Page 20 of Vow to Corrupt You
None of the guests or the priest dares to even twitch at his words.
Crimson blood wells up as Nikos draws a blade across his lips, making a slight cut.
He steps closer to me, a sickening wave of dread washing over me. The knife’s cold edge grazes my bottom lip, followed by a sharp sting of pain that is nothing in comparison to the fear consuming me.
“I vow upon the blood that runs through my veins to possess you, but to also protect you.”
Is this some twisted, dark ritual? A blood oath? What are we? Vampires?
Before I can fully process his words, his lips collide with mine in a forceful kiss. The metallic tang of blood makes it feel as though I’ve just tasted the pomegranate seeds of Persephone, binding me to him forever.
Pulling away, his eyes lock onto mine, the coppery taste lingering in my mouth.
“As our blood mingles, so do our lives intertwine,” he murmurs darkly, his lips now stained with our blood. “In the presence of the God you worship, the priest, and all gathered here, I declare you mine until death do us part.” I guess we don’t need the priest for this part.
After all, it’s apparent that Nikos is above all. His word is the law, its own religion—and he… he is the God.
CHAPTER 10
Nikos
We drive to the wedding reception, spending the entire journey in silence. My now-wife’s gaze is fixed on the passing scenery outside, as if she’s searching for a way out that doesn’t exist.
Too late. There’s no turning back, wicked one. You’ve fallen into the trap of a monster.
She refuses to look my way, as though I’m a specter she hopes to banish with her denial. I’d be hurt if I were capable of feeling anything besides mild amusement. She can fight it all she wants, but she’s mine now.
We arrive at the venue, an early 20th-century aristocratic mansion that once belonged to the Marquises Calamarà. My men form a protective perimeter around the car as we pull up.
Remo exits the limo first and opens the door for me. I walk around the car and extend my hand to her. She hesitates, then takes it so gently, as if it would burn if she grabbed it any harder. We move through the crowd, and the garden unfolds before us with the expansive pool that seems like it’s reaching out to the Strait of Messina.
I lead her toward the dance floor, surrounded by guests. I haven’t invited many people as I don’t believe in something as trivial as friendship. So, only her family members, my uncle, and about three dozen of my most important associates with their plus ones. I feel her frail silhouette beneath my touch as my hand rests on the small of her back. The classical music begins to play live—violinists and a pianist positioned near the dance area—and I sway her to the rhythm of Vivaldi. My mother once told me, when I was a little boy, that she used to play his music close to her womb. Perhaps that’s why he’s my favorite composer. My hand slides to her waist as I pull her closer. Her gaze remains downcast the entire time.
Looks like my dear wife can’t bear to look at me. How tragic it is that she’ll have to for the rest of her life.
I, in turn, can’t tear my gaze away from her. She’s so timid, so innocent, still so inexperienced. I have so many things to show her; teach her.
“You look stunning,” I murmur. “Almost too beautiful to touch.”
She chokes down her apprehension, as if the mere mention of my touch evokes her darkest fears. I pull her closer, one hand resting possessively on the small of her back, the other holding firmly to her delicate fingers. Our bodies meld together, moving in perfect sync as if we were made for each other. Perhaps we were, and it’s just a matter of time until I become her sickening, maddening obsession, as she is mine, from the moment I saw her. To be fair, she could easily become any man’s sweet ruin.
“Now kiss me, Mrs. Romano.” Her breath hitches as I lower my head, tracing the curve of her earlobe with the tip of my tongue. She can’t suppress the soft gasp that escapes her lips, a sound that sends a jolt of satisfaction through me. “Like a loving wife would.”
She hesitates for a fraction of a second, as if considering a rebellion, but gives up on the thought. As if she knows there is no escape. She has no choice but to comply. Her eyes shut tight, her breath becoming shallow. She leans in, her lips meeting mine in a cautious kiss. The room erupts in applause, but I hear none of it. All I am aware of is the taste of her lips. Dear gods, the sweetness of her taste provokes all the primal instincts within me. Contrary to her. She shivers as if she’s never kissed a man before, though I know she has. She may still be a virgin, but this isn’t her first kiss. I know everything about her, perhaps even more than she knows herself.
“Why me?” Her quivering whisper snaps me out of my thoughts. Her lips leave mine, slow and hesitant. Our faces are separated only by our mingling breaths. “Why did you choose me?”
The desperation in her eyes for at least some semblance of understanding is so deep one could drown. I ponder back to the moment I saw her. Something dark and obsessive took root inside me. The sudden desire to possess her—to corrupt, to break and bend her—was stronger than anything I’d ever felt before. She became the center of my mind. My morbid obsession. My fatal madness.
As soon as we left her father’s place a week ago, I had my men investigate everything about her. I had to know even the tiniest facet about the woman who took the reins of my mind. I needed someone inside. The maid was the obvious choice. Maids know everything; hear everything. The maid working for the Conti family was an easy target. Bribing her was simple—one look at the amount I offered, and she was mine. Her loyalty to the Contis, even her supposed affection for her own lover, Serena’s ex-boyfriend, vanished in an instant, like it was never there. She let my men inside to install cameras while they attended one of the evening masses at church, but it still wasn’t enough. I had to know everything, so I had one of my IT experts install a tracking app on Serena’s phone, giving me access to her calls, messages, and location.
Obsession.
Obsession is the answer.
“Lust has no reason, wicked one.”
I trace the line of her jaw with my fingers, and she tenses. She is afraid, but there’s something else there, too—as if she finally accepts the inevitability of this. Her eyes search mine, still seeking that elusive answer. But what she doesn’t understand is that in my world, desire needs no justification. It simply is. There are reasons I am this way—dark reasons that will never see daylight. Should I desire to bring the world to its knees, it shall kneel. Should I choose to let the world burn, it will ignite in flames—no explanation or reason needed, wicked one.
