Page 36 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

He turns to go, but freezes at the next words out of my mouth.

“I am sorry, Angelo.”

He tilts his head, his face in profile like he can’t even stomach the thought of looking at me right now.

“For what?” he grits out. “What exactly is it that you’re sorry for? My mother’s death? My father’s? Matteo? Or is it something else you’re thinking of? Perhaps your botched attempt at destroying my life? How many sins do you have to atone for?”

I nod silently to myself. It doesn’t matter what I say or do. The truth is, I’m sorry for all of it. The pain I’ve already caused him and the betrayal still to come. The agony of knowing I’ll never be what he needs. But I can’t tell him that now. What’s the point?

“It’s late.” He turns his back, heading for the dock. “The crew is waiting for us.”

I trail behind him, my attention lingering on the hard, unforgiving lines of his body.

For so many years, he was my protector. My solace.

The one person I trusted more than any other.

I hate that I still long for that part of him when he’s proven it no longer lives.

The worst part is I can’t even fault him for it.

He’s the monster I made.

As I make my walk of shame, I tell myself it could always be worse. I could be Matteo.

At the end of the dock, Angelo crosses the passerelle to the most impressive yacht in port. Its gleaming white hull sparkles under the moonlight, and I stop short when I read the name on the stern.

Dolcezza.

My eyes drift shut as the memory slams into me.

It was one of the summers our families spent along the Mediterranean.

Angelo and I were on the beach as the sun was setting over the horizon.

Waves from the shoreline lapped against our feet, the warm breeze a gentle caress on my skin.

I was looking out over the water when it entered my mind.

Dolcezza. It was the only way to describe that perfect moment in time. After I said it, Angelo echoed my thoughts, but he wasn’t looking at the water. He was looking at me. I knew then that it didn’t matter where we were or what was happening around us. I was his sweetness.

When I open my eyes again, his are on me. Dark and stormy, without a hint that he remembers that day. But then, why would he? Now, his sweetness is this. A palatial vessel with shimmering white surfaces, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a crew waiting in formation to serve his every need.

I offer them a nervous smile as I take off my shoes and walk across to the stewardess waiting to collect them.

“Mr. Vitale,” she greets Angelo first. “Welcome back.”

As she says it, I wonder how many times he’s been on this yacht.

Or, more accurately, this superyacht. I’ve always known the Vitales are ridiculously wealthy—a combination of generational trickle down, a spate of booming investments, and well-maintained business empires.

I’ve known them my whole life, but I couldn’t even begin to list all the things they own.

Even so, it’s difficult for me to imagine Angelo purchasing something of this size when he has an entire island and many other properties at his disposal.

There could only be one reason. He must have been living on it since his release.

“On behalf of all the crew, I’d like to wish you congratulations on your marriage.” The stewardess smiles, ignoring what a mess I am right now. “It’s so lovely to meet you, Mrs. Vitale.”

“Thank you, Veronica,” Angelo replies. “Can you please show Mrs. Vitale to our suite? It’s been a long day, and I’m sure she’d like to rest.”

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

Angelo stays behind with the crew, speaking with the captain as I follow Veronica up the stairs.

“I can give you a quick tour along the way if you’d like,” she offers.

“Thank you.” I nod, too numb to make small talk.

“She has five decks, including an owner’s deck, a VIP suite, four guest cabins, a helipad, and crew quarters with dedicated space for your security team. The lower deck houses your gym, spa, a cinema, and a private library and office space.”

At the top of the landing, she steps aside to let me take in everything as she points out the details.

“This is the main deck. Here, you have your outdoor lounge and bar, infinity pool, main salon with panoramic views, a formal dining area, the galley, and an al fresco dining option on the aft deck.”

Beyond the open lounge, moonlight spills through the floor-to-ceiling glass in the main salon, illuminating the marble floor, crisp white furnishings, and platinum accents. Everything is pristine and expensive, and for a moment, I find myself wondering how many guests Angelo has entertained here.

How many other women?

“Shall we move on?” Veronica asks.

“Yes.” I force the word past my bone-dry throat.

She leads me up the next staircase and gestures to the space in front of us. “Here we are. The owner’s deck houses your suite as well as a private aft deck and pool area. Would you like me to show you the features before you settle in?”

“I think I can manage.” My eyes drift to the additional staircase. “Where does that go?”

“The Skylounge,” she says. “It has a beautiful view over the bow. Perfect for sunset cocktails.”

Or throwing disagreeable guests overboard.

I nod, and she removes the tablet tucked under her arm and presses a few buttons, adjusting the lighting in the suite.

“This controls your lighting, shades, and entertainment system. Should you need anything else, you can contact our butler service twenty-four hours a day, just there.” She shows me the messaging system before handing it over to me.

“I’ve unpacked the luggage that was sent ahead for you, Mrs. Vitale, and there’s a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot and strawberries on the bar.

Is there anything else I can get you right now? ”

“No, thank you, Veronica. I appreciate you helping me get settled in, but I think I’m going to retire for the night.”

“Of course.” She nods. “Enjoy your rest, Mrs. Vitale.”

After she retreats, I waste no time stripping off my clothes inside the suite, discarding them in the first trash bin I find. With that done, I head to the bar and pop the bottle of champagne, pouring a hefty gulp into my mouth and chasing it with three strawberries.

Veronica went to the trouble of bringing them for us, so the least I can do is eat them. That’s what I tell myself as I carry the platter and champagne into the bathroom with me. But the sweet fruit quickly sours in my stomach when I get a look at my blood-stained skin in the mirror.

Discarding the tray of fruit, I turn the shower on hot and step inside with my bottle of champagne. I stand beneath the spray and drink away the memory of Matteo’s lifeless gaze as his blood washes down the drain.

I’m too broken to cry anymore, and I don’t know what that says about me. Matteo protected my secret up until the bitter end, even as he watched me betray him.

Guilt is too heavy a weight to carry , my mother once said. She was conditioned not to blink an eye or lose sleep over any carnage she witnessed during her marriage, and she made sure her daughters were too. It’s the only way to survive this world.

I’m not sure I’m as good at that as she was. Because as I stumble from the shower and set the empty champagne bottle on the counter, I don’t feel so detached anymore. I just feel the crushing weight of sadness and terminal exhaustion.

I don’t bother with a towel or clothes. It’s all I can do to make it to the fluffy, king-size bed, where I face plant into the pillow. And there, I close my eyes and slip off into oblivion.