Page 66 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

When I release her face, she closes her mouth and swallows, never taking her eyes from mine. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips like she’s still greedy for more, and I groan at the sight of it.

“That’s my beautiful girl.” I cradle her face in my palm, thumb brushing over her cheek. “ Così sei mia .”

She’s the picture of ruin—hair tangled, lipstick smeared, mascara running down her face.

The evidence of my claim on her is a balm to my earlier irritation.

But I’m the only one who gets to see her this way.

I’ll need to take her through our private entrance to put her back together before I greet my guests.

I tuck my cock back into my trousers and hold out my hand to help her up.

“Come, tesoro . Let’s take care of you.”

In true Vitale fashion, Nonna puts on a feast worthy of a king. We eat in the backyard—courses of antipasti, meat, pasta, dessert, and espresso, followed by more drinks. Abella sits at my side, sipping an amaretto while I stroke her thigh beneath the table.

Her friends steal glances at her throughout the meal, but avoid eye contact with me. Judging by the way Mariella’s rolling her eyes, I’m certain she’s heard about the garden show.

The men talk amongst themselves, sticking to safe topics in polite company. As the alcohol flows, I catch the president of a local union staring at my wife.

Danny Miller is a bought-and-paid-for lapdog with a gambling addiction and an overinflated ego.

He’s a serial philanderer who sticks his dick in anything that will have him, and apparently, he has champagne taste on a beer budget.

That can be the only explanation for his gawking at something he can’t afford to touch.

I find him annoying on a good day. Today, his very breathing is intolerable.

He’s too drunk to notice I’m filing away his transgressions as I carry on a conversation without missing a beat. He must have forgotten he’s sitting at Il Diavolo’s table.

He leans too close to my wife, complimenting her necklace as he tries to get a good look at her tits. At one point, when she turns, I catch the bastard subtly inhaling her as he reaches down and adjusts his trousers.

Abella excuses herself to use the restroom, and moments later Danny quietly slips from the table.

I shadow him as he follows Abella down the hall, watching as he dares to brush his hand against the small of her back.

“Looks like we’re going the same direction,” he teases.

Abella tenses at his touch and forces a smile. “Do you know where the guest bathroom is?”

He ignores her question, his hand slipping down another inch. “Goddamn, that dress shows off every curve you’ve got, sweetheart. You should come with a warning label.”

He has no fucking idea.

I stalk toward them quietly, a thirst for violence burning my throat.

“Your attention is misplaced,” Abella tells him. “My husband doesn’t take kindly to men who forget their manners. I suggest you remember yours.”

“Relax, darlin’.” Danny’s hand dips lower yet. “I’m just making a friendly observation. You know you’re begging for compliments in that dress?—"

Abella jerks away from him, and her eyes widen as she notices the flash of movement in her periphery. Her gaze catches mine just before I grab the back of Danny’s skull and bounce it off the wall.

He crumples to the floor, blood pouring from his nose as he lies there unconscious.

“Angelo, I wasn’t—” Abella panics, rushing to explain.

“I know.” I collar the back of her neck with my hand and spin her around, pressing her against the wall.

Bracing one hand above her head, I shield her body with mine as I fist the hem of her dress and pull it up between her thighs. Once her thong is bared to me, I slip my fingers beneath the material and shove two deep inside her pussy.

She releases a rough breath, her head lolling back against my chest as I fuck my fingers into her. We don’t have much time, but I can’t deny this clawing urge to reclaim her.

When our eyes clash, she sees the raw hunger in my gaze, and it takes all of a second before my restraint snaps. I crush my mouth against hers and brand her with my possession, swallowing her soft gasp.

That sound only fuels my insanity. I drag my teeth across her lip, biting at her until she moans, her pussy so fucking wet I can hear it as I finger her. When she relaxes her jaw, I sweep my tongue into her mouth and lick her, tasting the sweet amaretto on her breath.

Her body melts into mine as she starts to unravel, and I swallow every sound of pleasure that bleeds up her throat. I want to sink my dick inside her and brand her with my possession until she’s so thoroughly fucked, every man here will know exactly whose cum is dripping between her thighs.

Unfortunately, fuckface is starting to groan on the floor, and I don’t have the luxury of losing myself in Abella’s pussy when I have murder to commit.

“Come for me, dolcezza ,” I growl against her lips. “Show me who owns you.”

My words wrench the sweetest sound of surrender I’ve ever heard from her as she arches her back and shudders against me. The orgasm rips through her, pussy clenching as she soaks my fingers with her cum.

It takes everything in me to soften the kiss and slow down, even after I’ve wrung every aftershock from her body. Now that I’ve started, I don’t want to stop kissing her, and that’s a fucking problem.

Reluctantly, I release her mouth and withdraw my hand from her thong. This time, I let her watch as I suck her cum from my fingers, tasting the sweetness I can’t get enough of. Her breath catches in her throat as she gives me fuck-me eyes, and I have to wipe the smile from my face.

I adjust her dress and turn her to face me, my forehead dipping against hers. She’s flushed and so fucking pretty I can’t stop staring at her.

“Are you okay?” I stroke her face.

It takes her a minute to realize I’m talking about what happened with Danny.

“I’m fine,” she says softly. “But that guy is a creep.”

“He won’t bother you again,” I promise her.

She nods and doesn’t ask me to elaborate. Abella knows who I am, and she’s never asked me to be anything else. She has the power to temper my violence—or unleash it with one wrong look from another man. Nobody else could ever bring out these dualities in me, or accept them the way she does.

A garbled string of nonsense spills out of Danny’s mouth, and I press my fingers to Abella’s jaw, keeping her gaze on me. He won’t get so much as another glimpse of my wife’s face.

“Go join your friends.” I brush my lips against her hair. “I’ll return shortly.”

“Okay.” She casts one more longing glance at my lips as I release her.

I watch her walk away, head held high, hips swaying gently—the picture of grace.

My Vitale queen.

Danny groans again, and I kick him in the teeth. Then I drag him down the hall and take ten minutes to make him regret he was ever born.

When I venture back outside to my guests, I pause at the head of the table and gesture for the other men.

“Let’s talk business.”

Chairs scrape, and muted conversations trail behind me as I lead the group to the gentleman’s den. It’s a space large enough to accommodate everyone and offers complete privacy. Once the doors are sealed shut, nobody will hear a thing through these walls.

An emerald green bar dominates the room where my father spent much of his life doing business.

Over the years, he collected rare spirits and antique glassware that still line the shelves.

The centerpiece is a gallery of framed photos that display the Vitale legacy—as well as our ancestral weapons.

That includes a revolver my nonno used to put down several of the Stavros men during their bloody war.

My father designed the den to include everything one might need for business: dark leather armchairs, a humidor stacked with cigars, a fireplace, and a revolving bookcase that opens up a small chamber hidden within the wall.

At present, the chamber is open, and Danny Miller hangs from the hook bolted to the ceiling. The conversation around me dies as the men shift their attention to the bloody sack of meat in his piss-stained trousers.

Nobody says a word in his defense, which doesn’t surprise me.

“First order of business.” I pull the Beretta from my shoulder holster.

I fire two shots—one to his dick and the other to his head. It’s over quickly, but I don’t have the time or patience for much else today.

“Anyone else have something they’d like to say to my wife?”

The only response is silence.

“Good.” I slide my gun back into its holster. “Now we can discuss Ray Dalton.”

The men take their seats, and I pour myself a drink at the bar while Michele joins me. He’s here to break down the information Romeo’s extracted from Ray so far.

“Ray is Grant’s muscle,” he tells the men. “He was hired to keep tabs on the mistress after she tried to run off a couple of times. When Ray brought her back to him, Grant roughed her up pretty good. Ray says he had to keep her locked up in an apartment for a month while she recovered.”

“Jesus,” one of the men mutters.

“He also admitted to disappearing that journalist a few months back,” Michele adds. “Ray says she had a confidential source who knew about the abuse, but she wouldn’t give up a name.”

“You think Grant hightailed it because the story might leak?” Cal asks.

“It’s possible.” Michele shrugs, but I can see he’s holding something back. “We’re still working on him.”

“We need to put this to bed so we can figure out how we’re going to work with Holloway,” Cal mutters.

“It’s already settled,” I assure him. “He’s going to work with us.”

“Really? I thought that son of a bitch wouldn’t bend.”

“Everyone can be bought for a price,” I answer vaguely. “He’s given me his word he’ll publicly greenlight the new waterfront project.”

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief,” Frank grunts. “So we’re all squared away on that, then?”

“Yes. You can get to work on the union reps and contractors.”

“I’m on it.” He nods.

“Good.” Cal claps his hands. “Let’s reconvene next week, and you can update us on the Ray situation. I have to get back to the city.”

I walk the men outside and see them off, waiting until I’m alone with Michele to dig into what he didn’t say in that meeting.

“What is it?” I ask.

“The journalist didn’t give Ray a name,” Michele says. “But she did have some notes in her house.”

“And?”

“There weren’t any specifics,” he says. “But she was digging into The Society—specifically an underground network of women called Aegis.”

“Aegis?”

Michele nods. “Ray says they help abused women disappear. He thinks that’s how the mistress got out.”

I let that information sink in for a moment. “Well, let’s keep that between us for now. Does he still have the notes?”

“He hasn’t confirmed one way or the other yet.”

“Excavate everything,” I tell him. “If they exist, I want them.”