Page 60 of Vow to Corrupt You
“Raffaele,” he speaks, and my eyes widen. “He’s been waiting for you to give him a chance, but instead, you sought power, didn’t you?”
“Raffaele is your son?” I completely ignore his insult, too shocked by the news. “But his last name isn’t Lombardi.”
“He has his mother’s last name, but I do not need to explain myself to you, Mrs. Romano.” He accentuates the last name.
“Neither do I, Mr. Lombardi.” My chin rises as I regard him with indignation. “I haven’t sought power. Far from it. But I might file a formal complaint with the university for harassment.”
His jaw clenches, and he snatches the paper from my hands. “I’ll have a look at it again.”
“Wise choice.” I smile.
“Serena, are you joining us for the party tonight?” Bianca, one of my classmates, shouts after me as I’m about to get into Chiara’s car.
I look at my cousin. The embarrassed expression on her face tells me she knew about it but didn’t mention it—for obvious reasons. I am the wife of Nikos Romano. I am not allowed to attend the same parties my peers do. I am a prisoner of my marriage, effective immediately.
I turn back to Bianca, her brows furrowed in confusion.
“I’ll be there. Thanks.”
“Of course,” she states before pivoting away.
“What are you doing, Serena?” Chiara scowls at me as I bang the door of her Lancia shut after I slide in.
“I’m going to a party like any normal student my age would.” I offer her my most deadly stare.
She scoffs, her head shaking in disbelief. “But you’re not any other girl, Serena. You’re the wife of the most dangerous man around here. The leader of the fucking Mafia.”
“So what?” I release the frustration. “Am I not allowed to lead a normal life now? Am I supposed to lock myself in the prison that is my husband’s luxurious residence with a fucking helipad, and cut myself off from the world outside?”
Chiara’s shoulders slump, and concern paints her face as the tears I’ve so desperately tried to hold back escape from the corner of my eyes. My emotions take over and break free, craving liberation—just like I do. Everything has its limits. Everything and everyone.
“You’re right.” Chiara pulls away. “We’re going to my place to get ready and then go to the party.”
Within twenty minutes, we arrive at Chiara’s place. I talk with my cousin and Chiara’s brother, Domenico, before we rummage through her closet. There’s a moment when a pang of jealousy passes through me, realizing how independent Chiara is. How much freedom she has, and how different her lifestyle is from mine. I shifted from living under the rules of strict parents to being controlled by a possessive husband. Rules and restrictions are a theme of my life.
But now it’s time for rebellion.
As we arrive at Bianca’s, where the party is taking place, I hang up the leather blazer I wore because it’s pretty chilly outside. Under my blazer, I’d put on a leather bustier top with gold-strap detailing and high-waisted, flared pants. I stick to black. I guess I am unconsciously drawn to the color. Chiara is a size bigger than me, with more prominent curves and a fuller bust, but we managed to find some clothes that fit me. She went for a short, long-sleeved sequined corset dress.
“Serena, you made it!” Bianca greets me with an air kiss on the cheek, holding a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She does the same with Chiara before winking in my direction. “Have fun, girls! Enjoy the night!”
My cousin wraps her arm around mine and leads me to the living room like she’s been here a hundred times before. I must’ve missed a lot of these parties since starting at university. We squeeze through the crowd of people laughing, chatting, and dancing. Someone along the way hands me a bottle of beer I’m not even sure I want. I feel so out of place. Everyone seems so carefree, savoring the night, while I feel stiff like a broomstick. The rock music blares so loudly that I can hardly hear my thoughts. It was a bad idea to come. The truth is, I’d rather be at home with a good book or locked in my sculpting room.
“I know that look,” Chiara nudges my elbow, urging me to take a swig of the beer in my hand. “Drink. Relax. Have fun. That’s why you came here, no?”
I lift the bottle reluctantly, and the bitter aroma wafts to greet me. Beer has never been my preference. Yet, as the minutes tick by, the alcohol begins to weave its magic. The initial unease fades, and a sense of looseness spreads through me. Soon, I am swept up in the rhythm of the crowd, moving and swaying with abandon. Next thing I know, we down tequila shots, each burning like fire as it slides down my throat but igniting a flame of much-craved carefreeness. Before long, I find myself dancing on a table, Chiara beside me. We both brandish bottles like trophies while the world spins in a blur. We dance, we sing, we have fun. Finally, I feel at ease. Finally, I let go of all the worries, troubles, and threats. Like a normal twenty-one-year-old.
But then, I feel someone’s hot breath on my neck and intrusive hands on my body. I turn to find Raffaele. He’s close, too close, and it makes me feel uneasy. I need my space. Instinctively, I push his hands away from my hips and slip outside to cool down.
I lean against the building, the cool air brushing my reddened cheeks. Relief. Finally, there’s no one around, no pounding music—just me and the space I need.
“Serena, hey.” Raffaele followed me. My heart races as I straighten up to see him stepping closer.
“I need a moment.” I attempt to move past him, but before I can, I’m pinned against the wall, his frame looming over me, hands on either side of my head.
“You’re hot, you know?” he murmurs in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I’ve always wanted to date you.”
“Raffaele,” I shake my head, clinging to the wall so hard as I try to sink into it. “I’m married, and I told you to stay away.”
