Page 33 of Until You Break
“Emilio.”
“Enzo!” My brother’s voice cracked across the room. I found him at the edge of the ballroom, between two guards. Our eyes locked. For a breath, I wasn’t alone. Beside him, Papà didn’t rise. His stillness bent the air. Salvatore stood close, arm still bound in its sling. His mouth moved once—“We’ll keep fighting for you”—before the guards closed in.
“Get the fuck away from my husband,” Damiano said, voice flat and final.
“Your husband is my brother.”
The guards moved.
“Escort the Valenti family out,” Damiano said.
Enzo fought them, elbows sharp, voice breaking raw. “He’s my brother…he’s my—” For a breath I thought he’d reach me, that I’d feel his hand close around mine like when we were boys. My throat swelled, desperate to call out, but nothing left my mouth except silence.
My chest hollowed. He was right there, and I still couldn’t reach him. Not my brother anymore. Not even mine to miss. Just another thing Damiano had stolen while everyone watched.
Marcella’s voice slid in, warm and deliberate. “You were brave tonight,figlio,” she said, low. “Don’t let him take without earning it. Even my son needs to bleed for what he keeps.” Her mouth curved, secretive. “You remind me of her.”
The words hit like a knife, sharper because of who she meant. Mama. Marcella’s best friend. My mother. Gone. In that moment I missed her more than my heart could take. The ache hollowed me, raw and unhealed, and Marcella’s gaze only twisted it deeper.
Damiano reclaimed my hand, turning us toward the crowd.
“Bellandi gold fits him well, doesn’t it?” The roar swallowed me.
“Get ready,amore mio. Let’s give them a show for our first dance.”
The music surged, the opening notes of Luna Amara flooding the ballroom. Slow. Sensual. Meant for sin.
Damiano tugged me into the circle of watching eyes. My knees locked. The room silenced. He wrapped one hand around my waist, the other gripping mine. The ring still weighed heavy, too bright, too binding.
Damiano’s thumb traced the band, pressing just hard enough to leave an ache. “You’ll never take it off,piccolino. Even when it’s gone, you’ll still feel me here.”
He dragged my hand up between us, forcing the gold to glint under the chandeliers. The light caught on the ring, on his rings, on my flushed skin, turning the binding into spectacle. My pulse hammered against it. Loud. Erratic. Too loud. I swore he could hear.
“Let them watch,” he murmured. “Let them see how perfect submission looks on you.”
“I’m not—” The word died under his gaze.
I tried to step back, but another guard shifted closer. Damiano’s grip tightened, his smile patient and cruel.
Across the room, Papà’s jaw clenched when Damiano’s hand slid lower. He didn’t move. Didn’t shout. Didn’t rise. His fingers whitened against the stem of his glass. The fury I searched for wasn’t there. Only silence.
His palm spread wider at my back, steering me through the turn so my chest brushed his with every pass. His hand slid lower, territorial, practiced, pressing just above the swell of my ass, guiding my hips against his. The ridges of his cock pressed hard, unapologetic, grinding in time with the music. Dread tangled with a heat I couldn’t smother. My cock stiffened, confused, hungry, ashamed.
The silk dragged cruelly as I shifted. Wet. Visible. Shame everywhere. My arousal seeped through, staining. If anyone looked closely they’d see it. My body’s betrayal on display.
Urgent. Begging without my permission.
“You move like you’ve been mine for years,” Damiano murmured. His lips ghosted my ear, hot and cruel. “Tell me, piccolo, is this where you wanted to end up? Bent around my hand in front of them all?”
I gasped, nails digging into his shoulder. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because they need to see what happens when a Valenti is made honest.”
“I didn’t choose this marriage,” I spat.
His smirk cut clean. “Your body’s making vows your mouth can’t keep.”
He rolled his hips, sharp, deliberate. My breath stuttered. His knuckles brushed my cock through the silk. The wetness made every stroke louder. Filthier. Undeniable.
