Page 16 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ANGELO

I n the six years since I left Black Stag Island, little has changed.

Through ancestral heritage, the eighteen-hundred-acre property was divided among the Vitales, the Stavros, and the Morettis—before there was bad blood between the three families.

It boasts dramatic shorelines, sandy beaches, rocky bluffs, and unparalleled mountain and water views.

A dense copse of trees offers privacy from the world outside, and within, a small army of guards patrols the land day and night.

The island is equipped with independent power and water systems, a helipad, paved roads, and yacht slips. It’s long been regarded as a self-sustaining fortress by those fortunate enough to visit, but to me it has always been home.

The Vitale legacy began in Sicily, but during the Mafia crackdown, my great-grandfather set his heart on expansion.

So he bought a vineyard, migrated to the Chianti countryside, and laundered his money through high-end tourism.

After that, he took a piece of the pie in Milan’s finance, and with wealth came the power to capitalize on politics in Rome.

For years, he carved out new territories all over Italy and formed alliances with the Ndrangheta and the Camorra.

From there, he expanded into other European countries and eventually the United States.

With no interest in fighting over territories on the East Coast, he sent my grandfather to conquer the West Coast.

That was how it came to be that my grandfather made his own alliance with the Stavros family patriarch. Together, along with the Morettis, they settled Black Stag Island and built their empires in and around Seattle.

The Vitale legacy has passed down a wealth of properties across multiple continents. But this island is where I was made. It’s where I took my first breath, and it will be where I’ll take my last, if I can help it.

Nicky greets me on the dock with a silent nod, letting me know we’re in the clear.

The guard shift change is happening as we meet, and only two of my most trusted men will know I’m here as I slip onto the Vitale estate.

While I could opt for a more dramatic entrance, the timing isn’t right, and I have other plans to reveal my rightful ascension to the throne.

Nicky escorts me to the waiting golf cart and takes the wheel while I sit beside him, gun resting on my thigh. I’ve planned this visit carefully, but I won’t leave anything up to chance. I learned the hard way never to get complacent, even on your own territory, surrounded by your own blood.

“Everything went smoothly with Abella’s father?” I ask.

He nods. “He didn’t seem concerned, nor did he follow up with IVI to verify my credentials.”

I shoot him a sideways glance. “Is that sympathy I detect in your tone?”

“Never, boss.” He smirks. “I’m just saying, if I had a daughter with a target on her back, I’d sure as shit be doing my homework. Maurizio didn’t look like he gave a fuck.”

“Yes, well, that’s probably true,” I mutter under my breath. It’s a well-established fact that Maurizio Moretti is a slimy, selfish prick.

Right now, the more pressing issue is the fact that Nicky’s been on Abella’s detail for all of five seconds, and she’s already wrapping him around her finger. She has a way of doing that.

Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you Abella Moretti has a heart of gold.

Generous, kind, empathetic, a nurturer. These are all words I’ve heard to describe her character.

She participates in charity and shares produce from her garden.

She volunteers her time and services to new members of the Society, and she helps Nonna make her giant vats of pasta sauce when everyone else bitches about it.

Every time someone tells me a story about her angelic nature, my palm twitches.

Everyone loves her, including my own fucking family.

Even Nonna, who will hold grudges until she dies.

She's still not speaking to a brother who insulted her cooking twenty years ago.But she’s always had a soft spot for Abella. It seems to be a universal problem.

For that reason, I can’t fault Nicky for falling into the same trap. But it doesn’t mean I’m any less irritated by this development.

“Don’t let her fool you,” I tell him. “You can’t ever let your guard down around her.”

He shrugs and wisely decides to keep his thoughts to himself. “Okay, boss.”

I focus on the passing scenery, all familiar yet different somehow.

Everywhere I look, there’s a memory now tainted by betrayal.

Fire crawls through my veins as I recall every fleeting glance between Abella and Matteo, wondering when it started.

When exactly did they decide to remove me from the equation?

I never saw it coming—but it’s a mistake I won’t make twice.

“Boss?” Nicky jerks his head toward a tree as we roll to a stop, and two familiar figures step out from beneath it.

“Mr. Vitale,” Maximo, the head guard, greets me as I exit the cart.

I nod at him before turning my attention to Uncle Sal.

“Angelo, let me get a look at this mug of yours.” He clutches my face in his meaty palms. “We’ve missed you, son.”

“Good to see you too, Sal.” I glance at the rear entrance to one of the caretaker’s cottages. “He’s here?”

A dark cloud passes over Sal’s face as he nods solemnly. “He hasn’t slept inside the villa since your mother died, God rest her soul.”

Both he and Maximo make the sign of the cross, and my jaw clenches. My mother passed away while I was in prison, from what my father insisted was a broken heart. Now, the same fate awaits him.

“Is he alone?” I ask.

“I just gave his nurse a break,” Sal says. “She’ll be back in an hour.”

I nod and stand there silently, hesitant to move. Since my father’s rapid decline, I’ve only seen him a handful of times in person. He’s a shell of the man I once knew, and I have two people to blame for that.

“You’re doing the right thing,” Sal encourages me quietly. “Go, Angelo. We’ll be here when you’re done.”

I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth and walk to the door. When I open it, the sight that greets me punches through my chest. The room is dim, but I can still make out my father’s dwindling frame in the center of the bed.

His eyes are closed, his breaths are labored, and he doesn’t hear me as I take a seat in the chair at his bedside. He’s been heavily medicated to keep him comfortable, but Sal assured me his dosage had been adjusted so he would be lucid for tonight’s meeting.

For a few minutes, I do nothing but look at him. The name Silvio Vitale used to send shivers down spines. Now, he’s a husk of a man. He never could have known that after everything he sacrificed for his family, it would be his own flesh and blood to send him to the grave.

A fresh wave of fury rolls through me when I think of everything Matteo and Abella have robbed from this family. My mother’s life. My father’s health. Years of my freedom. They have fractured the Vitale dynasty beyond repair—all for a wedding that took six years to come to fruition.

I’ve tried to understand it, but I never will. If you don’t have loyalty, you have nothing in this life.

“Angelo?” My name passes from my father’s parched lips as he blinks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Yes.” I lean closer, reaching out for him. “I’m here.”

“ Figlio mio .” A tear leaks from his eye. “You’re home.”

“I’m home, Papà.” I kiss his hand.

This was never how I wanted to remember my father. He’s the strongest, most honorable man I know. He gave all of himself to his family, to this life, to the Cosa Nostra . He taught me resilience, loyalty, and all the things that a man should stand for. He taught all of his sons the same.

He gave us a legacy. Power. Wealth. An entire fucking empire. And still, it wasn’t enough for Matteo.

“Your brother?” he asks.

“I have eyes on him in the city,” I tell him. He’s at the Cat House getting his dick sucked by a woman who looks strikingly similar to Abella.

“And the Tribunal?”

“It’s all settled.”

He gathers what little strength he has to squeeze my hand. “You know what you have to do, Angelo.”

The quiet grief buried beneath his control reminds me who he is. Who he’s always been.

“I understand.”

“Retribution is your birthright.” He lifts his gaze. “A Vitale never lets a slight go unpunished. It applies to all of us.”

“Retribution will be had,” I assure him.

Satisfied, my father sinks back into his bed using the last of his energy. “This is how you’ll honor my name. I don’t want a funeral. I don’t want my children sitting around crying for me. Preserve our legacy. That’s what I ask of you.”

“You have my word.” I nod. “It will be done.”

“Then let me die peacefully. Send me back to your mother, tesoro .”

Agony lodges in my throat as I nod and retrieve the syringe I’ve prepared.

“When you see her, Papà, give her my love.”