Page 13 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

Tony never mentioned it, but I could tell he was on edge.

He was here the next day as usual, but he seemed disoriented, like maybe he’d been drugged or something.

And as for Eugene, the only thing he said was that he was sorry he missed me leaving that night.

He told me he was on a smoke break, but he was gone for way too long for that to be true.

Her brows scrunch together, and I’m sure she’s questioning my sanity, too. Logically, she should. I have no proof that anything even happened.

Listen, we need to figure all of that out, she agrees. But I think we should circle back to what I said earlier. If someone is after you, that’s all the more reason to use the Aegis network to get you out. Away from them and free and clear of this wedding.

I sigh and shake my head, refusing to entertain that option. Even if we could make it happen, that’s a last resort for me. I’d have to leave everything behind—my family, my friends, my career. If I don’t have those things, I have nothing.

You’ll always have me and Gabi , she assures me. No matter where you are. We’d find a way.

I don’t tell her that she’s living in a dream with that notion. Valentina has a tendency to be more of an optimist than a realist, and I can’t fault her for that. She’s the baby of the family, and though she’s faced challenges, the world hasn’t fully hardened her yet.

I hold my head high and rise from my seat. “It will all work out, so please don’t worry about me. But now I really do have to go.”

I’m halfway to the door when Val blurts out her reply. “Mom wouldn’t have wanted you to go through with this.”

I turn and offer her a sad smile. “I know. Maybe that’s why she’s not here.”

She couldn’t save us, and she knew what the future held. So, I guess she spared herself the pain.

Thanks for looking after her , Natalia signs the words to me before she peers down at baby Madalena sleeping in her stroller.

“It’s no problem.” I glance between her and her husband Alessio, noting the unholy glow on their faces. “What are godmothers for?”

A flush creeps over Natalia’s cheeks as she signs to her husband, accusing him of giving them away.

My heart nearly melts when he signs his response, given that he’s only recently learned ASL.

The man was quite literally a stone-cold killer when Natalia came into his life.

But looking at them now, it’s safe to say I was right when I once told her that if she was lucky, they would learn to love each other.

Alessio Scarcello is Angelo’s cousin, but he’s never sworn an oath to the Cosa Nostra .

He works primarily within IVI, the other secret organization that rules our lives.

It’s an ancient order with powerful connections all over the world—including government and politics.

While the Cosa Nostra is known for being the knee-breaking variety of law and order, the Society is often spoken of as a more refined style of Mafia.

Alessio and I run in the same Society circles, and he often gives his friends referrals to me as a stylist. When his wife needed a new wardrobe and someone fluent in ASL, he asked for my assistance.

But as it turned out, Natalia and I hit it off so well that we became close friends.

I’m honored to call her as much, and even more so that she would choose me as the godmother of their angelic baby girl.

“You do know I can understand everything you’re saying, right?” I interrupt their conversation.

They smile at each other and return their attention to their little girl.

They’re both lovestruck by their sweet Madalena, and as I watch them with her, a hollow ache expands in my chest. There was a time in my life when having a family of my own was all I ever dreamed of, and sometimes, I still imagine what that would be like.

But today isn’t about me, so I push that thought from my mind and focus on my duties here and now.

The representative from IVI approaches and clears his throat, informing us he’s here to witness the ceremony of Madalena’s baptism.

“We’ll be starting soon,” he says. “Where is the godfather?”

Alessio checks his phone, and I glance at Natalia as it occurs to me I never asked who the godfather was. Before I get a chance, the church doors open, and Alessio looks up.

“There he is.”

We all turn, and before I can brace for impact, my gaze collides with a pair of dark, expressive eyes and a face that’s haunted me for six long years.

The world tilts as my breath catches in my chest and my mind scrambles to make sense of what I’m seeing. I can’t move. I can’t even blink.

This isn’t real. There’s no way he could possibly be standing here right now.

Except, he is.

My eyes drift down the length of his body, drinking in every detail of his muscular frame. There’s no trace of the boy I once grew up with. Prison has carved out any softness that may have existed in him, and he came back built for war.

Over the years, I’ve heard him described as the devil in a suit, and right now, he looks downright sinful.

In his all-black ensemble—fitted waistcoat, trousers, and dress shirt left open at the neckline—he looks every bit the fallen angel coming to exact his punishment on this earth. Or more accurately, me.

A shiver moves through me as my eyes settle on his face. On a scale of zero to ten, Angelo Vitale has always been god tier. He’s the brutal kind of handsome most people can’t look directly in the eye because it feels so… intense .

That hasn’t changed.

He still has the same warm, olive complexion and shiny black hair, with that devilish swooping curl that falls over his forehead.

His features are commanding in a way that makes you forget your own name.

Dark lashes, a smoldering gaze, and a sharp jawline framed by a controlled stubble give him a rough polish.

Beautiful torment.

That’s what he is.

Without consciously being aware of what I’m doing, I stumble from my seat, my heart rate rising too rapidly.

“Angelo?” I choke out his name, desperate to confirm my eyes aren’t deceiving me.

His gaze cuts over me, colder than I’ve ever seen it.

“Hello, Abella,” he answers with an icy smile. “Nice to see you too.”

The room spins as my vision narrows to a pinpoint, and before I can draw another breath, my legs give out from beneath me.

Someone mutters a curse and captures me before I hit the floor. Fog fills my head as it lolls to the side, and when my face rubs against a solid chest, I detect the faintest hint of citrus and cloves. A scent I know for certain…I’m no longer imagining.