Page 5 of Corrupt Vows

The lowlifes I killed a few minutes ago weren’t worth the price of my ruined clothes, but anyone stupid enough to set up on my turf without my permission deserves my unique brand of justice.

I check my reflection in the mirror glued to the roof of the trunk and snatch a wet wipe to clean the few drops of blood on my neck. With a disgusted grimace, I grab more and wipe my entire face, ears, and upper chest before running my fingers through my hair. Once I’m sure there’s no trace of blood hidden amidst my tattoos, I yank a clean undershirt over my head and fit a white button-down over my shoulders.

I slip my cufflinks into place first, then button my shirt with practiced ease. After tucking in my shirttails, I fasten my trousers and buckle my belt.

I slip my phone into my pocket and remove my pistol and holster from the chest harness before closing the trunk and slipping into the driver’s seat. After snapping the pistol into the center console next to my leg for easy access, I turn on the vehicle and pull away from the building.

For several miles, I barrel through the traffic lights, not stopping even when they turn red.

No police officer with half a brain cell would pull me over in this section of the city, but once I cross into the more populated section, I obey the rules of the road. Regular citizens need their false sense of security, after all. They churn the wheels of the city, not realizing how close to danger they live.

I cross another invisible barrier and turn onto a quiet street with foliage lining the sidewalks and opulent gates blocking each driveway. The Vivaldi family home may as well be a fortress with a moat surrounding it, given the amount of space separating their estate from the bustle of the city.

I prefer my family’s high-rise apartments, but to each their own. When you’re as proficient in crime as the Russo and Vivaldi families, you get to keep your pick of the litter.

Unless you’re the eldest, then everything you do is for the family. Every aspect of your life belongs to them. Your dreams and nightmares. Your past and future. You must devote every waking moment to protecting and supporting them.

I turn at the Vivaldi gate. The guard waves me through before I stop, so I roll past and continue up the hill.

When my parents negotiated my marriage to Camilla Vivaldi several years ago, I didn’t argue. It’s a good match, at least on paper, and voicing my selfish desires wouldn’t change the outcome.

Any man not attracted to Camilla’s striking beauty and luscious curves should lose his man card, but I’ve never had more than a passing thought about fucking her. She’s gorgeous, but the chemistry between us just isn’t there.

Her younger sister, though? I can’t get her curves out of my head. She’s tangled in my sheets every night, even if it’s just in my dreams. Serenity Vivaldi has a vice grip on my balls and won’t let me go. With her innocent eyes, tempting lips, and gentle mannerisms, she’s everything a monster like me longs to break.

I park in the middle of the circular drive and twist my hands on the wheel as I will my cock to soften. Just imagining Serenity’s rich brown eyes staring up at me in heavy-lidded pleasure has me questioning the durability of my trouser seams.

The front door opens. I leave my pistol in the car and open my jacket to show the guard my lack of firearms. He eyes my knife, but holds to the agreement between the families and allows me into the house.

No one stands waiting to greet me. Shouting echoes down the hall, but a closed door muffles the words. I follow the sound, and when the guards don’t stop me, I wonder what in the flying fuck kind of drama I’m walking into.

A tiny form darts out of a side hall without warning. I glimpse Serenity’s startled eyes for a fraction of a second before she collides with my side and bounces off me. She squeaks. I catch her shoulders and grind my teeth as her enticing honey and vanilla fragrance invades my nostrils.

Ice skitters across the floor and a dishcloth dangles from her fingers. Her soft curse surprises me.

“Sorry, I didn’t—”

She looks up and falls silent as she meets my stare. Her pupils dilate and a blush colors her cheeks.

I flex my fingers into her shoulders and fight the urge to trace her collarbone with my thumbs.

She clears her throat and pushes my hands off her shoulders as she steps back, but her heel catches on an ice cube, and she squeaks as she loses her balance. I hook an arm around her lower back and pull her upright.

The air sizzles around me as her soft breasts flatten against my stomach. My cock hardens to stone in a single rush, and I struggle to breathe.

I want her. I want to throw her down, part those pretty thighs, and sink into her right here, right now, the rest of the world be damned.

Her delicate fingers clutch at my arms as she catches her breath and shuffles her feet back underneath her.

“Thanks, I’m okay. You can let go of me now,” she says through gritted teeth.

I quirk a brow, clench my fist at my side, and tighten my arm around her.

She stiffens and glances at my face before pretending she can stare through my chest.

“I apologizedandthanked you. What else do you want?”

The wordeverythingcomes to mind, but I bite back my growl and force myself to let her go.

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