Page 12 of Until You Break
The door sighed closed behind me. A guard looked up. The look died when it met mine. “Problem?” My voice was mild.
“No, signore.”
“Good.” I kept walking.
The corridor gave way to the stair, then to the roof. Palermo hit my face, salt, gasoline, garlic smoke. Heat rose off the stone. The night pressed at my throat with the same insistence as the boy’s pulse under my thumb. Emilio already lived in my senses like the city did, threaded in whether I wanted him or not.
The terrace was empty. Our kind of empty, watched, cataloged, owned. I poured a drink from the decanter Luca kept out here. The glass sweated. The whiskey burned. On the low table sat a neon mask from last night’s fight. I picked it up, twisted it once. Through the hollow eyes, Palermo’s skyline looked like prey.
The way Emilio had looked at me, his fear braided with defiance, coiled under my ribs like a dare. Bellandi blood doesn’t drop dares. I’ve never met one I couldn’t turn into a game. I set the mask down, then slid it into my jacket pocket.
“Restless night?” Luca’s voice slipped out of the dark. He stepped into the spill of light with a whiskey and a grin that needed sleep. “Or is your new prize, pet, keeping you up?”
“Stai zitto.”
Luca tipped his head back, eyes flashing. “Rumors are asking if Damiano Bellandi finally found something he can’t break.”
I looked at him. He grinned harder. “Careful.”
“Careful’s boring.” Luca tipped his glass at the night. “You look… occupied.”
“I’m observant.”
“Nah, you’re obsessed.” His teeth flashed. “You know the dogs bark when a new king drags meat through the square. So tell me,fratello, is he barking for you yet? Or are you barking for him?”
My jaw twitched. “Let them bark. I’m listening for the ones who don’t.”
He laughed. “There he is.” He leaned on the rail, watched the city twist. “You going to tell me how it went? Or make me guess why your pulse still looks like it’s chasing him?”
I thought of the cell, the strip light, the way Emilio had looked at me. Afraid, yes. But not only that. Fear sat beside defiance, like he knew both could be true at once. That was the part I couldn’t shake.
Luca tilted his head. “You’re touched. Admit it. You like that he’s beautiful.”
I drank. He smirked. Silence sat with us.
“I saw him once, way before the casino opening,” Luca said. “At the old hotel. Shoes too polished, hair too good. The one who watches.”
“He still watches. Even when he’s afraid.”
“You’re not watching back,” Luca lied.
I didn’t answer.
He glanced at my pocket. “You keeping souvenirs now?”
“Sometimes a mask is a mirror.”
He whistled. “Philosopher King.Madonnahelp us.”
I set my glass down. “We’re done.”
“Never.” But he pushed off the rail. “Try sleeping, big brother. You get prettier.”
“I ruin easier.”
“That too.” He drifted into the dark. I left with a smile anyway, the kind that belongs to brothers who can bite and laugh in the same breath.
I took the golden stairs reserved for us. Each step landed soft. The house swallowed my reflection and gave it back in pieces. Riccardo’s voice flickered in memory, boasting over wine how his son had returned, as if loyalty came when called. The taste of it went sour, him grinning like a king while Emilio stood behind with his sketchbook, quiet as stone, pretending not to hear the ridicule pouring from his father’s mouth.
