Beautiful torment, p.1
Beautiful Torment, page 1
BEAUTIFUL TORMENT
EMPIRE OF KINGS
BOOK 1
A. ZAVARELLI
CONTENTS
Disclaimer
Content Disclosure
Blurb
Playlist
Prologue
1. Abella
2. Abella
3. Abella
4. Abella
5. Abella
6. Angelo
7. Abella
8. Angelo
9. Angelo
10. Abella
11. Angelo
12. Abella
13. Abella
14. Abella
15. Abella
16. Angelo
17. Abella
18. Abella
19. Abella
20. Abella
21. Abella
22. Angelo
23. Abella
24. Angelo
25. Abella
26. Angelo
27. Abella
28. Abella
29. Angelo
30. Abella
31. Angelo
32. Abella
33. Angelo
34. Abella
35. Abella
36. Angelo
37. Abella
38. Abella
39. Angelo
40. Angelo
41. Abella
42. Abella
43. Angelo
44. Abella
45. Abella
46. Abella
47. Angelo
48. Abella
49. Angelo
50. Angelo
51. Abella
52. Abella
53. Angelo
54. Abella
55. Angelo
Epilogue
Afterword
Coming Soon
BOOKS by A. ZAVARELLI
About the Author
BEAUTIFUL TORMENT © 2025 A. Zavarelli
Cover Design: Coverluv
Cover Photo: Michelle Lancaster
Cover Model: Chad Hurst
Editing: Silla Webb
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
DISCLAIMER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONTENT DISCLOSURE
Content warnings for this book are available here.
BLURB
They call him Il Diavolo
When the devil dressed in black crashes my wedding
I know he didn’t come to offer me his blessing
He came to collect what was always his
For months, he’s watched me from the shadows
Haunting me
Biding his time
Planning his revenge
Before he was King of the Cosa Nostra
I was fated to be his queen
I promised him forever
Now, he’s here to remind me what forever really means.
PLAYLIST
“How Villains Are Made” – Madalen Duke
“Dirty Thoughts” – Chloe Adams
“Haunted” – Beyonce
“I Fell In Love With The Devil” – Avril Lavigne
“Butterflies” – Isabel LaRosa
“Middle Of The Night” – Elley Duhe
“I Can Do It With A Broken Heart” – Taylor Swift
“Always Remember Us This Way” – Lady Gaga
“Butterflies” – Isabel LaRosa
“Russian Roulette” – Rihanna
“Lacrimosa” – Mozart
“Surrender” – Natalie Taylor
“Crazy In Love” – Sofia Karlberg
“Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” – Haley Reinhart
“I Get To Love You” – Ruelle
“Infinity” – Jaymes Young
“Dark Paradise” – Lana Del Rey
“Wicked Game” – Ursine Vulpine, Annaca
PROLOGUE
ABELLA
Once upon a time, I thought I knew the exact trajectory of my life. But as it turns out, fate has a twisted sense of humor.
Sand squished between my toes, offering a cool reprieve from the summer heat as the Mediterranean shoreline kissed my skin. A light breeze carried the familiar scent of citrus and wildflowers while "Al Di Là" played from a distant radio. It was a perfect encapsulation of a moment in time, and for a few bittersweet moments, I could almost believe I was still there.
More importantly, so was he.
His profile was a hazy outline beneath the blinding rays of the sun. It hurt to look at him, but when it came to Angelo, the pleasure was worth the pain.
That summer had altered my brain chemistry, hardwiring an addiction for him I’d never fully cured. I’d known him since we were kids, but now… he was all man.
Seemingly overnight, his frame packed on muscle while his soft brown eyes melted into velvety darkness. He’d always been reserved and serious, but the unmistakable disposition of the Mafia had imprinted on him. He hadn’t said so, but I knew he’d taken the blood oath of the Cosa Nostra. It was always his destiny.
He'd done things we couldn’t talk about, and it had changed him. Bit by bit, he’d been stripped down and rebuilt into what the life required. As heir to the Vitale throne, Angelo was fated to reign as one of the most powerful men in Seattle. That title duty-bound him to the preservation of his family legacy while an ever-threatening war loomed on the horizon. It also established nonnegotiable prerequisites for his future wife. It was a role I was eager to fill.
I’d known what was expected of me since the day our fathers signed a marriage contract. With one foot in the Cosa Nostra and the other in a secret society, my existence centered around two purposes. One was decorative, the other transactional. Whether it was the Mafia or IVI, a woman’s value always came down to what she could be traded for.
From my rose-colored viewpoint, I considered myself one of the lucky ones. Not only did I know my fiancé, but I actually liked him. In fact, if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that I wanted to marry Angelo Vitale with my whole heart.
We ran wild that summer—sneaking off to vineyards, secluded beaches, and hiding out in tiny cars and boats. I couldn’t imagine any outcome where I wouldn’t be his. The first time his lips touched mine, it lit a fire in me I never wanted to extinguish.
In my love-drunk haze, I begged him to give me everything, but there were some traditions he refused to buck. Mafia men weren’t supposed to ravage their future wives in an alleyway. They waited until they were good and properly married before they installed them in a nice house and started procreating like bunnies. It was the way things were done. So even though patience wasn’t one of my virtues, I waited. I followed the rules, secure in the knowledge that my future had already been written. I would be his queen, and nothing else mattered.
I was too naïve to see any other alternative. I couldn’t have known that my illusion was about to shatter beyond repair. And when I was left to pick up the pieces, one thing was certain. I would never let myself fall in love again.
1
ABELLA
“Mmm.” My sister Valentina kicks off her Louboutins and takes a sip of her chocolate martini. “They’re all so good. I can’t decide.”
“After the day we’ve had, I need another one.” Chantel rises from her seat and strolls toward the bar cart, trailing her red-tipped fingernails along the gilded edge as she makes her selection.
“Bring me one too, will you?” Lucia asks. “The huckleberry mojito, please?”
Chantel passes around a few more drinks, and we all take a minute to decompress. Amid the chatter, the door to the conference room swings open, and Gabi walks in, donning an oversized cream sweatsuit she snagged from my office suite.
“Umm, excuse me.” Lucia pouts. “Nobody told me there were sweatpants available.”
“They’re from the new line I’m working on.” Gabi glances down, plucking at the fabric. “It’s sensory friendly.”
“They feel like a cloud.” I sigh, wishing I had thought to grab some myself.
“I’ll bring you another set in this color.” She shoots me an apologetic glance. “I just needed to be comfy.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her.
“Were you here the whole time?” Chantel tugs the pencil from her hair, shaking out the long black strands. “I thought you left with Serafina.”
“No. I just finished reading my book in Abella’s office.”
“And?” Chantel eyes her. “You have nothing to say about the library scene?”
“Oh, I have plenty to say.” Gabi’s lips curve into a shy smile. “It was hot.”
“Which book are we talking about here?” Lucia glances between them. “Are you holding out on us?”
“You wouldn’t like it,” Gabi blurts, a faint flush creeping over her cheeks.
Lucia hums under her breath, then changes the subject. “So if you’re still here, does that mean you chose us over the premier of Shark Week?”
“I’m saving it for tomorrow.” Gabi grabs a cocktail and hoists herself up onto the conference table, her sparkly ballet flats hanging on for dear life.
A small lump in her hoodie shifts aroun d, and a second later, her tiny Chihuahua Beppe pops his head out of her neckline, takes a peek at us, then disappears into the fabric again.
“Your obsession with sharks is disturbing.” Valentina peers at Gabi over the rim of her cocktail. “It’ll do you good to take a break.”
“They’re an apex predator,” Gabi huffs. “We have to respect their habitat.”
“You spent way too much time listening to the boys on the island when we were growing up,” Val says. “If it isn’t sharks, it’s the octopi.”
“Technically, it’s octopuses,” Gabi corrects her. “And just because you’ve never been dragged to the bottom of the sound by a giant octopus doesn’t mean it can’t happen. They’re wildly intelligent creatures.”
“Maybe you should write a guest column about this bizarre kink,” Lucia says. “I Kissed a Tentacle and I Liked It.”
“Nobody’s writing an octopus column,” I interject.
Gabi arches a brow at me.
“Or sharks,” I add. “The Fifth House covers topics of interest relevant to members of The Society, and those aren’t it.”
“I’m a member,” Gabi replies. “But, okay, fair point. Majority rules, I guess.”
“This meeting has gone off the rails,” Val says.
“Yes, it has.” Mariella glances up from her phone. “I have a patient I’d like to get back to.”
Her observation hangs heavy in the air, dampening the mood as the events of this morning linger in our thoughts.
“Will she be okay?” Gabi asks what we’re all thinking.
Mariella releases a long breath. “In time.”
“Okay.” I redirect the conversation. “Let’s get back to the agenda. It’s late.”
“I second that.” Lucia yawns. “I’m exhausted.”
“Alright, where were we?” I check my tablet, freezing when I see the message that pops up.
Did you like the flowers?
My head snaps up, and I glance around the conference room, only to suck in a sharp breath when I notice the bouquet on the credenza. They aren’t just flowers. They’re the unmistakable Rosa Velenosa. The pale ivory roses edged with crimson are a hybrid that could have only come from my mother’s garden on the Vitale estate.
A shiver crawls down my spine as I consider that my stalker is sending me a clear message. Either he’s someone close enough to have access to me, or he’s letting me know that he can get to me beyond the walls of the most secure estate on the planet.
I have to wonder if he understands the significance of these roses. But in my gut, I know he must. Nothing he’s done has ever been a coincidence.
Every text he sends is precisely timed for maximum emotional impact—pushing the boundaries with each interaction we have. Most days, I can’t decide whether he wants me or he just wants to punish me. But how could he possibly know that my mother cultivated these roses? It was ten years ago.
My thoughts drift to Matteo, and I question for the thousandth time if this could be his way of trying to win me over. He would have no problem gathering these roses from the garden, being that he lives there. But he’s not the only one. There’s also my creepy guard, Tony, to consider.
Except, I don’t really think it’s either of them. Tony is far too obvious about his intentions, and he doesn’t need to stalk me because he’s with me most days anyway. And Matteo has never spoken to me in the possessive, dominant way my stalker does. After months of these exchanges with him, I’ve become far too accustomed to his sharp-tongued observations.
Are you trying to get every man in your office building murdered, Abella? Find another dress to wear.
Do you like it when I tell you what to do, Abella?
You’re piling up the transgressions, Abella.
Smile at him again, and you’ll find his head on your desk tomorrow.
Ignore me and see what happens.
The first time he messaged me, the logical side of my brain concluded the only sane thing to do was report him. Except I didn’t, and I can’t explain why. I wanted to know who he was, and once I reported him to my guards, they’d make him disappear and never give me a name. That’s how things are handled in our world.
So I let it continue. And after days turned into weeks and he never made an appearance, I got comfortable with his daily messages. It was reckless and stupid, but if I was being honest, there was a part of me that enjoyed this small act of rebellion. It was a secret only I knew in a life that had been so tightly controlled it usually felt like it was strangling me.
These interactions have become so ingrained in my routine, he’s conditioned me to accept the rush of fear he sparks with every text. What’s worse is the dopamine hit that’s sure to follow. Because that means I actually like this.
There’s familiarity in his rough-spoken authority, and I can’t help but imagine him as the ghost of my past. Or maybe that’s just what I want to believe.
“Earth to Abella.” Lucia snaps her fingers.
I blink and find everyone focused on me—except Valentina, who’s staring at the flowers.
“Why are Mom’s roses here?” she asks.
“I brought them.” The lie falls from my lips before I can stop it. They’re just piling up now.
Valentina’s throat bobs with emotion, which only makes me feel worse.
“We’re almost done.” I return my attention to the notes on my tablet. “Do we want to go over the stats for last month, or save those for the next meeting?”
“Save them.” Soft affirmations fill the room.
I type a reminder to add that to the next meeting’s agenda, including a few side notes while they’re fresh in my mind. Typically, we save the cocktails for last, but today, we decided to drink first. It probably wasn’t my finest decision, but if there’s one thing I’m adept at—it’s carrying on with business as usual.
What started out as a pet project for all of us has become a well-established digital publication for members of IVI. We meet twice a month and curate content on a variety of topics, including style and fashion, culture and society, health and beauty, and the occasional spotlight on other relevant interests.
Because we all have other things that occupy our time—like careers, overbearing families, or school—we try to keep our meetings short and snappy. But tonight is the exception. I think it may officially be the longest one on record yet.
“Let’s just do this rapid fire,” I say. “We have two weeks until publication. I’ll go around the room and everyone can tell me what they’re working on.”
They all nod.
“Okay, let’s start with Dr. Mariella.”
“Five habits for better quality sleep,” she says.
“Got it.” I add it to my list. “How about you, Plant Mommy?”
“Maximizing your space with living walls,” Lucia answers.
“Okay, and Serafina is doing a write-up on the Winterbottom-York wedding.” I tap out a quick note.
Gabi snorts at the name, then hiccups.
“Historic wedding venues in the Pacific Northwest,” Valentina supplies as I type.
“How to rail your highbrow wife like a pornstar,” Chantel deadpans.
The room falls silent for a beat before everyone bursts into a fit of laughter.
“I know.” She smirks. “They aren’t ready for that yet.”
“At least not that they can admit openly.” Lucia snickers. “Maybe you should start with basics for the sexually repressed, since that’s what most of us are.”
“I’m easing my way into it,” Chantel teases. “This month’s topic is the art of communicating your desires.”
“Okay.” Valentina sighs. “But next month, how about Eye Candy: Black Sweatpants Edition?”
“God, you little pervert.” Lucia flashes Val a devilish grin. “You can’t stop talking about those sweatpants. Or more accurately, what was in them.”
“Wait, who was in sweatpants?” I ask, being nosy.
“Nobody,” Val groans. “My god, it was just a suggestion.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” Gabi says. “You know we’ll figure it out eventually.”
“Eh, doesn’t matter.” Val shrugs. “It’s never gonna happen anyway.”
