Page 3 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)
“You take this to your grave,” Valentina demands. “Swear it.”
“Bible.” Mariella raises her right hand. “I would never betray the sisterhood.”
“Doesn’t that mean we should all know?” Gabi muses.
Valentina’s cheeks flush as she regrets her decision to open her mouth in the first place. “Can we please just move along?”
“Fine by me,” Mariella says. “Abella, what’s your piece about?”
“Timeless looks for a capsule wardrobe.” I glance at the next item on my list. “Now, what are we feeling for cocktail of the month?”
“I might be a little biased, but I like this one.” Gabi takes a sip of her chocolate martini.
“That works for me,” Lucia says. “Everyone else good with that?”
After a chorus of agreement, I tap the final item on our agenda. “Okay, and charity of the month?”
A few resounding groans echo around the room.
It’s no secret that every month, no matter who we choose, we’re flooded with complaints from other Society women about why they should have been picked instead.
While there are benevolent charitable groups within the organization, it’s also become a competitive sport among the most elite wives.
“There’s always the Cultured Children’s Association,” Chantel suggests dryly.
“Aren’t they the ones who used the money to travel to Europe while they left their children at home with the nannies?” Lucia asks.
“One and the same.” Val nods.
“I think we should nominate Dr. Mariella,” Gabi suggests, her voice choked with emotion and too much alcohol. “She doesn’t even get credit for all the people she helps.”
“I love philosophical Gabi.” Lucia toasts her empty glass in her direction.
“I know, I’m a lightweight.” Gabi sighs. “But it’s true. She’s like a dark avenging angel. There wasn’t a single redeeming quality in Grant Ellison, and?—”
“Gabs.” Val steals a glance at the door to the hallway, where all our guards are waiting.
“Sorry.” Gabi blows out a breath. “I guess I should have eaten something before I started drinking.”
“I think that’s our cue to call it a night,” I say gently.
She nods, and everyone gathers up their things.
“Can you make sure she gets home okay?” I ask my sister. “I need to finish up some work here.”
Valentina frowns. “You want to stay by yourself? It’s late.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her. “Tony will see me back to the island.”
Val makes a face at the mention of his name. She thinks he’s a creep and doesn’t bother hiding it. “Do you want us to keep you company for a while?”
“I’m good,” I tell her. “I just need some time to focus on this project.”
She offers me an understanding smile. It’s been a rough day, and we could all use a distraction.
“Text me when you’re on your way, so I don’t worry,” she says.
I promise her I will, then I say my goodbyes to everyone else before they clear out of the conference room and shuffle into the elevators down the hall. As I’m about to walk into the reception area of my office suite, I hear Tony gossiping to another guard in there.
“Yeah, another one. Same message. Il Diavolo .”
My skin prickles at the mention of that name.
I’ve been hearing it almost daily for the last few months as the whispers of his transgressions make the rounds through our social circles.
From what I’ve gathered, he’s connected to the recent spate of deaths that’s left everyone on edge.
While violence and murder are far from unusual in the Cosa Nostra , it doesn’t happen this frequently unless someone’s out for revenge.
I knew when I caught my father and Matteo sweating bullets over the mysterious identity behind Il Diavolo , there was something to be concerned about.
They mentioned that whoever he was, he was also using the name Augustine, leaving traces of it in his wake like some kind of weaponized symbolism.
Their theories ranged from ties to the Augustine crime family—which was later debunked—to some kind of twisted play on Saint Augustine’s philosophies.
As if redemption could move in the shadows with black leather gloves and a blade.
It's rare for me to witness my father unsettled by much of anything, but I can’t forget the haunting words he said that night.
Whoever he is, he’ll never let us sleep soundly again.
Tony, however, seems more fascinated than afraid.
“He carves it right into their chests,” he notes. “HQ keeps saying it’s nothing to worry about, but you can bet your ass the Tribunal knows exactly who he is. He’s on a warpath, and they’ve sanctioned it. That’s the only reason they’d be so unbothered.”
The other guard says something in response, but my tablet chimes, alerting them to my presence. They both promptly end the conversation as I glance at the incoming message.
Eavesdropping, Abella?
I glare up at the security camera in the hallway just as Tony and the other guard step out to meet me.
“Everything good?” Tony glances at my chest before his eyes move to my face.
“Everything’s fine,” I clip out. “I’m going to finish up some work in my office.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”
The way he says that makes me feel like I need a shower. I don’t know why my father even bothers with the pretense of a guard when this is who he hires for me.
Scrubbing that thought from my mind, I leave the two guards behind and pass through my reception area into my private office. When I round my desk and notice the gift box sitting there, I freeze.
My first thought is that maybe Gabi left me something, except the gift box doesn’t look like anything she’d pick. The girl is obsessed with pink, and this box is black with gold striping and a magnetic enclosure.
For a moment, I consider asking Tony if he was in here. But he escorted me to the city from the island, and I would have noticed if he’d brought the roses and gift box. They weren’t in my office two hours ago, so someone must have left them while I was in the meeting.
I pick up my desk phone and dial security. Eugene answers on the first ring.
“Miss Moretti, everything okay up there?”
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I hesitate, then add, “I was just wondering if you’d be able to check the security cameras on this floor and tell me who entered my office in the last hour.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you,” he says. “The cameras have been acting up again, and they’re turned off right now. The IT department is working on a fix.”
I frown. The cameras are off, but my stalker is watching me from them. “Okay, well, I won’t keep you, Eugene.”
“Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”
I thank him and disconnect the call, staring at the gift box. On cue, my phone vibrates, and another message pops up.
Is this what you want, Abella?
Taking the bait, I bite my lip and peek inside the box, only to find a printout of my account activity from the reading app I use. As I examine it, a knot tightens my stomach.
It isn’t random. The custom shelves and tags he’s printed out expose all my darkest desires.
Every unhinged fantasy I’ve ever harbored is on display, and as I imagine my stalker reading through this list, heat rushes to the surface of my skin.
It’s like an open door to my most intimate thoughts, and I think this may be his biggest violation yet.
But then again, he’s already proven he has no boundaries.
He’s been inside my home. My bedroom. My office. He’s touched my things, and even stolen a few—namely my pistachio body butter, a bottle of perfume, and the necklace Matteo gifted me for my birthday last year.
He’s proven that he’s willing to push my limits, but this feels different. The lines between a real and imagined threat have blurred, and I can’t tell the difference anymore. How far am I going to let this go?
After today’s events, the thought crossed my mind that if he’s watching me too closely, he might witness something that endangers my friends or the women we help. Protecting the Aegis network is my top priority, and now, I’ve become a liability … because of him.
Fighting the familiar urge to let him pull me deeper into this darkness, I do something I should have done a long time ago. I tap on his message and hover over the block button.
As I’m considering it, another text pops up.
Don’t do it, Abella.
My heart beats a chaotic rhythm as I stare at the screen, hand trembling. He has to be monitoring my activity through the phone. That’s the only explanation. Tony checks my office weekly for cameras or bugs as standard protocol, and he’s turned up nothing.
Either way, this has gone too far, and I have to put a stop to it.
With a shaky breath, I stab at the block button and turn off my phone. Then I sit down at my desk and rouse my computer from its slumber, determined to focus on my work. But as I scroll through the lookbook for my client, searching for fresh inspiration, a different image comes to mind.
Grant Ellison’s bloody face.