Page 1 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)
ABELLA
O nce upon a time, I thought I knew the exact trajectory of my life. But as it turns out, fate has a twisted sense of humor.
Sand squished between my toes, offering a cool reprieve from the summer heat as the Mediterranean shoreline kissed my skin.
A light breeze carried the familiar scent of citrus and wildflowers while "Al Di Là" played from a distant radio.
It was a perfect encapsulation of a moment in time, and for a few bittersweet moments, I could almost believe I was still there.
More importantly, so was he.
His profile was a hazy outline beneath the blinding rays of the sun. It hurt to look at him, but when it came to Angelo, the pleasure was worth the pain.
That summer had altered my brain chemistry, hardwiring an addiction for him I’d never fully cured. I’d known him since we were kids, but now… he was all man.
Seemingly overnight, his frame packed on muscle while his soft brown eyes melted into velvety darkness.
He’d always been reserved and serious, but the unmistakable disposition of the Mafia had imprinted on him.
He hadn’t said so, but I knew he’d taken the blood oath of the Cosa Nostra . It was always his destiny.
He'd done things we couldn’t talk about, and it had changed him.
Bit by bit, he’d been stripped down and rebuilt into what the life required.
As heir to the Vitale throne, Angelo was fated to reign as one of the most powerful men in Seattle.
That title duty-bound him to the preservation of his family legacy while an ever-threatening war loomed on the horizon.
It also established nonnegotiable prerequisites for his future wife. It was a role I was eager to fill.
I’d known what was expected of me since the day our fathers signed a marriage contract.
With one foot in the Cosa Nostra and the other in a secret society, my existence centered around two purposes.
One was decorative, the other transactional.
Whether it was the Mafia or IVI, a woman’s value always came down to what she could be traded for.
From my rose-colored viewpoint, I considered myself one of the lucky ones. Not only did I know my fiancé, but I actually liked him. In fact, if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that I wanted to marry Angelo Vitale with my whole heart.
We ran wild that summer—sneaking off to vineyards, secluded beaches, and hiding out in tiny cars and boats. I couldn’t imagine any outcome where I wouldn’t be his. The first time his lips touched mine, it lit a fire in me I never wanted to extinguish.
In my love-drunk haze, I begged him to give me everything, but there were some traditions he refused to buck.
Mafia men weren’t supposed to ravage their future wives in an alleyway.
They waited until they were good and properly married before they installed them in a nice house and started procreating like bunnies.
It was the way things were done. So even though patience wasn’t one of my virtues, I waited.
I followed the rules, secure in the knowledge that my future had already been written.
I would be his queen, and nothing else mattered.
I was too na?ve to see any other alternative. I couldn’t have known that my illusion was about to shatter beyond repair. And when I was left to pick up the pieces, one thing was certain. I would never let myself fall in love again .