Page 28 of Vow to Corrupt You
“Let me guess, the dress must be black?”
A faint grin tugs at my lips as my gaze rises to meet her. “Black suits you, baby.”
Her lips purse in a subtle display of skepticism, but her cheeks flush at the nickname. I close the door, circle to the other side, and settle into the seat beside her.
“So, what is this meeting you’ve mentioned about?” The engine roar drowns out her coy yet curious tone as we drive off.
“I belong to an exclusive, secret society of Mafia Dons from across the globe. We’ve gathered members from every continent,” I speak lazily.
She sinks in her seat. “Every… continent?” she reiterates.
I nod. “This allows our influence to have no borders.”
“Are they all a part of the Mafia?”
“We’re not just your usual Mafia,” I flash a languid, yet complacent, smile. “We’re businessmen. It’s all interconnected.”
Her eyes search between mine in confusion. “Why…” she clears her throat, “Why would I go with you to such a meeting?”
“It’s tradition,” I explain. “Every Don who takes a wife must introduce her to the society. You’re now my queen, Serena. And the role of a queen is to stand by her king. And you will stand by me wearing the most beautiful gown I had custom-made for you.”
CHAPTER 14
Serena
As the evening descends, I slip into the black—no surprise there—gown Nikos had custom-made for me. The event must be of extreme importance, considering he went to such lengths to have the dress, jewelry, and even the shoes prepared for me in advance. Not to mention, I’m pretty surprised (or impressed) they fit perfectly. The dress is exquisite, resembling something fit for a mythic muse of ancient Greece. The long, draping sleeves with gold accents on the shoulders flow down the arms in a cape-like fashion. It has a deep V-neck that accentuates the waist with gold ornamental detailing that resembles a belt. A daring, high cut on the right leg reveals just enough skin. The back features an open, circular cut-out framed by gold detailing. It makes me feel truly enchanting. I pair the gown with 24-carat gold earrings and a bracelet reminiscent of what an Olympian deity would wear—also Nikos’s request. It seems he might have an obsession with making me look like a Hellenic goddess, or perhaps it’s just the dress code or theme for the night.
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.”
