Page 40 of Vow to Corrupt You
“I’ll let you two talk,” Chiara says, dashing toward the parking lot.
“No, Chiara—” But before I finish the sentence, she’s already out of sight in the crowd of students, and Raffaele is by my side.
“Hey, how are you doing? You seemed lost in Mr. Lombardi’s lecture. Not that I blamed you. My—I mean, Mr. Lombardi—he’s always so…” Raffaele continues to ramble, but all I can focus on is Nikos’s voice ringing in my ears.
Any man who dares to touch, to dream of touching of what is mine, will face wrath so ruthless, death will seem a mercy.
He’s gotten in my head and is currently taking over my mind. His voice haunts me no matter where I turn. I’m not sure if I’m paranoid or what, but I fear he’ll unravel my sanity just like he promised he would.
“Serena?” Raffaele’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
I gaze into his eyes, which seem more greenish than ever, framed by his brown locks and pale skin. “I’m sorry, I’m lost in my own head today. I should go.”
I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm.
“Serena, wait.” A quiet sigh escapes him, and he moves to stand in front of me. “I’ve heard some rumors that,” he grazes his lower lip, “you and Claudio are no longer together.”
“So?” I ask dryly.
“So… I was thinking we could go out sometime? Grab a coffee or go to the movies?” He runs his hand through his ruffled hair. “Or something.”
My heart lurches. So, what Chiara kept telling me last semester was right—Raffaele does have a crush on me. She’d noticed how he stared at me, was always offering to help, wanted to work in pairs, and was just always around. And I thought he was just friendly.
“Raffa…” My lips press together, a heavy weight settling on my chest.
I flick the hair away from the side of my neck that was covering my collarbone, revealing a tattoo with the name that anyone in Sicily would recognize. The black dress I’m wearing today has a square neckline, so I veiled the tattoo with my hair. I assumed my wedding ring and the giant diamond of my engagement ring glimmering on my finger would be enough of a man-deterrent, but it seems not.
“Haven’t you heard I’m married now?”
Raffaele’s eyes widen with recognition, and shock creeps in. He steps back as if in fear. “N-no,” he looks up again. “I spent the summer in Canada with my grandparents. I just came back last night and haven’t really spoken to anyone yet.”
“Well,” I take a deep breath, knowing I need to end this and whisper to him. “Now you know. So, for your own good, stop this, whatever you’re doing, for your own safety, and—”
“How did it come to this?” he cuts in, brows furrowing.
“We shouldn’t be talking at all.” I turn to leave, but again, he takes hold of my arm and prevents me.
“Serena, did you marry Nikos Romano?” His voice is hushed now, as if scared he might summon the Devil, but I guess it’s too late. He’s already here.
Chills ripple through my entire body as my gaze lands on Nikos. He leans against his Ferrari across the street, ankles crossed and hands in his pockets. His gaze pierces right through me despite the distance between us and the dark sunglasses he wears. My pulse accelerates, and suddenly, it’s harder to breathe.
I glance at Raffaele, words blurt out of my mouth before my mind processes what I’m saying, “You shouldn’t talk to me, Raffaele. You could end up dead. Best-case scenario, you lose your… ehm, important body parts.”
I saunter off and head toward Nikos before he decides to come to us.
“Who was that guy?” Nikos’s gaze is focused on the road, his hand casually resting on the steering wheel.
A tremor ripples through me. In any other marriage, it would be an innocent question. In our marriage, it can mean a death sentence. Answering truthfully gives me severe anxiety.
“He’s just a student from my program.” My hands clench into fists on my lap, trying to cope with the tension in my body.
He doesn’t reply, which scares me even more because I don’t know what’s going through his twisted mind. Perhaps he’s already plotting Raffaele’s execution in his head.
“Where are we going?” I ask after what feels like an eternity of silence. I don’t recognize the direction we’re heading. It’s not the way to the house or my parents’ place (though I suppose that’s the last place he’d want to go), and I have no idea where else we could be going together.
“I haven’t seen much of my wife recently.” There’s a dark edge to his tone that makes me hold my breath. “I thought we should make up for lost time.”
Again, it’s a seemingly innocent, ordinary sentence that, in any other marriage, wouldn’t carry any special meaning. In my case, now the idea of spending time with my husband seems dreadful, especially after what I just learned from Gianna.
