Page 17 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ANGELO

T he Moretti family home sits on the western side of Black Stag Island, overlooking the rocky cliff where Martina Moretti ended her life. Knowing her husband, I can’t say that I blame her.

The white stucco house is sizable by most standards, though it’s the smallest on the island.

Inside, the walls and furnishings are either beige or neutral, expensive but cold.

The Morettis are wealthy, but not Vitale wealthy.

Maurizio has done well for himself, carving out his own slice of business in the Cosa Nostra as an accountant.

He funnels laundered money through shell companies and takes a cut for his troubles.

It’s kept him in a cushy lifestyle with free time to indulge in his favorite hobbies.

The man loves to eat, drink, smoke, and fuck.

It's not a surprise that tonight, when I walk past his office, I catch a glimpse of him fucking the maid through the cracked door. He’s grunting like a hog, and by the time I’ve ascended the stairs, he finishes the performance with a labored splutter I rather wish I hadn’t heard.

As I walk down the familiar hall to Abella’s room and open the door, silence and darkness greet me. Unlike her father, she maintains a regular routine and is generally asleep by eleven. I know this, just as I know every visitor, call, and text she’s had over the past six months.

Short on that list is her fiancé, and as my eyes fall on her sleeping form in the bed, I have to wonder what soured their relationship.

It’s one of many questions that have plagued me since I’ve allowed her to occupy my thoughts again.

But as I catch sight of her engagement ring on the nightstand, my curiosity dies as swiftly as it sparked.

I don’t have a reason to be here. With the memory of my father’s final gasping breath still fresh in my mind, it’s a distraction at best. But I suppose I could use something to clear my mind. Right now—I’m in the mood for punishment.

I pick up Abella’s ring, examining the piece that’s the opposite of what I chose for her. The diamond is dull, small, and decidedly boring—just as their relationship has panned out to be. And yet…this is what she chose.

I return it to the nightstand and retrieve her phone, using the pin code to access it. As I scroll through her messages and emails, there’s nothing of note that I haven’t already seen. It doesn’t stop me from checking everything else anyway.

When I find her cycle tracking calendar, I take screenshots of the data and send them to my phone.

Once that’s done, I open her Kindle app to see what the little deviant has been up to this week.

As I scan the highlights she’s made in her most recent book, it serves as a reminder of how much the little liar’s preferences have changed over the years.

Gone are the sweet, thoughtful heroes from her stories.

In their place are men of a darker nature.

Men who take, torment, and use the heroines.

Admittedly, I haven’t been able to stop imagining myself as the man who uses her at his leisure.

There was a time when I questioned if she was capable of withstanding the darkness in me.

She was far more delicate then —a Mafia princess raised to be polished, quiet, and obedient.

But in my absence, she’s forged a backbone of steel and learned to speak her mind.

Judging by her library, those aren’t the only things she’s changed.

As I read through a rough sex scene she saved, it triggers an unwelcome image of Matteo fucking her that way. For years, those thoughts have rattled around my brain. How many times has he touched what didn’t belong to him?

More importantly, did he forget that I like my revenge biblical?

My fingers skim the delicate curve of Abella’s neck before drifting to her beating pulse. I press against that space, wanting to inflict, even for a moment, a fraction of what I feel when I look at her.

Her eyes flutter open and settle on the balaclava obscuring my face. One glimpse into those pale green irises sends blood rushing to my traitorous cock.

She’s soft and drowsy—blinking through the fog of the sleeping pill she took earlier. A flicker of uncertainty ghosts across her face as she lingers between consciousness and a dreamlike state, wondering if her eyes deceive her. When she reaches out to touch me, my grip on her airway tightens.

“Is this real enough for you?”

One second stretches into the next as she holds my gaze. Her breaths are shallow, but even. She doesn’t try to pull away. She doesn’t beg or cry. What she does is far worse.

She surrenders.

The beat of her heart slows to a crawl as her eyes move over my silhouette. So full of trust. So fucking deceptive.

The tender give of her flesh beneath my brutal fingers feeds the darkness inside me. It thirsts for more. It demands all of her.

I hate her for it.

I’ve tried to stay away, but I can’t. For months, I’ve collected the intimate details of her life. I know the way she breathes when she sleeps, and how her hair slides over her pillow like silk. I know her fears, her fantasies, and the way she looks when she’s left alone with her thoughts.

As she submits to me now, I also know that I was right when I told her she would crave this.

The edge of terror and uncertainty gets her off. Convenient, given that I want to punish her until the end of fucking time.

“Was it worth it?” I murmur, brushing the hair back from her face.

Tears hover on the edges of her eyes as she blinks rapidly, trying to dispel them. She doesn’t answer me, and it only fuels my anger.

“Tell me to stop.” I press deeper into her throat.

She gives me the tiniest shake of her head, and I glare down at her. I’m half-tempted to lecture her about letting masked men choke her to the point of unconsciousness, but I prove my point by releasing her instead.

She coughs and sputters on a ragged breath, a tear finally spilling free and rolling down her cheek. I catch it with my thumb and press it to her lips, my blood heating as they part for me. Her tongue lashes against my rough skin, and she pulls me deeper, tasting me.

The wet sound of her mouth reverberates through my cock, and my irritation dispels in a primal haze of hunger.

I drag my thumb free of her lips and peel the covers away from her body, revealing a white nightgown that hugs every curve. Her nipples spear the delicate fabric as a full-body tremor moves through her.

The little liar is aching for it.

She lets out a startled yelp as I tug her upright and pivot her body, tossing her back down so she’s horizontal across the bed.

I grab her by the ankle and drag her closer until her ass is hovering on the edge of the mattress.

Then I drape both her arms above her head, pinning her there with my grip as I lean over her.

“Don’t move.”

She nods, chest heaving as I release her wrists and slide my calloused hand into her nightgown to grope her breast. A tortured whimper falls from her parted mouth as she arches into me, warmth blazing beneath her skin.

With a yank, I pull down the top of her nightgown, exposing her obscenely generous tits. A breath hisses through my teeth as I palm them, gripping and squeezing with a roughness that rips another moan from her chest.

They’re maddeningly perfect. The kind of soft I want to sink my teeth into and never let go. I’ve had six long years to plot my revenge, and in that time, I’ve imagined the countless ways I would fuck her, torture her, and mark her—starting with the most sensitive places on her body.

I adjust the balaclava, exposing my mouth as I dip my head to lick her nipple. At the first lash of my tongue, she gasps, her spine bowing off the bed.

“You like that, cara ?” The words blow across her skin, sending another shiver through her.

“Yes,” she breathes.

Tension stretches through her body as my mouth latches onto her nipple, biting down, then sucking slow and deep as she trembles beneath me. I test her limits, pushing them until she cries out, and I release her tender flesh with a growl.

Warmth blooms around her nipple, leaving a deep violet imprint of my mark on her. A dark, throbbing satisfaction beats against my chest.

“You want more?” I tease the words against her.

She bites her lip and nods.

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please,” she rasps, her voice still rough from sleep.

I slide a hand between her thighs, pleasure zipping down my spine as my fingers slip through her arousal.

Fuck.

Staring down the temptation of a relapse, my intentions unravel.

“Where has he touched you?” I grit out.

“He hasn’t.”

I don’t believe a fucking word she says, but I wouldn’t accept any other answer right now.

Kneeling in front of the mattress, I hook my hands beneath her legs and spread her thighs. The sweet scent of her arousal hits me like a drug, and I close my eyes and inhale, chasing the high.

Torn between the need to punish or pleasure her, I drag my tongue up the seam of her pussy and nip at her clit. She bucks against the bed, a strangled sound lodging in her throat.

I unzip my pants and fist my cock as I watch her squirm, so fucking desperate for a release. Liquid heat drips down her thigh as a solitary thought loops through my mind.

I lap up the trail of wetness and circle her clit as I stroke myself with a rough grip.

I want to bring her to the edge and abandon her to dissatisfaction.

It’s the least of what she deserves. But every sound that passes her lips vibrates through me, fanning the warring flames of my desire and revenge.

My tongue sweeps inside her, velvet heat wrapping around me like a glove. She rolls her hips against my mouth shamelessly, her fingers reaching down to grab the back of my skull.

In response, I pull away and smack her pussy, prompting a sharp gasp from her lips.

“What did I say?”

She peers at me in the dim light, raising her hand back to where I left it. So fucking obedient when she wants to be.

I make her lie there, waiting me out as I palm my cock with lazy strokes. I made a deal with myself about how things would play out after tonight. But that depends on her. And right now, there’s no better test.

A long stretch of silence passes before she takes matters into her own hands and reaches down to touch herself. Again, I smack her hand away, and she glares up at me.

“Tell me what you want,” I growl.

“I want to come.”

“And?” I drawl.

She licks her lips, her eyes drifting to my cock.

“I want to feel you inside me.”

A low, feral groan rumbles from my chest as I shake my head. She has no fucking idea the fuse she just lit.

“Be careful what you wish for, principessa .” I slide my free hand beneath her ass and squeeze the flesh.

She whimpers as I scrape my teeth against her thigh, biting and licking my way back to her pussy. My tongue dips inside her, alternating between fucking her and sucking on her clit.

I draw it out, savoring the visible ache in her body. Her thighs squeeze around my head as she starts pleading incoherently. With every word, she secures her fate.

Pressure builds and her body trembles, hovering dangerously close to her release.

My fingers scrape over her ass cheek, leaving a trail of fire as goosebumps erupt in their wake.

Ragged breaths spill from her lips as she arches up, her breasts bouncing as she lingers on the edge of the cliff.

I leave her there for far too long, letting her drown in agony before I finally shove her off.

She comes with a cry, her body jerking with violent spasms as she gushes into my mouth. I lap at her, soaking up her cum until it pushes me past my breaking point.

Fisting my cock, I lean over her, slapping one palm on the bed as I blow my load all over her pussy. Pleasure rolls through my body as I watch my hot cum drip down into her hole. It summons the beast in me, and I can’t deny him.

I scoop up my cum and shove it deeper inside her with two of my fingers. A breath catches in her lungs as our gazes collide. And in that moment, as my eyes move over her, panting and stuffed full of my seed, a thought settles in my mind.

You just signed a deal with the devil, Abella Moretti.