Page 60 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)
ANGELO
“ R elax, bella . We’ll stay here a while.”
Abella leans back against me, the warm water in the tub enveloping us. She can barely keep her eyes open as I wash her. Her head lolls back on my chest, her body depleted from exhaustion.
I mind-fucked her and wrung everything out of her—except for the one thing I needed. Her secrets still loom over us like a dark cloud, and she refuses to give them up. I wanted to break her tonight for everything she’s kept from me, but not like this.
The first time I saw her break down, I thought she was processing the things she’d learned about her father.
The next morning, she shut off her emotions like a switch, and it bothered me.
But tonight, I saw a glimpse into something else.
This isn’t the kind of pain that fades with time.
There’s a pit of despair inside her, buried so deep nobody else can see it.
I don’t know the source of that wound, and it frustrates me to no end.
As long as she refuses to tell me the truth, my resentment for her will continue to war with my obsession. From one moment to the next, I don’t know whether I want to punish her or take care of her.
Tonight, the softer side won.
I rinse the soap from her body and drain the tub.
She’s limp with exhaustion, so I dry her off as best I can and carry her to bed naked.
We settle beneath the covers, her head resting against my chest, her palm flat against my beating heart.
She burrows as close as she can get, and I wrap my arm around her, extending an olive branch—for now.
“Go to sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll be right here.”
“Anything new to report?” I adjust my tie as Nicky glances at me in the rearview mirror.
He gives me a look that indicates he’s picked up on the tension in my marriage over the last few weeks. It would be hard not to, when I keep asking him these inane questions.
“Nothing new,” he says. “Unless you want to hear about her occasional lunch deliveries.”
After our temporary ceasefire, Abella and I have fallen into what might seem like a normal routine.
In the mornings, we make the commute to the city.
At night, we eat dinner together and sleep in the same bed when I come in late.
I haven’t touched her since, which is a problem for my dick—and an even bigger issue because she informed me her period arrived.
It isn’t the news I wanted, even if logically, I know it’s far too soon.
It’s required for the treaty, but that isn’t my sole motivation.
Before I went to prison, this was something we discussed at length, and we’d both agreed—we wanted a large family.
Abella wanted to be a mother, and I wanted to make her one.
This is the last piece of her I can claim, and with her father’s threat still hanging over my head, I won’t be satisfied until I do.
I need her to understand that she’s bound to me, forever.
I’m wound too tight, on edge, and I need somewhere to direct my rage.
Today, that opportunity practically fell into my lap when my men caught two scouts from the Bratva sniffing around my docks to see what kind of cargo I’m moving.
I spent my morning torturing them and sending their body parts all over the city to every club they own.
And because I could, I hijacked one of their shipments, set up a raid on their gambling den, and halted construction on at least three of their projects. That was all before noon.
Still, it did little to appease me. I doubt anything will until I can fuck my wife again. But she’s still fragile, and I’m too raw from her lies to be soft with her, so celibacy it is.
The city looms outside the car window as I type out a text to Andrew, asking him to send me the file on Grant Ellison. I have little doubt he’ll be the topic of conversation in today’s meeting.
Every month for as long as I can remember, the major players in Seattle gather to discuss business.
In a secure conference room at IVI, men from the highest echelons of society assemble.
Politicians, bankers, attorneys, corporate executives, real estate developers, and of course, the Cosa Nostra .
Together, this group controls the entire city—everything from waterfront development to local councils, unions, construction, and the occasional fundraiser.
Few people realize that this small, powerful network of individuals decides who gets to do business in our city, which elected officials are friendly to our cause, and who is no longer of use to us.
It’s a well-established machine, and it all hinges on each of us having our respective roles.
Every man in that room is corrupt, but they hide behind masks of civility.
I’m the only one willing to wear my sins.
They won’t bloody their hands to do what’s necessary. This symbiotic relationship only works if there’s someone who will do what they can’t. As long as there’s a buffer between them and any real threat to their lives, the status quo is maintained.
Much to my irritation, Grant Ellison’s disappearance has fractured their fragile illusions of safety.
They’re all on edge, uncertain, and begging for their Mafia daddy’s assurances and protection.
The problem is, the more I dig up, the more I suspect that worthless shit-for-brains Carlo Pagnotto may have been right about something for once in his life.
It looks like Grant’s mistress is in the wind, and nobody on my payroll has been able to track her down, which is unusual.
Since his campaign funds are untouched and none of his rivals have the guts to carry out a murder, I can rule out the most obvious suspects.
Until I track down his mistress, I can’t say the same for her.
Even so, I’m not willing to throw her name to the wolves who will demand her head on a platter—with or without proof.
There’s also the possibility of Grant’s wife to consider. If the rumors are to be believed, there was no love lost between them. Members of The Society are proficient in gossip, and from what I’ve gathered, Grant had a temper, and he often took it out on her.
If it was her, the woman probably deserves a fucking medal for doing the world a favor.
I never liked Grant much to begin with. He was a spoiled trust fund brat who never dirtied his hands a day in his life, and I’m not losing any sleep over his absence.
But until I can assure the other men nobody is gunning for them, we aren’t going to get anything accomplished.
The car rolls to a stop, and Nicky glances at me in the mirror. “You want me to come in, boss?”
“No.” I adjust the cuff of my sleeve, annoyed when I realize I got blood on it. “I need you to have a chat with Anastasia Ellison.”
“Okay.” He arches a brow at me. “What do you want from her?”
“Find out if she knew about Grant’s mistress.”