Page 27 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

“We’ll help you with your veil.” Mariella pulls me in for a hug and whispers in my ear, “He’ll pay for this.”

I nod, more out of reflex than thought. Right now, my more immediate concern is this wedding.

The girls fuss over me for the next few minutes, attaching my veil before they hand me a bouquet of black and burgundy roses. At this point, I’m not surprised those have been changed, too.

Right before we’re set to begin, two guards appear with my father in tow. He’s been cleaned up, but his black eyes and barely concealed rage are all too visible. I have no doubt he’s already planning to wage a war for this humiliation, but there isn’t time to dwell on it.

The notes of Canon in D drift from the small string ensemble near the wedding pavilion, and I draw in a shaky breath.

It’s officially show time.

Each of my bridesmaids gives me a hug before reluctantly leaving me to join their groomsmen for their journey down the aisle. Gabi remains with me until the very last possible second, squeezing my hand so tight I’m certain neither of us can feel them anymore.

“That’s enough,” my father growls under his breath. “Let’s get this over with.”

To my surprise, Gabi levels him with a glare that nobody would expect from her, let alone a woman the size of a pixie. My father grinds his teeth, but a quick glance at the guards makes him think twice about responding.

“Through every version of us.” Gabi leans closer, murmuring the words only for me.

I nod at her, my eyes brimming with tears. It’s the pact we all made with each other. No matter what life throws at us, we’ll always have each other—through every season, every storm, and all the things in between.

“Through every version of us,” I repeat the words back to her.

She gives me one more small smile before she follows the procession, leaving me there with only my father and an army of guards ready to contain me if I should run. I glance at Nicky, and he nods at me, offering his quiet reassurance.

The final chord of Canon in D fades into a beat of silence that makes me hold my breath. My father says nothing as we step up to the gate, taking our positions side by side. He just stares straight ahead as he holds his arm out for mine.

Somehow, I manage to dissociate while I slip my arm through his and stare up at the sky, imagining I’m floating away on a cloud.

The first ominous notes of a cello fill the air, and it takes me only a moment to recognize the haunting crescendo of Mozart’s Lacrimosa —a requiem often reserved for funerals. It’s a piece I definitely didn’t choose.

That dark, haunting melody wraps around me like an omen as my father drags me forward, and I nearly stumble over my dress in his haste.

We pass through the gate and round the corner, and I get my first glimpse of the wedding guests.

Packed into rows of black chairs lining both sides of the pavilion, at least two hundred sets of eyes fall on me.

Many of them are families within the Cosa Nostra , but there are also members of IVI present, including the traditional men in cloaks to witness the event.

By some small miracle, I force one foot in front of the other as I finally set eyes on the man waiting for me at the end of the aisle. He doesn’t turn to face me, and my brain doesn’t fully register how strange that is as I take in his details in rapid-fire.

Broad shoulders. Sharp edges. A suit cut to perfection.

Something feels off. Maybe it’s just that my heart is beating too fast, and I’m lightheaded…but that doesn’t look like Matteo. And when I make eye contact with my bridesmaids, they all appear equally unsettled.

Without being consciously aware that I’m doing it, I come to a dead halt.

A few audible gasps echo throughout the space.

Some of the women in the audience glare at me, while the men look at my father to act.

His fingers claw into my arm so brutally, it’s sure to leave another mark.

I open my mouth to say something, though what, I’m not certain.

At the same time, the man at the end of the aisle finally turns, and my entire world tilts.

The air punches from my lungs as the dark, calculating gaze of Angelo Vitale meets mine—appraising me as if he’s daring me to run.

My heart thumps erratically in my chest as, all at once, a thousand emotions slam into me. Relief. Confusion. Uncertainty. And then, inevitably, dread. This is no bittersweet reunion.

This is his revenge.

The floor beneath me seems to shift as my eyes rake over the all-black silhouette of a suit tailored for sin. Commanding, polished, and lethal—this is the man with the blood of the Mafia running through his veins.

Il Diavolo .

He’s returned to claw back everything that once belonged to him…beginning with me.

Beside me, tension coils through my father’s body as whispers ripple through the crowd. Everyone’s waiting to see what he’ll do. He’s been caught in a trap by the king of the Cosa Nostra , and his fate rests on how he responds.

Unsurprisingly, he chooses self-preservation as he jerks me forward, hissing at me under his breath.

“This changes nothing. Don’t say a fucking word.”

Whether it’s out of shock or survival, I fall into step and do as I’m told.

Angelo holds my gaze, anchoring me to him as an invisible pull reels me closer to certain ruin.

Fate is a shadow we can’t outrun, and even through my current haze, it’s impossible to forget why this marriage will have disastrous consequences.

Yet, I continue on.

I don’t know what it says about me that I’d choose a raging storm over a quiet refuge, but safety never made my heart race.

We reach the end of the aisle, and my father’s gaze lands on two large streaks of blood slashed across the pavilion. My eyes carve a path over that trail, eventually ending where two guards lie slumped near the bushes, their lifeless expressions staring up at the sky.

My stomach turns as an unsettling thought enters my mind.

Where is Matteo?

“Fuck this up, and you’ll have every last one of us killed,” my father growls in warning.

He releases me, and I offer a slow, mechanical nod as the priest summons me to join Angelo beneath the ceremonial arch.

In addition to the streaks of blood and two dead guards, the backdrop of our wedding is a marble colonnade draped with climbing vines.

Beauty and violence.

I meet the groom where he stands, and his gaze pans the length of my body, soaking in every detail of his stolen bride. Possession smolders behind those dark irises, but that fire turns to ice when they drift back to my face—lingering on my swollen cheek.

The silence pulses with static as his hand curls into a fist and he drags a thumb over his knuckles. Before the priest can utter a word, Angelo leans in, his voice a deadly calm against my ear.

“Give me a name.”

That low gravel-edged command sends a shiver through me. This isn’t a man who bares his teeth for the sake of show. When he asks a question like that, it’s because he intends to draw blood.

I peer up at him, feeling half-drunk as I lose myself in the darkness of his eyes. I shouldn’t like this beast in him, and I definitely shouldn’t feed it.

Nicky saves me from the paralysis of making a decision when he approaches Angelo and whispers something in his ear.

Angelo’s eyes flash, a faint twitch pulsing through his jaw as he pulls back and nods.

That response doesn’t bode well for my father, but I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to think about that right now.

The priest opens the ceremony with scripture, then asks us to join together. Warmth engulfs my fingers as Angelo’s rough hands swallow mine—calloused and tattooed to my softness.

Those hands are intimately acquainted with violence. They’ve broken bones, crushed throats, and bled his enemies dry. They’re the hands of a brutal man, but right now, they feel like a refuge under the watchful gazes of our friends and enemies alike.

In a world where kings reign, loyalty and loathing are both offered up with smiles. Some have come to celebrate this union, while others would love to see us fall. In the Cosa Nostra , it’s never a good thing to be known as a man who hands out second chances. And until me, Angelo never has.

So why now?

Revenge is one thing. Tethering his fate to mine is another.

Whatever his reasons may be, there’s no stopping it now.

The priest concludes his chosen readings and opens the vow ceremony, asking us to declare our intent.

Angelo recites the affirmations first, each line delivered more like a blood oath than a formality.

The words until death do us part roll off his tongue like honey, and that poisoned promise curls through the air, wrapping around my throat like a collar.

It’s an all-too-chilling reminder of what’s at stake, and when I repeat the words back to him, I don’t miss the subtle reflex of his fingers—a silent warning that this time, I better mean what I say.

I articulate every line without faltering, and it seems the entire room takes a collective breath when that part is over.

Nino delivers the rings, the priest blesses us, and we exchange bands.

When Angelo slides the heavy emerald-cut diamond onto my finger, it catches the sunlight and the guests’ attention.

Quiet voices sweep through the crowd, and one of the men whistles under his breath. The glittering diamond is impossible to miss, and that’s the point.

Angelo meets my stunned gaze and responds without a flicker of emotion on his face. “If other men can't see your ring across the room, I'm not doing my job.”

I choke down the sting of his indifference, telling myself it’s better this way. But it’s impossible not to notice how this ring, even at a heftier weight, has such a stark contrast to the way Matteo’s felt like a noose around my finger.