Page 65 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ANGELO

A scowl settles over my face as I read the notification from Abella’s ring app, alerting me she’s due to start her period today.

Our lives have been busy. The Vitale empire is a well-oiled machine, but it still requires me to keep my thumb on the pulse of all our businesses—legal and otherwise.

Between that and chasing up this bullshit with Grant Ellison, I’ve had little time to breathe.

The days have blended together, weeks turning into months, and as I check the calendar, I realize we’re now in the fourth month since we married.

Abella has been stressed at work, taking on too many clients ahead of The Society ball, and the long hours have left her drained. On top of that, she has The Fifth House, book club meetings, and other engagements her friends invite her to.

She has a full life, and I don’t expect her to sit home and wait for me all day, but I can’t shake the paranoia clawing at my gut. Every month, when her period arrives, she grows distant and takes on more projects as a means of distracting herself.

Something feels off, and I can’t escape the thought that she doesn’t want a family anymore. At least not with me.

She knows what’s at stake, but that doesn’t count for much when the trust between us is paper-thin and she’s still keeping secrets. Her father and Carlo Pagnotto both told me she would fuck me over, and they made it sound…intentional. Those words have been echoing through my mind ever since.

The thought darkens my already bitter mood after last night’s council meeting.

The men are breathing down my neck to find Grant Ellison’s mistress, and the tension festering between them has become a cancer.

Paranoia has sparked accusations between those who never trusted Grant and those still loyal to him.

If I don’t find out what happened to him soon, there could be a political war on the horizon, and that’s a fucking problem I don’t need right now.

It’s giving me a headache, and I usually cure headaches with a bullet.

In this case, I’d have to dig graves for half the prominent names in Seattle, so it’s not an option.

That’s where today’s lunch comes into play.

After Nonna stuffs the men into a food coma, I’ll offer them a sacrificial lamb to put everyone at ease.

The man tied up in the woodshed is currently the best lead we have.

My men caught him trying to extort money from Grant’s wife to buy his silence about the mistress.

Typically, these threats are a dime a dozen when there’s a politician involved, but in this case, it’s a consequence of Grant’s stupidity.

He hired Ray Dalton as his off-the-books muscle for situations he must not have wanted the Cosa Nostra to know about.

It’s a problem, and if the bastard wasn’t already missing, I’d put him in a pine box myself.

I check my watch, noting the guests will be arriving soon. With the men from the council, Abella’s friends, and my siblings, it will be a full house.

Abella’s been busy this morning helping Nonna in the kitchen, so I expect to find her there. Instead, I find Cristian manning giant vats of sauce on the stove.

“Any idea where my wife might be?” I ask him.

“They’re in the garden,” he grunts.

I smirk at his irritation. Cristiano is tall, inked, and surly. He knows how to gut a man like a fish, and he’ll do it without a second thought. But when Nonna tells him to man the sauce, he mans the sauce.

I exit the double doors at the rear of the house and navigate my way through the backyard. Abella’s friends have already gathered on one of the lounges, sipping cocktails as they discuss the upcoming ball. That probably explains why most of my brothers are out here, too.

I pass through a set of hedges before I reach the legacy garden. Together, Martina Moretti and my mother cultivated this plot. Using seeds and cuttings from Italian-American families, they preserved the living heirlooms that had been passed down from the old country for decades.

They were close friends, and they enjoyed spending time together. But in retrospect, I wonder if my mother knew this space offered Martina an escape from her prick of a husband.

Together, they planted enough tomatoes, basil, and parsley to feed half of Seattle. They also planted hardy varieties of fig trees and filled the greenhouse with lemons.

During my absence, Abella took on the task of preserving the legacy after her mother’s accident. My father often reported that she and Nonna spent a lot of time in the garden, giving away the excess to other families in the Cosa Nostra .

It didn’t surprise me. Abella has always valued tradition and family.

She respects her elders and asks Nonna to tell her stories because she actually enjoys listening to them.

She collects recipes and treasures every heirloom that’s ever been given to her.

It’s easy to see why she’s a favorite of every Nonna on the West Coast.

She used to tell me her plans to pass down those treasures, recipes, and stories to the children we’d have together one day.

It was a foregone conclusion that we’d have a big family.

She thought five siblings would be a good number, and when she spoke of that future, I could tell there was nothing she wanted more.

But she hasn’t mentioned that conceptual family once since we married.

I’m the only one who speaks of it. And while she claims she never wanted Matteo, I can’t ignore the possibility she’s still mourning him—and the family she would have had with him instead.

It’s hard to reconcile that idea when she gives herself to me so completely.

But six years ago, it was also impossible to believe she’d given up what we had for Matteo.

That thought darkens my mood as I approach her. She’s kneeling on a garden pad in a soft, fitted black dress that hugs every curve on her body. When she leans forward to gather some fresh herbs, the swell of her breasts beneath that curved hem sends a rush of blood straight to my cock.

I’m deep in the fantasy of face-fucking my wife and groping her tits when Nonna calls out to me.

“Angelo, look.” She shows off her basket of herbs. “For the pesto.”

I thank her in Italian, aware of the effort she’s pouring into today’s lunch. There’s nothing she enjoys more than feeding anyone and everyone, but I appreciate her labor.

“I’ll give you a moment,” Nonna tells Abella. “Bring me the parsley when you’re done.”

Abella nods as Nonna scurries off, leaving us alone.

“Hi.” Abella glances up at me with a nervous smile.

I reach down and drag my thumb across her lips, contemplating if I have time to fuck her.

“Are you bleeding?” I ask her bluntly.

She shakes her head, and something about the expression on her face gnaws at my gut. It’s a problem for later. But right now, I’ll settle for purging my frustration.

Abella seems to be aware of my thoughts when she reaches up to palm the erection in my trousers. She tilts her gaze toward me, eyes soft, lips parted—the perfect offering. On her knees, she’s mine to command, mine to ruin.

She extends that invitation when she slowly drags the zipper of my trousers down and presses a kiss against the hard outline in my briefs.

I wind my fingers through her hair, the need to fuck her mouth greater than the risk of being caught. Not far from us, laughter drifts from the backyard, and it’s not improbable that I already have guests here.

It doesn’t stop me from slipping my palm into the top of her dress and playing with her tits as she jerks me off through my briefs. Fuck that feels good.

“In your mouth,” I order roughly.

She obeys, pulling down my briefs and sliding her fingers around the base of my cock. She grips as much of me as she can, then she opens her mouth and sucks me inside.

“ Bellissima, guarda come mi prendi .”

She melts for me, aching to be my good girl as she offers up her throat and takes me deeper. The reverent sounds that bleed from her as she pleasures me could only be described as worship.

I close my eyes and surrender to the feeling. Abella must, too. Because a moment later, when we hear Gabi’s voice, we both startle.

“Ho—ly crap.”

When I open my eyes, Gabi, Serafina, and Chantel are all standing at the edge of the garden, wearing matching expressions of shock.

Abella panics and pulls her mouth off my dick, only to realize her friends are all inadvertently staring at it now. She tries to cover it with her hands, which doesn’t work, and now they’re all panicking.

“Oh my god,” Serafina blurts, slapping her hands over her eyes. “We’re sorry—oh my god.”

“We’ll just”—Chantel tugs at Gabi, who seems to be frozen in place—“be going now.”

They stumble off, and Abella glances up at me with wide eyes and a pretty flush spreading over her chest.

“We should go inside,” she squeaks.

“Not a chance.” I drag my cock over her lips. “Open wide, cara .”

She lets out a soft breath and stretches her jaw as I feed the length of my cock into her mouth. While I’d be content to stay here and let her lazily suck on me for hours, we don’t have the privilege of time.

I press my fingers into the back of her skull and drag her head up and down the length of my cock. She rests her palms on my thighs and lets me use her as I please, moaning around me, even as I gag her.

The little deviant likes being mouth-fucked, and it gets me so hard, I lose myself in it. As my muscles draw tight and the pressure builds, it’s all I can do not to pour my release down her throat.

“You want my cum, bella ?”

She nods, so fucking pretty when she looks up at me with those angelic eyes, waiting for me to defile her.

Squeezing her face between my fingers, I drag my cock from between her lips and fist myself as the release rips through me. I spill my load into her mouth, watching hot cum spurt across her tongue until I’ve emptied everything I have to give her.