Page 8 of Beautiful Torment (Empire of Kings #1)

ABELLA

“ A bella.”

I groan when Valentina pokes my arm.

“Wake up,” she whisper-hisses.

A sound of protest rumbles from my chest as I try to shake my head, only to realize my face is stuck to something that definitely isn’t my pillow.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes and blink several times before it occurs to me that I’m at my desk, lying on a stack of real estate brochures. I must have fallen asleep on them. But how long ago was that?

I peel my face from the floor plan for a downtown condo as a memory from last night slams into me. For a moment, I question whether it was a dream—a frequent side effect of my sleeping pills. But as I glance down, the evidence still lingers on my chest.

I brush my fingers over the tiny cut as a reel of the night’s events plays through my mind.

I expected to be taken hostage, but instead, my stalker brought me back to the island just before dawn.

Strangely, the night guards that usually patrol our side of the island were absent, and the devil himself delivered me right to my room without raising any alarms.

I vaguely remember getting out of bed to wash my face, but I think this was as far as I made it.

I had no intentions of telling my father or sister what had happened.

He would lay the blame at my feet somehow, and I didn’t want to concern Valentina.

But when I glance up at her now, I can see that she already is.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“It’s past four,” she says. “You missed a few appointments with your clients. Your assistant was concerned, so she reached out to me. Gabi and I have both been trying to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”

It takes me a moment to register what she’s saying. There’s no way that can be right. I feel like I hardly slept, and I never miss work.

“Oh god.” I glance around in a panic. “My phone must have died. I can’t believe I slept through it.”

“It’s okay.” Valentina tries to reassure me. “I covered for you and told her you were sick. She rescheduled everyone.”

“It’s not okay.”

I stand up and try to assemble my scattered thoughts. Right now, work is probably the least of my concerns. If my father knew I’d slept all day, he’d be livid. I need to get dressed. I have to make myself presentable. And then I need to call my assistant and apologize.

“Does he know?” I blurt.

“No.” Val hesitates. “Papà was out this morning, but he’s home now and wants to see you in his office.”

“ Marone !” I hurry to my closet, flipping through the nearest rack of clothes I keep for occasions I have to face him.

“What do you think he wants?” I call over my shoulder.

“I don’t know.” She frowns. “But Matteo is here too.”

I yank a black Armani sheath dress from the rack as a knot settles in my stomach. There can only be a few reasons Matteo is here, and none of them are good. Either my father is pressuring him to set a date, or he’s come bearing more bad news.

“You have some time,” Val tells me. “I brought them drinks and cigars. Go wash your face, and I’ll help with your hair.”

Normally, I’d rather walk through broken glass than accept help, but I don’t have a choice right now. My father is far worse than broken glass, and I can’t put him off.

After a quick wash, I dress and return to my room, expecting to meet Valentina back at my vanity. But she’s still at my desk, looking over the apartment brochures I left there.

“Why do you have these?” She glances up at me with worried eyes.

I take a seat at the vanity and avoid her gaze. “I was just curious. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal that you’re looking at real estate in Seattle when you’re supposed to marry Matteo and move to the other side of the island?”

I stare at myself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman in the reflection.

My features are the same as they’ve always been—pale green eyes, olive skin, black hair.

In my mid-twenties, I’m still clinging to my youth.

But it’s not my reflection that’s changed.

It’s the loss of naivety that’s altered me.

My life didn’t turn out the way I had hoped, but I’ve accepted it for what it is, and I’ve made the most of it.

I’ve built a successful business. I dedicate time to hobbies and keep a busy social calendar with my core group of friends.

I contribute to my community and stay active with regular Pilates classes.

Then of course, there’s Aegis. I have purpose, even if I don’t have the life I envisioned.

But I’m still chained by this engagement to Matteo that he refuses to end, and every day I live in this house, I suffocate under my father’s reign.

Yet, nobody knows it because I’ve become so attached to the lie that everything is fine, I can no longer verbalize the truth.

“You used to tell me everything.” Valentina joins me at the vanity and grabs my brush. “What gives?”

I offer a half-hearted shrug. My sister’s too intelligent to pacify with excuses, but my pain is a burden only I can bear. As an older sister, it’s my job to set an example, and in our family, the bar is so high, not even perfection is good enough.

“Sometimes it’s just fun to dream,” I admit.

I don’t tell her that I’ve also been hiding large amounts of cash for the inevitable fallout when my current engagement dissolves.

Valentina smooths my waist-length hair over my shoulders and starts to brush it. “Why would you need to dream about a different life when this is the one you chose?”

I apply my foundation as she detangles my hair because, truthfully, I don’t know how to answer that without giving too much away.

“You told me it was your choice to marry Matteo after Angelo went to prison,” she reminds me. “But it’s been six years, and you only ever see him for appearances.”

“Is that any different from most of the couples we know?”

“Well, no,” she mutters. “But it wasn’t like that with Angelo. You saw him almost every day.”

“Angelo and I weren’t right for each other.” I sigh.

Val rolls her eyes. “Come on, Abella. You were crazy about him. I’ve never seen you look at Matteo the same way. I just want to know what really happened. It’s been years, and you still won’t tell me.”

“Can we please not talk about this right now?” I dab my makeup a little too vigorously with the sponge. “I need to get downstairs before Papà comes unglued.”

“You never want to talk about it,” she argues. “Something is off with you, and I don’t like all this secrecy. You have a bunch of apartment brochures and a bottle of sleeping pills on your dresser. What am I supposed to think?”

I rub at my aching temples and groan. “I don’t have time for this conversation right now.”

“Or ever,” she huffs.

Silence and tension linger between us as she styles my hair in a sleek ponytail and I finish applying my makeup.

Guilt gnaws at me as I meet her gaze. We share some of the same features—black hair, olive skin, high cheekbones.

But she looks more like our father, while I inherited most of our mother’s traits.

“I hate it when we argue,” I tell her.

“So do I.” Her voice cracks. “I don’t like seeing you close yourself off like Mom did. You have a support system—there’s a whole army of women who would go to battle for you. Please don’t forget that.”

“I know.” I choke back my emotions as I rise and smooth out my dress. “Do I look okay?”

“Beautiful as always.” She offers me a sad smile.

I thank her and step into a pair of black pumps, steeling myself with a breath.

“Do you think this is about the treaty?” She chews on her bottom lip, trying to hide her nerves.

“What else could it be?” I swallow. “Silvio isn’t doing well, and until Angelo can take over the role of Don , it will fall to Matteo to serve and fulfill the conditions of the treaty.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Val says.

“I know.” I stare at the wall, emotionally bankrupt.

Sensing the direction of my thoughts, Val pulls me in for a hug. “Swear that you’ll be okay.”

I offer her a watery smile as the lie slips from my mouth. “I swear.”

Voices drift from my father’s office as I pause on the last stair. There’s never a good occasion to be summoned by him, but things have been particularly tense lately. With the Vitale patriarch on his deathbed, and Angelo in prison, Matteo will have to marry—and soon.

The thought of my father learning our engagement isn’t moving forward fills me with dread. He’s already made it known he isn’t happy every night at the dinner table. At this point, the entire household staff is aware of my failings as a daughter.

I steal a moment for myself as I mentally prepare to face him. As I do, I wonder if my mother felt the same suffocating weight in her chest when he tired of her. He was always cruel to her, but in the end, it was unbearable. For her, death was the only escape.

“Abella,” Papà calls out from the cracked door. “Come to my office now.”

His voice holds a familiar note of anger. Maurizio Moretti doesn’t like to wait on anyone, but least of all females who are of little use to him.

I straighten my spine and walk to his office, slipping into the performative role I’ve played my entire life.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” I meet my father’s stony gaze before I turn to my fiancé and press a modest kiss to his cheek. “Matteo, I wasn’t expecting you.”

He offers me a stiff nod, and it sets me on edge.

Together, Silvio and Rosa Vitale raised six sons and one daughter.

Matteo is Angelo’s fraternal twin, born second, and it’s a role that’s plagued most aspects of his life.

All the Vitale men seem to have been molded after gods.

But for every quality Angelo possesses, Matteo’s have always been slightly less.

He isn’t quite as tall, nor as muscular.

He has brown eyes like his brother, but while Angelo’s are dark and beautiful in a mysterious way, Matteo’s fall flat.

On his own, he’s handsome, but next to Angelo, he may as well be a lamppost.