Page 45 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

The entire table falls dead silent, the men sneaking glances at Carlo as they all wait for him to answer. Only, I’m hoping he spontaneously chokes on his tongue because if he says what he’s thinking right now, I am so screwed.

“Eh, what do you want me to say, Angelo?” Carlo shrugs. “It’s not like you need to piss circles around her. Everyone knows Matteo?—”

A gunshot rings out before he can finish that sentence, and blood sprays across the table. Carlo clutches his throat, wheezing out a curse before his gaze locks on Angelo.

“You stupid cornutu .” He starts to laugh, even as he chokes on his own blood. “She’s going to fuck you over. Matteo told me everything.”

Angelo’s gaze cuts to me, inky black and steeped in fury. I can’t hide my horror, and I’m already shaking my head in denial. I don’t want to believe Matteo would do that, but why else would Carlo say it?

“What is he talking about, Abella?” The chill in Angelo’s voice sends a shiver straight through me.

“I…I don’t?—”

It’s all I manage to get out before Angelo rises from his seat, his command slicing through the air with razor-edged authority. “Everyone out.”

The guests abandon their seats as Angelo kicks Carlo’s chair back, knocking him onto the floor. He wrenches a cloth napkin from the table and kneels beside the man who holds my fate in his hands.

“Tell me.” He clamps the napkin over the wound to stem the bleeding.

Carlo gurgles a response, blood exploding from his lips. His words are no longer decipherable.

“Tell me.” Angelo fists Carlo’s shirt by the collar and yanks him up into a sitting position, but it’s no use. Carlo sputters out his last breath, then falls limp.

For a moment, I stand there in shock, watching as Angelo closes his eyes and exhales a sharp breath. Every muscle in his body draws tight as he shoves Carlo’s body back to the floor and turns his gaze on me.

My flight response kicks in, and I run.

I burst out of the house and stumble over the cobblestones as his footsteps echo behind me.

I can’t make it over the gate, and I really have nowhere to go, but giving up isn’t an option.

I round the side of the house and skirt around the pool, spotting a gap in the hedges I can squeeze through.

But as I’m closing in on it, an unyielding arm captures me from behind and brings me to a dead halt.

“Abella.” Angelo cocks his revolver and shoves it beneath my chin.

A cocktail of fear and adrenaline surges through my veins as I consider the possibility he might actually do it. One humiliation was tempting fate. Two, I’m not sure I can survive.

Carlo Pagnotto said what the whole room was already thinking, and he made sure to sign my death warrant, too.

“Tell me.” Angelo breathes hard, his rage a palpable heat behind me.

“I don’t know,” I blurt.

What’s one more lie? I’ve already told plenty of them. There’s no way I’m going to confess everything when he’s this angry. My fragile heart would fare better dead than fractured and tossed into the discard pile.

Just like my mother.

The weight of his finger bears down on the trigger. I squeeze my eyes shut. A sharp, metallic snap splinters the silence, and my heart explodes in my chest.

It was a dry fire. He’s playing Russian roulette.

“Angelo, please.”

“Spare me your begging,” he grits out. “All I want from you is the fucking truth.”

“I don’t know?—”

Another sharp click. Another dry fire.

“Angelo.” Panic edges my voice as I try to pull away, but his grip is too tight.

Click.

“Angelo!”

“Are you willing to take your secrets to the grave, cara ?”

He wheels me around, pressing me against the back of a sun lounge. With a solid shove, I fall forward onto my elbows and catch myself. Angelo yanks my dress up around my waist, the cool air making me shiver.

He presses the gun to the back of my head and slides his palm over the curve of my ass, then down between my thighs.

A faint whimper escapes me as he pulls my thong aside and drags his fingers through my arousal. There’s no logical explanation for how soaked I am. But the low groan that pierces the silence behind me suggests Angelo approves.

Still, he doesn’t show me any mercy as he pulls the trigger again. That’s four. How many times do I have left before he really fires? One? Two?

“Angelo, please,” I cry out.

I hear the sound of his zipper, followed by the rustle of his clothing. When he rubs the head of his cock against me, I arch back into him, desperate for a single shred of his warmth.

“Tell me I can trust you,” he rasps.

“You can.” Another lie.

Fat tears fall down my cheeks as he pulls the trigger again. Deep down, I know this is my last chance. But I can’t bring myself to tell him.

“Angelo—”

He grabs me by the hip and pushes deep inside me without an ounce of softness.

“Oh, God!” I shriek.

“Not God.” He pulls back and slams into me again. “ Il Diavolo. Remember?”

I don’t get a chance to answer. He fucks me hard and fast, the weight of our bodies pushing the sun lounge forward with every thrust. It’s all I can do to breathe as he shows me that, up until now, I’ve only seen his tender side.

This is the merciless devil they whisper about.

“Tell me,” he demands.

Sounds eject from my mouth, but I can’t form words. I can’t even think.

The gun digs into the back of my skull, and I brace myself for the inevitable.

All the agony, the fear, the sheer unfairness of it all—it boils over and explodes as I come around his cock with a sob.

Tremors roll down my spine, pulsing through my body as I clench around him.

When he buries himself as deep as I can take him, I live in that moment from one breath to the next.

He empties his cock inside me without so much as a groan, and I feel how hollow it is for him.

It was just a release, and nothing more.

He taps the gun against my skull. “Tell me I can fucking trust you.”

“You can,” I whisper, wishing more than anything it were true.

He pulls me upright in his arms, stroking the side of my face with his gun before he presses it against my temple.

“You can trust me, too, Abella,” he breathes the words against my hair.

I close my eyes, and the world fades away as I wait for the final pull. The pressure against my skull increases as he eases the trigger back, and I consider my last words. But all I can think is… we were supposed to have thirty days.

Boom.

My body explodes forward, and water rushes into my mouth and nose. Limbs flailing, I try and fail to find purchase. My dress billows around me as I sink to the bottom of the pool. A second passes, followed by another, and I accept my fate—ready to greet death with the only dignity I have left.

My heart rate slows as time suspends itself, and I wait to bleed out. Only, I don’t. When I open my eyes, all I see is blue.

I bob back to the surface, coughing and sputtering as I wipe my face and peel back my wet hair. My senses come back slowly as I feel around my head and find it completely intact.

The gun was empty.

Angelo’s dark silhouette hovers on the edge of the pool, his face the cold mask of Il Diavolo.

“Do you know what happens when your word means nothing?” He smooths his hair back and straightens his tie. “Empires fall.”