Corrupt Vows (Vicious Mafia Kings #1)

Chapter 19

Serenity Vivaldi

When my hand finds nothing but cold sheets beside me, I wrap my arms around myself and roll over. No matter what I do or how epic our nights are, I always wake up alone.

Nico hasn’t tried to hide his morning absences for several days, but when I ask him why, he distracts me with kisses or food or makes lame excuses about work. I rub my hands over my face and take a deep breath.

I’m not being fair. His work is anything but lame. Me craving his closeness in the morning is purely selfish.

But it hurts no matter how I try to trick myself into saying it doesn’t.

I sit up and swing my legs to the floor, but clench my fists in the comforter and stay seated as the room spins. The stress of the last few weeks keeps randomly catching up with me.

Yesterday I almost lost my lunch when I drank too much coffee on an empty stomach.

The day before, I couldn’t get a weird smell out of my nostrils.

Three days ago, I lost track of time and spent nine hours bent over my sculpture before coming out of my muse-inspired tunnel vision. I stood up too fast and passed out for the first time in my life. I’ll never live down the embarrassment of waking with my classmates staring down at me as my instructor tapped my cheek and called my name.

I haven’t told Nico, and I never will. He’ll no doubt demand a goon sit at the back of the studio if I do.

Nausea rolls through me, but I breathe through my nose until it passes. My head stops spinning. I open the water bottle from my bedside table and take a few sips before slowly standing. When I don’t feel like throwing up or passing out, I stumble into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face until I feel human again. After drying my face on a towel, I reach for my toothbrush and toothpaste but find the tube empty. I toss it in the trash before opening the cabinet under the sink. As I reach for new toothpaste, the box of tampons tucked in the back catches my eye. My heart lurches.

I scoff and close the cabinet. Smear toothpaste on my toothbrush. Chuckle at my silly response. Stick my toothbrush into my mouth and toss the toothpaste on the counter. Start brushing my teeth. Pause as white foam escapes my mouth.

Dates flit through my mind.

We have less than two months until our wedding. It’s only been nine weeks since I learned I’d be taking Camilla’s place.

I lost my virginity to Nico Russo eight weeks ago.

Eight weeks. No bleeding.

Fuck.

Dizziness. Nausea. Sensitivity to smells.

Nope. I’m not doing this.

I close my eyes and finish brushing my teeth, but my aggression makes my gums bleed. Pink stains the toothpaste as I spit into the sink.

Sensitive gums? Is that another sign?

My heart pounds in my ears. I search the bathroom but don’t find what I need, so I press the heels of my palms over my eyes and force myself to breathe normally. Mini-freakout averted, I get dressed and go through my normal morning routine before hiding in the corner of my closet and calling Natalie. After an awkward moment, I blurt out my request.

Nico will never give me the freedom to walk into a drugstore alone and buy what I need in secret. She’s my best bet, if she can keep it quiet.

She squeals in excitement, but I shush her and whisper my plea. When she finally calms down, she agrees and promises to meet me for lunch on campus.

I hang up and take a few deep breaths before joining Nico in the kitchen. After a light breakfast, I rush him through leaving the apartment under the guise of wanting to get to work on my sculpture, and once I get to the studio, I surprise myself by losing myself in shaping clay until my phone rings. I wipe my hands on my apron and answer Nat’s call on my way to the sink at the back of the classroom. She agrees to wait in the hall for me.

Under the guise of our normal hello hug, she passes me the test. I tuck it in my bag and wave an annoyed hand at my bodyguard. He clears the bathroom stalls before giving me approval to enter. Natalie waits in the hall.

I rush into the handicap stall, pee on the stick, shove it back in the sleeve, and set it upside down on the tiny shelf. In a fit of nerves, I use the two tests still in the box, place them beside the first, start a timer on my phone, and bounce my leg in impatience.

Deciding I can’t wait on the toilet for the results, I grab some paper, clean myself up, fix my clothes, and wash my hands before pacing back and forth in the stall.

The timer goes off.

I check the first test. The second. The third.

Positive. All three.

I’m pregnant.

I slide down the wall and hover with my butt an inch above the ground, unwilling to sit on the bathroom floor even in my shock.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating.

I shove the tests back in their sleeves, chuck them in the small empty brown bag from the receptacle on the wall, and toss them in my purse.

Natalie looks up from her phone as I step into the hall. I shrug, clinging to my denial with every ounce of my strength, and lead her to the cafeteria. We settle at our normal table and, after a few moments of awkward silence, start a comfortable conversation. She gives me concerned glances when she thinks I’m not looking, but she’s not as sneaky as she thinks she is.

I finish almost everything on my plate but leave half my coffee in my mug. As I wait for Natalie to finish her lunch, I pick at the clay under my fingernails.

The urge to dive back into my art rises. Natalie smiles and makes her excuses about getting back to her own work, so we say goodbye—with an extended hug as she tries to read my mind, but I keep my thoughts blank—and I head straight to my station as soon as she leaves. For a few hours, everything except the clay in my hands fades away, and I smile in satisfaction when another piece fits exactly where I want it. I step back and inhale a shaky breath.

It’s not perfect, but my heart aches to share it with Nico. He may not understand, or even care, but for the first time in my life, I want to show my work to someone who’s important to me.

Nervous energy jangles through me.

Maybe not today. I’ve put my system through enough shock already.

Pain pulses in my temples and my head spins. I drink some water from my travel mug, plop onto my stool, and pull out my phone.

Nico won’t leave work for another two hours, but I grind my teeth in frustration, exacerbating my headache, as the normally comforting sounds of the studio grate on my nerves. I wash my hands, hang my apron, and drop my phone into my purse.

The brown paper bag mocks me. My headache intensifies. I grab my water and wave goodbye to the few classmates in the studio before heading into the hall.

Marcello stands.

For the first time since he started watching me, I approach him with a request.

“Can you take me home? I’m not feeling too well.”

“Of course, boss lady. Does the boss man know?”

“I’ll call him in the car.”

“Did something happen?” he asks with a lean to look behind me at the studio door.

“Nope, I just need a nap,” I say.

When I shuffle toward the exit, he follows without hesitation.

I settle into a car I’ve never been in before, but I recognize the driver from the first time Nico chided me for not being aware of my surroundings. After Marcello shuts my door and settles in the passenger seat, I drop my head onto the headrest, needing a moment to collect myself before I call Nico.

When I hit send, he answers on the first ring. The driver backs out of the parking spot and pulls onto the road.

“Hey, principessa , everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I say before clearing the emotions from my throat, “but I’m tired, so we’re leaving the studio now.”

“You’re in the car with Marcello?”

“Yeah, and the driver with the big nose,” I mouth an apology to him through the rearview mirror. He just chuckles and focuses on the road. I turn my gaze to the ceiling and recite the license plate number to Nico before he asks.

“Good girl. Are you feeling sick?”

“No, just tired, but um…” The line goes quiet as I try to figure out what I want to say to him. “Can you come home early tonight?”

When he doesn’t immediately respond, my heart sinks, and I rush to hide my disappointment.

“Don’t worry about it, I can—”

“What’s wrong, Serenity?”

“Nothing, I just—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I want to show you my sculpture tomorrow morning.”

The confession bursts from me with such desperation I wonder if I’ve lost my mind. When I realize I probably have, I drop my face into my hand.

After a few heartbeats of silence, his husky voice rumbles over the line.

“Really?”

I clear my throat and lift my head.

“Yes, really.”

“I’m honored, principessa ,” he says.

Tears gather on my lashes, and I ride the wave of emotions.

“Actually, there’s something else I want to tell you, too, but not over the phone. It’s okay if—” Marcello’s shout interrupts me. The driver jerks the wheel so hard I hit my head on the window.

A woman screams—me, I realize—as metal crashes and the world flips upside down. Nico’s voice, tinny and small, pings around me as the car rolls again. Pain blasts through my entire body as another car smashes into ours, and for a moment, I slip into blissful nothingness.

My return to reality lands me in a nightmare. Blood covers the windshield and drips from the dash onto the ceiling. Two bodies hang motionless in front of me. My arms dangle above my head. I blink. Everything remains fuzzy, but I force myself to move. I fumble with my seatbelt, focused solely on ending the agony of it digging into my hipbones, and finally process I’m hanging upside down as I free the latch. I grunt in pain as I hit the roof of the car.

Nico yells at me. I reach for him.

Hands close around my ankles and yank me through the shattered window. The contents of my purse scatter over the debris.

I clench my numb fingers around my broken phone and kick the hands off my ankles, uncaring if they’re friend or foe. Memories flash through my mind. My sister’s limp frame as my father carried her up the stairs. Natalie’s infant body covered in bandages. Nico’s hand hanging off the side of the hospital bed.

I shove my phone into my bra before more hands roll me over.

“Don’t touch me!” I scream.

“Get the bitch in the van.”

Bile rises in my throat as the familiar voice transports me back into the supply closet. I turn my head and vomit.

Ralf.

Brutal hands lift me off the concrete and toss me into the back of an empty cargo van. A beefy guy with blonde hair and tats all over his face sits on top of me, stealing my breath, and ties my wrists together before reaching for my ankles. Two more men jump into the vehicle and slam the door closed.

Through the shock and pain, my heart screams for Nico, but the phone wedged inside my bra remains silent—probably broken, my frayed mind offers.

But maybe it isn’t. If Nico heard me scream, he probably hit mute. He’s smart. And fast.

If anyone can save me, it’s him. He’s the most ruthless, powerful man in New York City. He’ll come for me. I’ll be okay.

Even as part of me demands I stay awake, I slip into oblivion.