Page 30 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

A fter a three-course meal, many toasts, drinks, and millifoglie for dessert, the dancing commences. Unsurprisingly, all of Angelo’s brothers ask me for a turn, followed by what feels like every other man in the room.

Out of respect for Angelo, they maintain propriety as they offer me their best wishes. The subject of Matteo doesn’t come up again, and I’m glad for it. There isn’t a man stupid or brave enough to mention it now. It would surely be a death sentence for anyone but Ares Stavros.

For Angelo’s part, he fulfills his obligations by dancing with his nonna, then he makes his rounds to visit with some of the guests.

As the evening progresses, I catch myself watching his interactions far more often than I should.

I’m not the only one, either. It seems everyone has taken an interest in the newly crowned Vitale king.

That energy bleeds off him with every step he takes, every hand he shakes, and every word he utters.

There’s a palpable shift in the men as they stand before him, somehow smaller and less fearsome in his shadow.

Everyone in the room can see it. It was always meant to be this way.

Matteo never had what Angelo does. Other men don’t stand up straighter in his presence or bow to his power. They may respect him, but it’s nothing like this. And in the span of a few hours, it seems they’ve all but forgotten him.

A lump of guilt settles in my gut as I consider what this means for him.

It doesn’t bode well that he’s not here.

Matteo reassured me that his connection to his twin brother would shield him from the fallout of our engagement.

I banked on that promise when I agreed to the deal.

Any other man I’d chosen in Angelo’s place would have been dead as a matter of principle.

But not Matteo. Never Matteo. He, too, was secure in that belief.

So where is he?

Perhaps he’s wherever my father is.

In the middle of that thought, the emcee announces that it’s time for the Tarantella , and a wave of cheers erupts throughout the room.

I have serious doubts about how many of them can make it through the dance, particularly Angelo’s cousin Pepe.

However, they all make a fair go of it, and I’m soon dragged into the circle while Angelo watches, his dark gaze a warm caress on my skin.

It feels strange to dance and laugh when there are so many uncertainties ahead, and it must be evident on my face. As we circle round, Valentina squeezes my hand and leans in to shout in my ear.

“It’s okay to have fun, Abella. This is how it should be.”

I nod at her before we break apart into pairs of two. Cousin Pepe tries to take me for a spin, which ends with him promptly falling on his ass. Angelo’s Uncle Sal drags him off by the collar while everyone laughs. Then someone starts a chant for Angelo to save his lonely bride.

We make eye contact, and the crowd parts as he comes to join me. Angelo has always been too serious for something as lively as the Tarantella . So I’m not surprised when he takes me in his arms and offers the crowd a few performative ballroom spins before slow dancing me toward the end of the song.

His eyes move over my face, taking precise account of every micro-expression, and I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking. He’s questioning if this, too, is an act.

Any fleeting happiness I may have felt is swallowed by that gloom. He will always wonder, and I will, inevitably, always let him down.

This is the fate we’re doomed to.

The song draws to a close, and I release a shaky breath as the emcee announces it’s time for the garter toss. Weddings in the Cosa Nostra are always long, and this one is no exception. But this event signals that the end is nearing, and soon, the marking ceremony will begin.

Rafe brings a chair for us, and Angelo takes a seat while the crowd chants and claps, urging him on.

His dark eyes lock onto mine as he gestures for me, and I take a seat on his lap.

In our world, this is the tradition, because a king would never bend the knee to anyone.

Except, Angelo did… as he made me come with his mouth.

If only his men knew.

His presence wraps around me as he grabs me by the waist and anchors me to his chest. The strong, steady beat of his heart calms the racing in mine, if only briefly.

One of his hands disappears beneath the material of my dress, and at the first brush of his fingers, a shiver rolls down my spine.

His palm slides up my leg, pausing momentarily to snap the band of the garter against my skin before he ventures even farther.

When he clamps his hand around my upper thigh, his pinky finger barely grazing the edge of my thong, a jolt of electricity moves through me.

“Wet for me, cara ?” he murmurs so low nobody else can hear him.

Those filthy words spark a rush of heat beneath my skin that radiates all the way up to my throat. I couldn’t answer if I wanted to, and as I glance up at the crowd, I wonder if they can see how flushed I am.

“Nothing to say?” He hums against me as his palm travels back down, hooking the garter around one finger and dragging it with him.

To my regret, it’s over in a matter of seconds, and I barely register that Angelo slips it into his pocket rather than tossing it into the crowd.

Around us, everyone celebrates, but I feel like a jellyfish in his lap—unable to move or form a rational thought, except for one. Tonight, he’ll be inside me.

“Angelo!” Nonna joins us, shaking her pinched fingers at him. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“It’s the champagne,” I blurt, sufficiently embarrassed by what’s obvious to the whole room. I can feel my entire face overheating, and the last thing I need is Nonna pointing it out to everyone.

“Come.” Nonna helps me up from Angelo’s lap. “I’ll take you to the powder room. Get a breath of air.”

“Don’t be too long,” Angelo tells her. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

“Yes, yes.” Nonna waves him off and links her arm with mine.

To my relief, she leads me out to the long, winding drive for an actual breath of fresh air. Together, we walk in silence for a while, under the watchful eye of the guards.

“You will have a good marriage,” she says finally.

I glance at her. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I pray for it.” She brings the Madonna pendant she wears around her neck to her lips and kisses it, as if it’s so simple.

“Thank you, Nonna.”

She nods, and with that being settled, she moves on to the next pressing topic.

“You know what to expect tonight?” She makes a gesture as if she’s sprinkling seeds. “The garden?”

I can’t help but laugh as I nod emphatically. “Yes, Nonna. I understand.”

“How?” She frowns, worry creasing her brow.

“I read a lot of spicy books.”

She nods, as though that makes perfect sense. “Fabio.”

“Something like that,” I agree for her sake. There’s no way I’m telling her how much romance books have changed since her time.

We reach the resort’s boundary and turn around. As we do, a shooting star flashes across the sky, and Nonna pats my hand.

“See?” She smiles under the light of the moon. “ La Madonna .”