Page 30 of Vow to Corrupt You
Nikos scoffs in amusement.
“What? It’s a serious question, considering women’s inequality, especially in a mafia environment,” I rant, but he chimes in.
“Women proved they can be far more powerful than men,” a smirk quirks his lips, “Gender holds no significance. The society includes many Mafia Donnas, just as capable and respected as any man.”
He peeks at me. “Surprised?”
“Impressed.”
Before I realize it, we pull up to the entrance. Valets in crisp uniforms open the car doors for us with respectful nods. One of them drives away to park the car while Nikos extends his arm to me. Dazed by the adrenaline from our ride—kiss—before, and the whole secret society thing, I accept his outstretched hand as if on autopilot, and we step inside.
I’m struck by the opulent interior. The entry hall is awe-inspiring, with polished marble floors and statues depicting Greek gods I can’t tear my eyes away from.
“First,” Nikos’s low voice snaps me out of my awe, “you must undergo the initiation.”
“The initiation?” I frown as I look at him, my heart race accelerating.
“You’ll take an oath of loyalty and silence during a blood ritual. It’s similar to the Omertà Oath, but for our society,” he explains lazily as if it was not a big deal, leading me through the vast hallways.
An oath? A blood ritual?
Does everything in the Mafia involve blood?
A wave of apprehension washes over me.
Am I truly a part of it now? It sounds so distant and surreal. It feels like I’m stepping into a world that is both exciting and also terrifying. Uncertain.
Can I trust Nikos? I am no one, while he... he’s the king of Sicily. Hell, seeing the influence he wields not just in Italy, but globally, he’s freaking God. He may be the God of Corruption, but still, he has a power worthy of God.
I can’t help the doubts swirling in my mind. He could have aligned his Mafia with another powerful faction to strengthen alliances. It’s common practice in a mafia environment. Why hadn’t he done that? Instead, he married… me, a nobody. It all reminds me of the circumstances of our marriage. It was merely his whim. I am merely a plaything to him. A passing fancy he might discard and replace when he gets bored of me.
A heavy tug in my chest as we glide through what seems to be an endless hallway, passing numerous closed doors. What’s behind these doors? There are so many rooms in this building, so I’m sure they must serve their purposes.
“Do these meetings always take place here?” I ask timidly, overwhelmed by the oppressive silence resonating with our echoing footsteps.
“No, they happen in different locations each time. We have clubs on every continent and in every country where we have members.”
We reach intricately carved double doors that the employees open in sync, and an enormous room resembling a gothic chamber stretches before me. It’s lit solely by the countless candles, their flames flickering on the walls.
“In Europe alone, we have six clubs and several more scattered across each continent,” Nikos adds as we move forward.
“Do all the clubs look like this?”
I take in the scene, looking around at the diverse crowd scattered throughout, many of them standing by round tables discussing club business, most likely, and more are standing near a bar that is anything but ordinary. Classical music fills the air—violinists and pianists playing live. Every detail, from ornate decorations to ambiance, exudes a goth-mythic tone.
“Like a Pantheon temple?” I glance at him, and he meets my gaze.
“I had it renovated after my father’s…” his jaw tenses, “passing, and after I took charge.” He hasn’t spoken of his family, and the way his eyes darken at the mention of his father proves the rumors Gianna heard are true and that he did have a complicated past. “But each club has its own theme,” he continues, shaking off the momentary darkness. “We tailor them to fit the culture of the country they’re in.”
He then briefly tells me about the society’s members. I recognize one face: Aric Vold, Chiara’s boyfriend. He is in deep conversation with Hyunseok Park, the heir to a Korean syndicate Nikos just mentioned to me. He has also made it clear that I shouldn’t mention any of this to Chiara—or anyone else, for that matter—as despite dating Aric, she has no clue about the society. Only the members know of its existence. The members and their spouses. The Gods and the Goddesses as they refer to themselves.
The nagging questions haunt me again. What am I doing here? Among the most influential people from across the world. Does Nikos want to humiliate me in front of all of them? Or perhaps, carry out my execution and make an example out of me and my family? My mind is in overdrive. What if…
The sharp sound of something metal tapping a champagne flute abruptly pulls me back to the present. Startled, I realize I am holding a glass of champagne in my hand, its cool condensation seeping into my palm. I can’t even recall when I picked it up. I must have done that on autopilot again.
As if on cue, the noise of conversation ebbs, and I feel the weight of numerous gazes turning toward me. My heart skips a beat, a rush of self-consciousness flooding through me as I glance at Nikos.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” His ever-so-low, husky voice cuts through the sudden hush. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Serena Romano.”
