Page 71 of Corrupt Vows

“Good girl. Are you feeling sick?”

“No, just tired, but um…” The line goes quiet as I try to figure out what I want to say to him. “Can you come home early tonight?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, my heart sinks, and I rush to hide my disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it, I can—”

“What’s wrong, Serenity?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I want to show you my sculpture tomorrow morning.”

The confession bursts from me with such desperation I wonder if I’ve lost my mind. When I realize I probably have, I drop my face into my hand.

After a few heartbeats of silence, his husky voice rumbles over the line.

“Really?”

I clear my throat and lift my head.

“Yes, really.”

“I’m honored,principessa,” he says.

Tears gather on my lashes, and I ride the wave of emotions.

“Actually, there’s something else I want to tell you, too, but not over the phone. It’s okay if—” Marcello’s shout interrupts me. The driver jerks the wheel so hard I hit my head on the window.

A woman screams—me, I realize—as metal crashes and the world flips upside down. Nico’s voice, tinny and small, pings around me as the car rolls again. Pain blasts through my entire body as another car smashes into ours, and for a moment, I slip into blissful nothingness.

My return to reality lands me in a nightmare. Blood covers the windshield and drips from the dash onto the ceiling. Two bodies hang motionless in front of me. My arms dangle above my head. I blink. Everything remains fuzzy, but I force myself to move. I fumble with my seatbelt, focused solely on ending the agony of it digging into my hipbones, and finally process I’m hanging upside down as I free the latch. I grunt in pain as I hit the roof of the car.

Nico yells at me. I reach for him.

Hands close around my ankles and yank me through the shattered window. The contents of my purse scatter over the debris.

I clench my numb fingers around my broken phone and kick the hands off my ankles, uncaring if they’re friend or foe. Memories flash through my mind. My sister’s limp frame as my father carried her up the stairs. Natalie’s infant body covered in bandages. Nico’s hand hanging off the side of the hospital bed.

I shove my phone into my bra before more hands roll me over.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream.

“Get the bitch in the van.”

Bile rises in my throat as the familiar voice transports me back into the supply closet. I turn my head and vomit.

Ralf.

Brutal hands lift me off the concrete and toss me into the back of an empty cargo van. A beefy guy with blonde hair and tats all over his face sits on top of me, stealing my breath, and ties my wrists together before reaching for my ankles. Two more men jump into the vehicle and slam the door closed.

Through the shock and pain, my heart screams for Nico, but the phone wedged inside my bra remains silent—probably broken, my frayed mind offers.

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