Page 1 of Vow to Corrupt You
CHAPTER 1
Nikos
“Don’t kill him, Nikos,” my uncle pressures, but his voice is just a blur.
I’m pitiless, unmoved by his arguments or the boy’s pleas to spare his life. The cold metal muzzle of my Beretta 92 sinks deeper into his pulsating temple. I look at the boy. He isjusta boy. Twenty, maybe twenty-one years old. Blood drips from the cut on his lips. His eyes swollen, face black and blue.
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 boltedto 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’spassing, 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 saythose 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.
