Page 71 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

T he night of the ball has finally arrived.

At present, chaos reigns in the Vitales’ two-story Seattle penthouse. The girls and I have taken over the entire upper floor—with dress bags hanging from racks and heels strewn everywhere. An entire fleet of hair and makeup artists spent the last few hours dolling us up for the occasion.

The annual Society masquerade ball is the most prestigious event of the year. It keeps my schedule busy for a solid three months. Everyone wants the perfect statement piece that others will talk about for years to come. Nothing is too extravagant.

It goes without saying that I always keep openings in my schedule for my core friend group. This year, I helped each of them choose gowns that reflected their personalities. But in keeping with tradition, we gather round for toasts before we dress for the night.

The girls pop some champagne, but I’m still queasy from the bug I had, so I stick with sparkling juice instead.

“Here’s to high heels and high standards,” Lucia says.

To new friends , Natalia signs.

“And to friends who provide excellent alibis.” Mariella raises her glass.

“May all our photos be flattering." Serafina smirks. “And may none of us tumble into the champagne tower…again.”

Gabi groans at the reminder, then lifts her glass. “May we all find a handsome heir or reformed rake who’s as well-endowed as Abella’s husband.”

I laugh along with the rest of the girls. It’s become a running joke since the day of the garden incident.

“May his jawline be sharp, and his character morally grey,” Valentina quips.

“And may we stay classy…” Chantel smiles. “At least until midnight.”

They all turn to me, and I know the tradition is to make it silly and fun, but I’m feeling uncharacteristically emotional tonight, and I decide to roll with it.

“To the best friends a girl could ever have,” I say simply.

“Through every version of us.” Mariella gives me a subtle nod.

We all say it together and toast, glasses clinking.

“Okay.” Gabi reaches into her bag. “I know you said you wouldn’t take payment, but I brought it anyway.”

She slides five Chocolove bars across the counter as if they were contraband.

“You didn’t.” Lucia laughs, pulling ten from her bag before she slides them in my direction.

“Well, I brought you a care package.” Chantel retrieves a gift box and slaps it on the counter.

Stamped on the exterior label are the words, “I survived the Anaconda.” When I open it up, I find Epsom salt, a donut pillow, pain relievers, and a sticker that reads: “thoughts and prayers to your pelvic floor.”

“I swear we didn’t coordinate this.” Val stifles a smile as she offers up her payment, which is a candle that declares, “God gives his strongest warriors the biggest challenges.”

I can’t help but laugh, and everyone else joins in—apart from Mariella. She’s vaguely grumbling something about us discussing her brother’s equipment at length.

Gabi wipes away the tears leaking from her eyes. “Did I ruin my makeup?”

“No,” Chantel teases. “It just looks like you had an anaconda lodged in your throat.”

Gabi does a performative bow. “From here on out, I shall be known as the blow job queen.”

“I think you need at least one under your belt before you can qualify for the title,” Val muses.

“I’ll be a quick learner,” Gabi says.

“Your parents must be so proud of your studies,” someone cuts in, the deep voice steeped in mockery. “Planning to graduate with a bachelor’s in oral?”

All our gazes snap to Romeo, who’s standing in the hallway, his dark eyes doing a controlled sweep over Gabi.

“Very funny,” she bites out.

“Jesus, Romeo,” Mariella huffs. “I’m going to put a bell on you. Where did you even come from?”

“I’ve been here for the last hour,” he answers dryly. “Angelo asked me to fix the router in his office.”

“Okay, well, are you done?” Mariella asks. “Because we need to get dressed.”

He levels Gabi with a look of disdain as he stalks past us.

“I’m done.”

It takes us another hour to get into our gowns.

This year’s theme is mythology, which means the garments are intricate and complex.

Between the corseted bodices, hidden zippers, draping, linings that require precise placement, and tiny hook-and-eye closures, it’s a lot of work to get everyone into them.

Valentina’s Cleopatra-the-living-goddess gown is the most elaborate, with several detachable pieces.

She’s also heavily accessorized with a chunky gold necklace, cobra headpiece, and gold finger claws.

When it’s time for her big reveal, everyone floods her with much-deserved compliments. She looks stunning.

Serafina is dressed as Morrigan, in a form-fitting black gown with a sweeping train. My favorite detail of her look is the feather embellishment that rises dramatically from one shoulder like a Crow’s wing.

Chantel, our pinup-queen, wears a black velvet mermaid silhouette with minimal accessories, styled in the likeness of Hecate.

For Mariella, we decided to channel her inner Giulia Tofana and styled her as Sekhmet.

She’s wearing a couture armor-inspired gown.

The bodice is designed to look like a breastplate, and the skirt is a shimmering gold with a high-slit on each side.

She looks every bit the divine warrior queen she is.

Lucia is Nyx in a high-drama black gown with moody floral undertones. And Gabi, who’s known to have the most romantic style of the group, is Aphrodite. For Natalia’s first ball, we found the perfect gown that harnessed the phoenix-like qualities of the goddess Kali.

As for me, tonight I’m dressed as Isis—wearing a flowy, multi-layered chiffon dress in iridescent white with shimmering metallic accents.

It has a sculpted bodice and a sheer cape at the back that integrates a set of gold falcon wings that expand from my shoulder blades—a nod to the majesty of my chosen goddess.

“Abella, you look like an angel,” Gabi tells me. “Angelo’s going to maul you the second he sees you.”

“I think you may be right.”

I follow the sound of that smooth, velvety voice and find Angelo leaning against the wall next to the staircase. He’s looking sinfully hot in his Hades-inspired suit. It’s a rich, matte black wool with a deep crimson waistcoat and a black satin tie.

I hope Gabi’s right, because I want him to maul me—even if it means undoing all the work of the last four hours.

“I need to borrow my wife,” he tells the girls.

“You’d better do what he says.” Gabi stares at him, star struck. “Then report back to us.”

Angelo smirks as I join him, clearly amused by my cousin. With his palm on my lower back, he guides me down the hall to the primary suite.

The moment he closes the door behind us, he turns me around and pins me against it.

“ Cara ,” he growls, his hands rough as they grip my waist. “How hard is it going to be to put you back together if I fuck you right now?”

“Not hard enough to make me care,” I breathe.

It’s been well over two weeks, and we’re both dying for it. He could rip the dress in half, and I wouldn’t mind.

I also accounted for this possibility, which is why I didn’t bother with shapewear. All I have on beneath the dress is a thong and bustier. When Angelo bunches the fabric around my waist and his palm grazes my bare ass, he discovers that for himself.

“ Mia regina ,” he murmurs. “So fucking beautiful.”

I melt at the sound of his throaty declaration. Even after all the lies, secrecy, and perceived betrayal, he still calls me his queen.

An unexpected surge of emotion cracks me open, spilling out in a vulnerable confession.

“I’ve missed this,” I whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

He pauses his exploration, fingers biting into my skin. I don’t know how he’ll react, so when he kisses his way up my neck and brushes his lips against my ear, I can’t help but shiver.

“Me too.”

He slips his hand beneath my thong and sinks two fingers inside me. I was expecting him to take me hard after so much tension has built up between us, but instead, he sets a softer pace—like he has all the time in the world to stay right here and do exactly this.

Even so, it isn’t long before I’m coming, biting my lip to hold back my pleasure. Angelo groans out his approval, drawing it out for as long as he can before he pulls his wet fingers out of me.

He slides my palms up and braces them against the door.

Then he buries his cock inside me, grabs my hips, and fucks me until he comes.

There’s something different about it this time, and I can’t place exactly what it is.

Maybe it’s in the way he’s touching me, but it feels like something has shifted between us.

It feels…softer.

Then his palm settles against my midsection, fingers pressing into me, and I’m reminded of what he’s probably thinking about right now. How much he wants it. How much he needs it…for his family’s survival. And then I remember what’s waiting in my bag for him.

When he turns me to face him, concern lingers in his gaze as he searches my face.

“I didn’t wear you out, did I?”

“No.” I muster a smile, grateful for the interruption when someone knocks at the door.

“Abella?” Gabi calls out.

“Yes?”

“The girls want to know if Angelo’s done bruising your throat yet. We have a fashion emergency.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” I mutter, regretting the words even as I say them. Because I know they aren’t true.

Soon, all of this will be a distant memory.

Angelo tells me to wait while he grabs a cloth from the bathroom. He returns and cleans me up, dark satisfaction sparking in his eyes when he sees his cum leaking out of me.

“Go.” He lets my gown fall back into place. “Do what you need to do. We’ll be leaving soon.”