Page 24 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

I lean against the patio door, squinting at the morning sun with a pounding headache.

I don’t know that I actually slept. Instead, I found myself staring at the ceiling as I tried to think about anything other than my impending wedding.

But with each hour that passed, it felt like the noose was tightening around my neck.

Every reassurance that I’ve given myself doesn’t seem to matter. Matteo is a good friend, and I have to believe he will try to be a good husband. There’s always a possibility for love to grow. But if it could, why haven’t my feelings changed in the past six years?

I already know the answer to that. It’s the same answer to all my problems. The same source of pain, longing, and resentment. There’s no other way to say it—love him or hate him, Angelo Vitale will always have me in a chokehold.

I close my eyes and blow out a breath, tired of this same old track. It’s time for me to armor up, straighten my crown, and do what I must.

“Nervous about your big day?” Nicky’s voice infiltrates my thoughts.

I open my eyes to meet his. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to be the only guard who’s made eye contact with me this morning.”

His lip twitches. “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”

“I suppose you don’t know anything about who’s been watching me, either.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but that’s your lot in life,” he says. “Being a Mafia princess and all.”

“Really?” I answer dryly. “I never noticed.”

“Glad to see you still have a sense of humor.” He smirks. “It looks like it’ll be a nice day for a wedding.”

“Sure.” I shrug. “Or you could steal a car, drive me to Paris, and leave me at the train station.”

“Sorry, no can do,” he snorts. “Boss explicitly stated that you’re to get married today, and I’m here to make sure that happens.”

I don’t know why those words feel like a hot knife in my chest, but if I had any lingering questions about Angelo, that answers them.

He wants me out of the way, and truthfully, that’s what’s best for everyone in this situation.

“Will you do the same to his bride when it’s their big day?” I ask Nicky.

“Won’t need to,” he says. “I already know she won’t run.”

“Of course not.” I swallow.

Then, before I can stop it, my stupid mouth asks another stupid question.

“What’s she like?”

A hint of amusement tugs at his lips. “Why so curious?”

“Because I’m nosy.” I shrug.

Nicky stuffs his hands in his pockets, considering his words.

“I try not to pay too much attention myself because people say she’s the kind of beautiful that gets men killed.

She’s got one of those hourglass figures like the old Hollywood actresses, and some real nice assets if you know what I mean. ”

“I asked what she was like, Nicky.” I roll my eyes. “Not what she looks like.”

“I’m a man,” he says, as if that should explain everything.

I’m about to tell him to get lost when he decides to expand on that thought with something I rather wish he hadn’t.

“Angelo says she has all the necessary requirements for a Vitale wife. You know…sophisticated, classy, polished. She’s well-mannered, educated, and she knows how to network. And she’s a Society daughter, so she’s pretty much been trained for the role her whole life. She’ll set a good example.”

“I see.” I look past him, blinking rapidly to fight the sting of those words.

Honestly, she sounds like someone I’d be friends with, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I know her.

Whether it’s the Cosa Nostra or The Society, women are taught the same values.

Social etiquette, charm, the importance of appearances—they’re a tool in every wife’s arsenal.

I bet Angelo’s future wife is well put together and always beautiful.

I should be happy for him, and I hate that I’m not.

“It sounds like they’re a perfect match,” I admit.

“I think so.” Nicky nods. “But you really shouldn’t be worried about that today. You have your own wedding to focus on.”

“Right.” I clear my throat. “I should do that.”

With impeccable timing, Valentina bustles into my room, looking more frazzled than I’ve ever seen her.

“Abella!” she shrieks when she sees I’m still in my bathrobe. “We’re behind schedule already. We need to get moving.”

“Well, I was waiting for you,” I groan. “Where have you been?”

She blows out a breath, her eyes darting away as she starts issuing orders like a drill sergeant. “Don’t worry about it. I need you to get showered. You have hair and makeup in thirty. Have you eaten breakfast yet?”

“No,” I tell her. “But I’m not really hungry.”

“I’ll order some fruit and pastries,” she mumbles to herself as she picks up the hotel phone. “Can’t have you passing out.”

I shoot Nicky one last pleading glance, and he tosses me a wink. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Traitor,” I mutter.

He shuts the slider behind him, and Valentina is halfway through her phone order when she glances my way and starts waving her hand frantically.

“Go. Shower. Schedule.”

“Oh my god, okay. I’m going.”

My shower ends after twenty-three minutes, and I know this because Valentina pounds on the door until I make an appearance, rattling off a list of everything we need to do. Even for her, this is a bit much. So I stop the tiny tyrant before she can issue any more orders and attempt to calm her down.

“Val, what’s going on? Why are you freaking out?”

Her shoulders sag as she starts blinking rapidly, fighting off a rush of tears.

“There have been a few hiccups,” she says.

“The flowers were lost in transit. The cake delivery hasn’t arrived, and all the centerpieces and tablecloths went missing last night.

Everything’s going wrong, and I’m trying to fix it?—”

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not?” She sobs. “This is your day, and it’s the most important wedding I’ll ever be a part of, and nothing is going to plan.”

“Val.” I pull her in for a hug and let her be in her feelings for a minute before I talk her off the ledge. “I don’t care about any of that stuff, so please don’t stress about it. Whatever happens, it will be okay. Who cares if we have no cake or tablecloths? Honestly, none of that matters.”

“But you should care.” She wipes her eyes. “That’s why I hate this. And now, instead of your wedding being remembered as a beautiful day, it’s just going to be sad and pathetic. It’s not fair.”

“Val, I can’t have you lose it right now. Not today. If you lose it, I’m gonna lose it.”

“I know, I know,” she blubbers. “I’m sorry. Madonna, Mia. Just…give me a minute.”

She takes a few deep breaths, composing herself, and then steps back into the mask we wear so well.

“Okay, we need to get to the bridal suite. We’ll put on some music and handle our business.”

“That’s the spirit,” I tell her.

Five minutes later, I’m ushered into the bridal suite, where chaos is already unfolding. My bridesmaids flit about the room, carrying heels, dresses, and makeup bags while stuffing croissants in their mouths and washing them down with champagne.

“Hair of the dog?” I shoot Gabs a questioning glance.

“There’s no need to yell.” She moans, pressing her fingers to her temples.

“That good, huh?”

“Why aren’t you more hungover?” she asks.

“There’s no time for this right now.” Val directs me to the vanity chair, but before I can sit down, the door opens again, and Antonella Vitale appears.

“Nonna’s here!” The girls shout in unison, surrounding her as they pepper her with hugs and kisses. It’s a universal rule that no matter who we are, we greet her as such, because in our world, she’s everybody’s Nonna.

She mutters a few words in Italian before setting her sights on me. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Oh, Nonna.” Mariella groans when she spots the bottle of olive oil in her grandmother’s hand. “Is that really necessary?”

“ Sì .” Nonna waves a hand at the girls. “ Vattene .”

“Good luck,” Mariella whispers as they all head to the exit, leaving me alone with Nonna.

I breathe a sigh of relief as she pats my face and looks me over. “ Bella .”

“I don’t even have makeup on yet, Nonna,” I tell her.

“You don’t need it. Now come, stand here.”

I follow her to the beverage cart and observe as she pours a glass of water and opens the bottle of olive oil.

She dips her finger in the oil, using it to anoint my forehead and make the sign of the cross over me as she utters a prayer in Italian.

Once she’s done with that, she dips her finger again and drops the oil into the glass of water, grimacing as the oil breaks apart.

“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, steeling her features with determination.

She says another prayer and anoints me twice more, repeating the process until the oil in the glass is to her liking and she tells me I’m cleansed. But for good measure, she retrieves a jewelry box from her dress pocket and pulls out a gold cornicello necklace.

“Italian.” She taps the metal before she drapes it over my neck.

“Thank you, Nonna.” I kiss her cheek, slightly teary-eyed.

This tradition is significant to her, no matter how silly some may think it is.

Nonna performed this same ritual on her daughter-in-law at her wedding, and many times over the years for her grandchildren, for everything from headaches to minor illnesses.

She will go on to perform the ritual for each of the Vitale descendants when they marry, and in this way, she will welcome new members of the family and protect them.

Though my relationship with Nonna Vitale is as old as I am, this is her way of telling me I’m family now. Her son and daughter-in-law aren’t here to share this experience, and neither is my mother, but I’m grateful for her presence.

“I’m so happy you’re here to share your wisdom and watch over me today, Nonna.” I squeeze her hand in mine.

“There’s no need to worry,” she assures me. “You will have a happy life.”

I don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise, so I nod.

“Okay,” she says. “Time to prepare.”