Page 29 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)
ANGELO
W e enter the room to a wave of applause, cheers, and some drunken gibberish from my cousin Pepe, who seems to have made the most of the open bar already. The man can’t hold his alcohol.
Beside me, Abella takes in the tables dressed with blood-red martinis, black candelabras, and dramatic displays of pomegranates, figs, and berries. Every detail has been painstakingly executed, down to the black and burgundy roses, calla lilies, and orchids.
She doesn’t move for so long, I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll faint again. But instead, she glances up at me with emotion shining in her eyes.
“You did all this.”
The words are too softly spoken to be an accusation, but they feel like one. I answer her with an indifferent stare, failing to eject the cutting remark on my tongue. We have a long night ahead of us, and I need her willing participation until it’s over.
“Hardly,” I answer dryly. “I have people for that, Abella.”
I’m spared from any further observations as the emcee announces our entrance, welcoming us as Mr. and Mrs. Vitale. Taking Abella’s hand in mine, I lead her through the crowd to the dance floor, where she hands off her bouquet to Valentina as the music begins to play.
Lady Gaga’s “Always Remember Us This Way ” is the song that Abella chose for our first dance, which has a certain irony to it now. It’s difficult to believe that six years have passed as we come together, Abella following my lead as I twirl her and pull her close.
Growing up, my mother and Nonna ensured all of us spent countless hours in the ballroom under their militant instruction.
Dancing with Abella isn’t new, but it brings back a familiar itch in my veins as my hand settles on her ribcage and hers warms the nape of my neck.
Our eyes clash as we spin around the dance floor, executing forced intimacy with a precision that could convince even the most skeptical in the crowd.
When we leave here tonight, every man in this ballroom should believe this marriage is rock solid.
Opportunists who see so much as a hairline fracture in the walls of my kingdom will assuredly seize any chance to use it against me.
There’s no hiding her first betrayal. The only way to address it now is head-on, and I can’t think of a more fitting punishment than to sentence her to a lifetime of repentance under the watchful eye of the entire Cosa Nostra .
We transition to a waltz box step, and Abella drifts across the floor, following every cue.
I guide her into a turn, then sweep her up into a lift as a chorus of applause rises from the crowd around us.
When I set her upon her feet again, her body yields to mine, as soft and certain as I remember. She trusts me not to let her fall.
As the song draws to a close, I dip her, sealing the act with a kiss that’s meant to be performative. But she actively engages, parting her lips and sucking the breath from mine.
We linger far too long in the moment, and it drags my mind straight to the gutter.
Soon, I’m consumed by thoughts of fucking her.
Over the years, I’ve convinced myself it’s the only way to purge this problematic attachment to the idea of her pussy.
After too long imagining it, the fantasy had grown too large.
I told myself when I finally had it, reality would never measure up, and she’d be just like any other.
That was before I saw it for the first time. Pretty, pink, and soaked in want—it measured up far more than I care to admit. As much as I loathe her, Abella has proven herself to be the purest high.
I tried and failed a detox program, so the only solution for this godforsaken curse is to claim her and be done with it.
She doesn’t have to like me to like the way I fuck her.
In fact, I can’t think of more than a handful of couples I know who actually like each other.
Factoring in the marriage contract that’s already been signed and paid for, it was the most logical choice to make.
“Planning to break the seal of chastity for all of us to see, Vitale?”
Abella goes rigid in my arms at the sound of Ares Stavros’s voice. When she pulls away from the kiss to snap her gaze to his, my attention follows.
“Or has that already been broken with Matteo?” he taunts.
Tension rolls through my shoulders as I try to recall exactly why I can’t paint this floor with his blood right now.
“You’re really here,” Abella says, a haze of confusion clouding her eyes.
Ares smirks. “Indeed, I am. Much like the plague, dear Abella, you can’t get rid of me so easily. Perhaps we should have wagered on it.”
I glance between them, an undercurrent of displeasure thrumming through my veins as he flaunts his familiarity with her.
“ Coglione !” Nonna charges at him from the side, one shoe already in hand, prepared to wallop him with it.
Ares sidesteps her attack as Rafe grabs hold of her, his lips twitching in amusement. He takes the brunt of Nonna’s wrath, letting her get a few smacks in with her shoe as she tries to fight her way out of his grasp.
“Bust his kneecaps, Angelo!” Nonna shouts.
“If only he could,” Ares goads me.
“Could is a relative term.” I shrug.
His eyes flash with challenge. “If you want to start a bloodbath, be my guest.”
“You’ve witnessed the union, Ares.” Mariella emerges from the fray, her eyes set on his profile. “Now I’m sure you have a plethora of other entertainment options at your disposal.”
His jaw tightens as he turns to face her, and he makes a point of raking his gaze over the length of her body. “Oh, I don’t know about that. The entertainment here seems interesting enough.”
“Talk to my sister again, and I will bust your fucking kneecaps.” I grab him by the collar and wrench him backward, smashing my knuckles into his face.
Romeo and Michele intervene, dragging him away from me before I can murder him. Ares shakes them off and uses his pocket square to dab at the blood on his lip.
“I’ll let you have that one, Vitale,” he says. “Given that it’s your wedding day, and you have a bride to deflower. Or maybe not. I guess you’ll find out.”
“Out!” Rafe manhandles him toward the door, and I stare after him, blood boiling.
“It’s what he wants,” Mariella tells me. “Don’t, Angelo. It’s not worth it.”
I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still want to send his body parts home to his family one by one.
“Alright, everybody.” The emcee taps the mic, effectively drawing our attention back to the stage. “It’s time to find your table and settle in for dinner.”
A collective sigh of relief echoes around us, followed by Pepe grumbling that he’s starving. My gaze catches Abella’s, and she holds her head high, not bothered in the slightest by what just happened. I’m not sure what to make of that, but every man here is wondering if Ares was right.
Tonight, I will see for myself if she lied about that, too.