Page 23 of Vow to Corrupt You (Gods of Corruption #1)

Serena

Libertà. A golden sign shines above the black, heavy door that the doorman opens for us with a knowing nod at Nikos.

“They seem to know you everywhere,” I say with a hint of sarcasm as we enter the exclusive restaurant.

“Well, it’d be rather unusual if they didn’t know me in a restaurant I own.” His low voice rumbles in my ears, a sly smirk faintly twitching his lips.

“Oh, you own this restaurant?” That, I didn’t know. The restaurant ranks as one of the most elite dining establishments in Sicily, known for its delicious food.

“May I?” The cloakroom attendant extends his hand, his expression polite and courteous. With a smooth gesture, he slips the black overcoat off my shoulders, revealing a short, tight dress that would drive any man’s imagination wild.

I can barely suppress a victorious smile as Nikos’s eyes flicker at my bold choice of attire tonight.

The velvet dress clings to my curves, the rich fabric shimmering under the restaurant’s dim lights.

It has no sleeves or straps, held up only by the delicate curve of my breasts, a deep V-cut that accentuates my daring décolletage.

The long, black velvet gloves extend to my elbows, which I chose to adorn with white pearl bracelets at the wrists.

But to me, the gloves aren’t just a fancy detail.

It’s a subtle power play I decided to start tonight.

“Should we…?” I murmur, gently grazing my teeth over my bottom lip, painted a bold, deep, sultry red.

Nikos’s gaze lingers on me for a little longer, as if desire and intrigue are igniting in their depths. “Yes.” He offers his arm, and we walk through the restaurant, every eye drawn to me.

I can feel Nikos’s glances at me, at every man who turns his head in my direction. It feels strange. Empowering, but strange.

We settle at a table in the prestigious VIP area, and the waiter serves us wine before taking our orders. I go with the Sicilian-style swordfish, while Nikos chooses the beef rib steak.

“So Libertà? Freedom. It’s an interesting choice for a restaurant’s name. Where did the inspiration come from?” I taste Sassicaia 1985. I’d never thought I’d be sitting in the Libertà restaurant, sipping one of the finest wines. I can’t deny that it tastes exquisite.

“My mother’s name,” Nikos grunts, his fingers gripping the stem of his wine glass. “Her name, Eleftheria, means freedom in Greek.”

I see a shift in his eyes at the mention of his mother; they darken, but not in a dangerous way, but rather with despair.

“That’s so sweet of you to name the restaurant after your mother.” I put the glass back on the table. “The Olympus club is also a tribute to her, isn’t it? It’s connected to Greek mythology, and your mother was Greek.”

Nikos snorts. “Nothing about me is sweet, wicked one. There is only darkness.”

Is there?

But what if there are remnants of humanity in him buried deep down in the depths of his black soul? Maybe my whole reason for being here is to help bring it up from the depths.

“You must’ve had a deep bond with your mother,” I dig deeper as I ignore his comment.

Usually, if a person has an unhealthy relationship with a parent, then later in life, they are likely to have ‘mommy or daddy issues’.

I’m no psychologist, but in Nikos’s case, I’d bet on daddy issues rather than mommy issues.

Based on the rumors over his relationship with his father and seeing the respect he has toward his late mother, why would he mistreat women?

Treat them as his playthings? Unless… it’s a pattern of how his father treated his mother.

It’s all he knows, what he had imprinted in his mind growing up.

“She…” his jaw clenches. “ Passed away when I was eight.” The way he says passed away sends ripples through my spine as though there’s more to it than meets the eye.

I remember Gianna mentioned that to me. She also mentioned the mysterious circumstances of his father’s death.

“What about your father?” My heart races quicker. I know I’m treading on paper-thin ice, but perhaps I can get a hint into his psyche.

“My father,” his hand clenches into a fist, his voice hardens, “he was a cruel man.”

Daddy issues, it is.

Now the question is, how bad is it?

“Tell me about it,” I say softly, trying to veil the fear in my voice.

His eyes narrow, head cocks. “You wanna know why I am a monster?”

His dark tone gives me the creeps, but I don’t back down.

“I put on gloves tonight for you.” His gaze shifts to the black velvet gloves on my hands, which I keep on the table, where I am playing with the stem of my glass with my fingers. “I want to understand… you .”

“Not many are brave enough to ask about my past.” A twisted ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, but I feel like it’s a mask he puts on to hide his true— troubled —interior.

An armor shielding him from the things he doesn’t want to feel anymore.

Perhaps, just like the purpose of the gloves.

“I admire that courage in you, wicked one , but don’t ask questions that the answers you might not be able to handle. ”

“Don’t assume things about me that you might be wrong about.”

A flicker of amusement lights up his eyes.

I recognize now it’s what he enjoys: a challenge.

With the entire empire at his command, it seems defiance is a rarity.

People fear opposing him. Everyone bends to his will.

I’ll take a risk and approach this slowly.

Still cautiously, only much slower. He claims he wants to break me to match his darkness.

I have a feeling he wants to see how much I can bear, whether I’ll break like any other, or rise above it if I can handle his insanity—the demons that haunt his mind.

Perhaps no one ever has challenged him—or cared enough about him—to want to understand him.

“Prove I’m wrong.” His declaration sounds like a dare.

A dare I accept.

I push the plate of food and the glass of wine aside.

Despite my racing heart, I rise from my chair and climb onto the table.

On all fours, I crawl toward Nikos. I would think this would blow his mind.

Instead, he leans against the back of his chair, his expression impassive yet charged with a quiet, erotic intensity as he watches me.

“You wanted me to crawl to you.” I place my hand on his cheek, and he instinctively leans into it, gripping my wrist. “On all fours.” I lean closer, my lips brushing his as I murmur sultrily, “Well, Mr. Romano, here I am, crawling to you.”

I capture his lips in a kiss. His rough stubble and the softness of his lips a perfect combination.

It’s strange how good it feels. The way his lips dance with mine, his tongue tangles with mine.

I can’t deny there’s a pull I feel toward him, toward the darkness his eyes hide.

I know I should keep my guard up, but I can’t help but be drawn to him, to the dangerous allure of his dark charisma.

It’s a feeling I know I should resist, but I can’t seem to escape.

Perhaps I am drawn to his darkness.

To his insanity.

He kills without batting an eye.

He starts a war with no regrets.

No one has ever done anything like this for me. Anything disturbing like this.

And I like it.

What if I’m willing to play these games of his because deep down, I’m afraid to admit that I might actually enjoy all these sick things he does for me?