s most dangerous Mafia King?

The most surreal part? I now call him my husband.

As soon as we hit the main road, Nikos floors the gas pedal, the engine roaring as we speed away. The Mercedes SUVs carrying his men follow in our wake, but we’re rapidly leaving them behind.

“Hop on my lap,” Nikos says, his voice cutting through the potent roar of the engine.

A rush of adrenaline surges through me. “What?” He must be joking. The speed he’s driving makes the idea seem not only reckless, but deadly.

The corner of his mouth lifts slightly while he stays locked on the road. “I want you on my lap. Now .”

“But you’re driving the car,” I stammer, “at full speed. It’s… dangerous.”

“That’s the fun in it.”

His grin sends my pulse racing.

I undo my seatbelt and move over, carefully sliding onto his lap. My back presses against the driver’s door from the inside while my hands instinctively wrap around his neck. His gaze remains fixed on the road, his focus unwavering.

Being this close to him, I can’t help but notice how gorgeous this man is.

His chiseled features highlighted by the dashboard’s dim glow.

His intensity, his control, his scent —it’s inebriating.

My heart has never rumbled stronger as I cling to him, the rush of the drive and the closeness to him combining into a heady, exhilarating experience.

You know that feeling when you look at someone and instantly feel a strong physical attraction?

The most intense pull? I do feel that way when I look at him.

Why did it have to happen with the most ruthless man I’ve known, who held my brother captive?

Whom I hated before I even met him. But I do not want to feel like this. I hate him for making me so… weak.

“Now kiss me,” he commands, and my heart skips a beat.

“Kiss you?” I stutter. “Now, while you’re driving at full throttle?” I’m not sure if it’s the real reason for the heat coursing through my body, or if it’s the idea of actually kissing him that has me on edge.

I look at him, gently planting my hand on his cheek, and lean closer.

My gaze on his tempting lips, his on the road ahead.

Ignoring my racing pulse, I close my eyes and capture his lips in a kiss.

A low, throaty drawl rumbles in my ear, matching the thunder of the engine.

The car’s speed melds with the intensity of the moment.

The heat. The rush. It makes my head spin.

It’s electrifying. He kisses me deeper, his focus never wavering from the road.

The softness of his lips, combined with the roughness of his stubble, frees a cage of butterflies in my belly.

I lose myself in the kiss, the indescribable sensation of adrenaline and arousal it gives me.

One wrong move, and we might end up rolling over, and the thought makes me feel so… alive .

I pull away, breathless, and he smirks, his eyes flicking between mine for a brief moment before focusing on the road again.

“Wasn’t that the best feeling ever?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of titillation. “The adrenaline rush, the exhilaration.” He casts a fleeting glance at me. “Feeling alive yet?”

I nod, still catching my breath. It was. I never thought something so dangerous could seem so alluring to me. It’s like what I imagine a shot of pure heroine feels like, and it is… addictive.

Nikos’s daring smile widens as he accelerates even more, inadvertently forcing my head to nestle into his neck.

The rest of the way, I nuzzle into him, inhaling his woodsy, musky, beguiling scent. I watch his chest rise and fall, and I swear I can hear his heartbeat. At least I know he’s human and alive.

We arrive at what I assume is the secret society gathering, and from afar, I see its emblem—a triangle with the shape of an eye inside of it, resembling the All-Seeing Eye.

“Olympus,” I read the name below the emblem. “Is this what the society is called?” In awe, I hop back into my own seat as Nikos drives to the gate. The building itself is enormous, with white Greek columns reminiscent of the Pantheon.

“Yes, here in Italy. Each club has its own unique name, for security reasons. The society itself is referred to as The Gods.” He tells me this as he lowers the car’s window.

“The Gods?” My brow arches.

“We are Gods in the crime world. Gods of Corruption.”

Olympus. The Gods. Of course. The ego of these men is higher than Mount Olympus itself.

Nikos pushes his left hand through his lowered window and scans a tattoo identical to the club’s emblem.

I stare at him, both puzzled and shocked in equal measure.

“It’s UV-reactive ink, visible only under UV light,” he clarifies before I even ask. “Each member of the society has one like it.”

My lips part in astonishment. I guess the little things I knew about the Romano syndicate are nothing compared to who they really are. And he… my husband, is far more powerful and dangerous than I thought.

“Are women allowed in the society?”

Nikos scoffs in amusement.

“What? It’s a serious question, considering women’s inequality, especially in a mafia environment,” I rant, but he chimes in.

“Women proved they can be far more powerful than men,” a smirk quirks his lips, “Gender holds no significance. The society includes many Mafia Donnas, just as capable and respected as any man.”

He peeks at me. “Surprised?”

“Impressed.”

Before I realize it, we pull up to the entrance.

Valets in crisp uniforms open the car doors for us with respectful nods.

One of them drives away to park the car while Nikos extends his arm to me.

Dazed by the adrenaline from our ride— kiss —before, and the whole secret society thing, I accept his outstretched hand as if on autopilot, and we step inside.

I’m struck by the opulent interior. The entry hall is awe-inspiring, with polished marble floors and statues depicting Greek gods I can’t tear my eyes away from.

“First,” Nikos’s low voice snaps me out of my awe, “you must undergo the initiation.”

“The initiation?” I frown as I look at him, my heart race accelerating.

“You’ll take an oath of loyalty and silence during a blood ritual. It’s similar to the Omertà Oath, but for our society,” he explains lazily as if it was not a big deal, leading me through the vast hallways.

An oath? A blood ritual?

Does everything in the Mafia involve blood?

A wave of apprehension washes over me.

Am I truly a part of it now? It sounds so distant and surreal. It feels like I’m stepping into a world that is both exciting and also terrifying. Uncertain.

Can I trust Nikos? I am no one , while he... he’s the king of Sicily. Hell, seeing the influence he wields not just in Italy, but globally, he’s freaking God. He may be the God of Corruption, but still, he has a power worthy of God.

I can’t help the doubts swirling in my mind.

He could have aligned his Mafia with another powerful faction to strengthen alliances.

It’s common practice in a mafia environment.

Why hadn’t he done that? Instead, he married…

me , a nobody . It all reminds me of the circumstances of our marriage.

It was merely his whim. I am merely a plaything to him.

A passing fancy he might discard and replace when he gets bored of me.

A heavy tug in my chest as we glide through what seems to be an endless hallway, passing numerous closed doors. What’s behind these doors? There are so many rooms in this building, so I’m sure they must serve their purposes.

“Do these meetings always take place here?” I ask timidly, overwhelmed by the oppressive silence resonating with our echoing footsteps.

“No, they happen in different locations each time. We have clubs on every continent and in every country where we have members.”

We reach intricately carved double doors that the employees open in sync, and an enormous room resembling a gothic chamber stretches before me. It’s lit solely by the countless candles, their flames flickering on the walls.

“In Europe alone, we have six clubs and several more scattered across each continent,” Nikos adds as we move forward.

“Do all the clubs look like this?”

I take in the scene, looking around at the diverse crowd scattered throughout, many of them standing by round tables discussing club business, most likely, and more are standing near a bar that is anything but ordinary.

Classical music fills the air—violinists and pianists playing live.

Every detail, from ornate decorations to ambiance, exudes a goth-mythic tone.

“Like a Pantheon temple?” I glance at him, and he meets my gaze.

“I had it renovated after my father’s…” his jaw tenses, “ passing , and after I took charge.” He hasn’t spoken of his family, and the way his eyes darken at the mention of his father proves the rumors Gianna heard are true and that he did have a complicated past. “But each club has its own theme,” he continues, shaking off the momentary darkness.

“We tailor them to fit the culture of the country they’re in. ”

He then briefly tells me about the society’s members.

I recognize one face: Aric Vold, Chiara’s boyfriend.

He is in deep conversation with Hyunseok Park, the heir to a Korean syndicate Nikos just mentioned to me.

He has also made it clear that I shouldn’t mention any of this to Chiara—or anyone else, for that matter—as despite dating Aric, she has no clue about the society.

Only the members know of its existence. The members and their spouses.

The Gods and the Goddesses as they refer to themselves.

The nagging questions haunt me again. What am I doing here? Among the most influential people from across the world. Does Nikos want to humiliate me in front of all of them? Or perhaps, carry out my execution and make an example out of me and my family? My mind is in overdrive. What if…

The sharp sound of something metal tapping a champagne flute abruptly pulls me back to the present. Startled, I realize I am holding a glass of champagne in my hand, its cool condensation seeping into my palm. I can’t even recall when I picked it up. I must have done that on autopilot again.

As if on cue, the noise of conversation ebbs, and I feel the weight of numerous gazes turning toward me. My heart skips a beat, a rush of self-consciousness flooding through me as I glance at Nikos.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” His ever-so-low, husky voice cuts through the sudden hush. “Allow me to introduce my wife , Serena Romano .”