Page 56 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)
ANGELO
R omeo’s call came in when I was busy fucking Abella. I suspect there’s very little in life that could motivate me to leave my wife when she’s stripped bare in my bed. But Maurizio had to go and ruin my fun.
It’s the middle of the night, and I’m dragging my ass down to the woodshed. If it weren’t for the worn path leading to the old structure on the edge of the property, it would look like it had been forgotten. Tucked into the overgrowth, the weathered gray planks are barely visible from a distance.
It’s unassuming, but inside, it’s a veritable torture buffet.
One wall is covered in tools that Romeo forged himself, while hooks hang from the rafters.
In the center of the tile floor, a reinforced chair is bolted over a drain.
The walls are soundproofed, and one lone speaker is the only reprieve from the stretches of silence between the torture.
Romeo thrives in silence. He works best at night, alone—away from the world. But when he leaves, he turns on a heavy metal station and lets it play until he returns—usually to a more willing subject.
My brother is perversely calm when he does his job. Most men wouldn’t have the stomach for it, but oddly enough, there’s something about this that grounds him. It’s the release valve for his rage—over everything he lost when the lightning struck.
In his mind, he figures these men will be tortured anyway, so he may as well be the one to do it.
At the back of the structure is a cattle incinerator that Romeo uses to cremate our liabilities.
He used to travel to a local hog farm to dispose of the bodies, but he hated leaving the island, so this was his solution.
Now, he burns them and disposes of what’s left in a watery grave.
When I open the door, the scent of bleach, rust, and copper invades my nostrils. A solitary work light hangs from the ceiling, casting an orange glow over the space. As my eyes adjust and move around, I find Romeo leaning back against a workbench, smoking a blunt as he scrolls through his phone.
Maurizio is slumped against the chair in the center of the shed, labored breaths wheezing from his chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” Romeo grunts. “He’s half-dead.”
Irritation winds its way through me. It’s only been three days.
“Fucking pathetic,” I mutter. “Did you get anything out of him?”
At this, Maurizio cracks open his eyes and meets my gaze. He tries to laugh, but ends up in a coughing fit instead. When he attempts to speak a minute later, his mouth is too dry.
“Here.” Romeo tosses me a bottle of water.
I open it and splash it on Maurizio’s face, giving him enough to wet his tongue.
“Spit it out, old man.”
The corner of his lip twitches in an attempt at a smile. “She hasn’t told you.”
I offer him a blank stare, but he knows he’s under my skin. He decides to twist the knife a little deeper.
“I’m only sorry I won’t be here to see Abella destroy you,” he sputters. “I guess she was good for something after all.”
I glance at Romeo, and he shrugs. He doesn’t know what Maurizio’s talking about either.
“He told me Matteo was paying him for his silence,” Romeo says. “That’s as far as we got.”
My first thought is Maurizio must have known Matteo sent me to prison, and that’s why he was paying him off.
But there has to be more to it than that.
Abella factors into this somehow. If I’d only heard it from him, I might question it.
But Carlo Pagnotto said something eerily similar as he was dying.
“He said they had a deal,” Romeo elaborates. “In his words, Matteo was a weak little bitch who couldn’t bring Abella to heel. So Maurizio turned on him and threatened to reveal their agreement to our family. Matteo made the payments to keep him quiet.”
“You should have killed her,” Maurizio chokes out. “You’ll get nothing else from me, and by the time you figure it out, it will already be too late.”
Calmly, I roll up my sleeves and grab a scalpel from the workbench.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”