Page 24 of Until You Break
My phone buzzed. A message blinked on the screen from Luca.
It's showtime, big brother.
I slid the phone shut and rose. I nudged Adrian.
"Adrian. Bring myfiancé to his rooms when he's ready. Stay sharp."
I paused in the doorway. From the lane below came a low, gathering rumble, engines answering one another like distant drums. The sound slipped under the windows and swallowed the candlelight. I let the door hang and stepped out, Palermo glittering and dangerous beneath me.
CHAPTER 8
EMILIO
The click behind me was sharp as a gun cocking. I turned, pressing my back to the door as if to keep it shut, shoulders heavy, jaw aching from clenched teeth, breath dragging with the pent-up weight of the night. I let my eyes sweep the room. The bedroom wasn’t what I’d expected. It was too large. Glass walls cut into the night, curtains drawn back to show the city like a captive painting. A chandelier of black crystal dripped shadow over silk sheets. Too pale to look used, too soft for anyone real.
I breathed cedar and smoke, linen so clean it stung. Cool marble bit under my feet before giving way to a rug dense enough to swallow sound. Everything gleamed, glass, steel and obsidian, scrubbed of fingerprints, waiting for mine.
I turned, but the door was seamless again. The lock slid back into place on its own. My chest clenched. It wasn’t just a door anymore. It was a verdict.
I leaned into it anyway, forehead pressed to polished wood, my pulse refusing to calm.
All I could think was shower. My shoulders ached, sweat chilled on my back, every nerve still strung tight. I needed to wash Damiano off. His words, his touch, the weight of hispresence crawling over my skin. The bathroom doorway glowed like an invitation, promising a kind of welcome I didn’t trust.
I stripped in jerky motions, as if I could peel off everything he’d put on me. Cold tile bit my bare feet, honest cold, unarguable.
I twisted the tap until water hissed and steamed. The mirror blurred before I could see myself. Heat struck my chest, turning it pink in a single breath.
I stepped under it like punishment. The spray lashed too hot against my shoulder. I pressed my forehead to the tile and counted between the thuds in my chest.
In.
Hold.
Wait for the ache.
Let go.
It wasn’t relief. It was surrender with my name on it.
I slid down until I was sitting on the floor, knees to my chest. My thumb pressed into the bruise on my thigh until it darkened. My nails carved crescents into my arm, shallow at first, then deeper, until skin split. Blood beaded, bright, thin, vanishing almost as fast as it came under the spray.
I dug harder, chasing pain like it was the only honest thing left. At least pain didn’t lie. At least it came when I called. The ache turned clean in a way the filth in my throat hadn’t. I watched the red swirl away, swallowed by the drain the same way Damiano had swallowed every part of me. It wasn’t enough. I did it again, sharper, needing to see something real, something that belonged to me.
When I stood, my legs obeyed too fast, my head lagging a beat. I hid the sway by catching the wall. My body betrayed me, twitching where he had touched, remembering too much, resisting nothing.
The towel was too soft. I wrapped it anyway, tucking it hard over the new mark. Bedroom air cooled raw skin.
I thought the worst part of the day had already passed.
Being paraded through gilded halls, strangers staring like I was an exhibit.
Being seated beside him as if the chair itself had been chosen to brand me.
Papà’s eyes cutting across the room, sharp, furious, while I sat tethered at Damiano’s side. Not son. Prize. Claimed. Displayed. Taken in front of the man who’d spent my whole life refusing to see me.
Married. To Damiano Bellandi.
The shame still clung, heavier than steam. It felt like the walls carried it too, pressing on me until even silence turned unbearable.
