Page 2 of Until You Break
The air changed as we pulled up. The street narrowed, warehouses crowding together, alleys slitting black between them. The silence pressed close, sharp as a blade.
“You been in this part of town before?” I asked Dino, the guard who came with me. I’d never seen him until tonight.
“Only once.”
I glanced at him, catching the faintest smirk.
“What are we doing this far out? This isn’t our territory.”
He shrugged. “Routes shift. Orders change.”
“You sure we’re in the right place?” I pushed. “Because this doesn’t feel like Valenti turf.”
Dino didn’t look at me. “This is the address they gave. That’s all I know.”
My chest tightened. The buildings here looked older, pressed too close together. Too many shadows, not enough light. A stretch of Palermo that felt scrubbed clean of witnesses, like the city had turned its back. The air smelled of wet iron and rain.
A car passed behind us, headlights cutting through the dark. Tires hissed over slick asphalt. I flinched, the box tilting in my hands until my heart jumped.
“You alright, Valenti?”
“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “Just... glad you’re here. This is my first errand since graduation. Maybe I’m better at paperwork or?—”
I caught myself.Shut up, Emilio.
But nerves made me talk. Like silence itself was dangerous.
Dino chuckled. It sounded wrong, like someone lighting a match just to see me flinch.
My fingers tightened around the lacquered box.
Prove yourself. Make him proud.
Papà’s voice echoed in my head, smooth and cold.Loyalty doesn’t tremble. Loyalty doesn’t question.Warnings dressed as lessons. Tonight was supposed to change that.
The warehouse rose ahead, gray steel glowing under the floodlights.
“No,” I said, firmer this time, to Dino, to myself, to the fear crawling under my ribs. “This isn’t Valenti territory.”
Dino shrugged. Checked his phone. “This is the place.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now we wait.”
I straightened my spine. Fixed my cuffs. Tried to ignore the tightness in my gut.
In Paris, I painted. I memorized light, sun on water, graphite dust on my fingers until even bread tasted like paper. Paris hadn’t been safe, but it had been mine.
Now I was back in Palermo, and the streets were sketchingme. Rough lines. No softness.
This was my father’s world, and I had to prove I belonged in it. Maybe then he’d stop looking through me like I was a mistake he couldn’t erase.
Even I wasn’t sure I believed it.
My phone buzzed.
Enzo: You good?
