Page 46 of Vow to Corrupt You
Wisdom’s practically oozing out of my cousin today. But she’s right. A-fucking-GAIN.
“Perhaps it’s a start,” Chiara smiles.
“A start?”
“Of your new era.” She lifts her chin. “The era of Serena Romano, the most formidable Mafia Queen Italy has ever known.”
We giggle, though deep down, I think I’m starting to like the idea.
At night, I lie on my bed, supporting myself on my right hand while holding a book in my left, deeply engrossed in the philosophy of art. The sessions have come out in full swing, and we have to prepare an essay for Mr. Lombardi’s class—he’s one of the tough ones, extremely demanding and hard to please.
A few soft, yet firm, knocks at the door, followed by a familiar deep voice rumbling in my ears, make my heart skip a few beats. I peek over my shoulder to see Nikos already inside my room, slowly walking toward me. He seems different—more human and handsome—in a simple, though, of course, black T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Sometimes I forget you’re still a student,” he murmurs, resting against a bedpost, his hands in his pockets. “What are you reading?”
“Philosophy of art.” I close the book and put it aside on my nightstand, automatically getting off the bed, feeling like if I stayed in meant I felt threatened, and face Nikos. My hands link, fingers fidgeting.
“One of my old friends owns an art gallery that hosts sculpture exhibitions, and the next one is taking place in a week. He’ll be displaying Alessandro Ferrara’s work.” A trace of a smile twitches at his lips. “Would you like to go?”
“Alessandro Ferrara’s? Are you kidding? He’s not only the most renowned sculptor in Italy, but also my all-time favorite artist I’ve always looked up to!” I barely contain my excitement. “It would be like a dream come true to attend his exhibition!”
“Perfect, then it’s a date.” He throws me a playful wink that affects me more than it should.
He pushes himself off the bedpost and makes his way toward the door.
“Thank you,” I say hastily, trying to stop him in his tracks. Am I disappointed he’s already leaving?
He whirls to face me again and cocks his head in his signature way, just staring at me.
“Is there… anything you wanted?” I play with my fingers, still not knowing what to do with myself. This man is like an enigma to me. A contradiction. One moment, he vows to break me and does everything he can to give me severe anxiety or drive me insane; the next, he’s acting like the Prince Charming I’ve always wanted. But I am a contradiction myself. One moment, I hate him, and I wish I’d never have to see him again, the next… I yearn for his presence, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes when he looks at me, the sound of his husky voice, the intoxicating scent, the…
“I just wanted to see my wife before I go to sleep.” His teasing tone jolts me back from my thoughts: aka, the list of things that undeniably attract me to him. What a disaster.
“How lovely of you, husband,” I tease back, and his lips stretch into a smug arc at the term. The moment feels so mundane, so refreshing. Is this what normal couples have? Teasing conversations, checking in on each other before sleep—no, normal couples sleep together. But this is what I long for… those little vanilla moments, seemingly insignificant, actually remarkable. It’s moments like these that are the base of a relationship that builds a bond between couples.
“Niko!” an angry shout breaks the invisible thread of what seems like a semblance of warmth growing between us. “Niko, where are you?” Dimitris barges into my bedroom, labored breath, sweat over his furrowed brows.
“What happened?” Nikos swiftly turns to his uncle. The sudden darkness in his voice gives me chills.
“All hell broke loose,” Dimitris breathes out, and I notice blood on his arm seeping into the white fabric of his woolen shirt. “The Castros. They are here.”
CHAPTER 23
Nikos
The air is heavy with the scent of cigar smoke and the faint aroma of whiskey after we spent the past couple of hours in my office plotting our vendetta against the Castros. The fucking Colombians dared to attack us on our territory, causing thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, in damage, killing a few of my men, and shooting my uncle. They must’ve known we were planning a shipment because they showed up in the right place at the right time. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence. They started a gunfight in one of our ports while my men were preparing the delivery. Hundreds of stacks of packed cocaine were destroyed or seized. The slaughter wouldn’t have ended if it weren’t for the authorities’ arrival. Most of the Colombians fled, and now I have to pull some strings to get my men who were arrested out of jail. I own the local police, but considering the severity of the operation, it was assigned to the international authorities. Nothing I can’t handle as a member of the Gods, but it complicates things, and it’s the last thing I need right now. More issues.
“We must’ve had a leak, which means we have a rat inside.” I inhale deeply from my cigar. “A rat I will find and kill myself. This can’t go unanswered.”
“There’s one more thing,” Dimitris says, squeezing a bandage on his arm where the bullet grazed it. He was one fortunate bastard that it was only a simple scrape.
“What?” My voice hardens, and I put the cigar in the ashtray.
Dimitris reaches into his pants pocket and hands me a piece of paper.
“And that is?” I take the folded piece across the desk.
“One of the Colombians threw it toward me, wrapped around a rock. I think they spared me intentionally so I could deliver the message to you.”
