Page 48 of Until You Break
I didn’t slow down for him. He knew better than to make me call him twice. “Keep up.”
“I’m not the one stopping traffic.”
“Youarethe traffic.”
He muttered under his breath, “Christ, this isn’t a party, it’s a circus.”
Mirrors threw the skyline back at us in shards. A disco ball slit silver across short skirts and silk pants. Heels clicked. Laughter cut. The terrace pressed close, eyes following, giving us space but never distance.
The crowd tried not to stare. They failed. I took the center of the floor and lifted my glass.
“Everyone, meet my husband.”
Heat crawled under his collar. Every gaze pressed like a brand, not on me, but on him. A Bellandi husband on display, like he’d been mounted on the wall.
He looked like a painting hung for auction, a frame they’d strip until I told them it was priceless.
The night tipped toward us. Heads snapped. Someone choked on a drink. Glass hit wood. A Soriano twin laughed like he was on a stage. One man muttered, loud enough to carry, “Doesn’t look like much.”
My hand found his waist. Lower. Possessive. “MyBellandi.”
Glasses lifted, the phrase echoed.
“To the husband.” Over and over, until it sounded like a chorus.
Luca slid in with a woman in a sequin dress, spun her once, then let her twirl into a table with a laugh. Emilio shifted beside me, shoulders tight, the attention making him squirm even as a small, unwilling smile tugged at his mouth.
“Careful.” I nudged Luca’s arm. “You’re dripping vodka on my shoes.”
He grinned. “Worth it. Better than another toast to the bride and groom.”
We moved deeper, the crowd parting just enough to let us through. Emilio leaned close, voice low, wary. “What is this? Is that a dance floor?”
“Better,” I said. “Keep walking.”
I guided Emilio down into two chairs at the terrace edge, the perfect view over the pit. From here the floor fell away into the ring, glowing hot from within, a stage built for ruin. Guests leaned over the rail, hungry, waiting for blood. The stink of sweat from earlier fights lingered in the pit, coppery with old blood, mixing with perfume and liquor from the crowd above.
Alessandro stood at the long gold bar with his leather ledger open, pen moving like a metronome. “Cash only,” he said first,without looking up. Then, louder, his tone carried. “Bets open in thirty seconds.”
“Bets?” His whole body jerked. His hand clamped the rail, knuckles bone white. Surprise widened his eyes first, then horror chased it, twisting his face before he could hide it. “What the hell…what is this? This is a party, right?”
I pushed his thigh down with mine, steady, claiming. “Not here. Smile. This is the other revenue. Next to the warehouse deliveries, this is our fortune.”
Shock rattled through him; he tried a grin, but it cracked at the edges. It almost held.
A trapdoor yawned. Two fighters climbed out like the city had birthed them wrong. Masks blazing, one jagged red-and-white fox, paint chipped like old debt. The other a sleek black wolf edged in neon blue, smooth as hunger.
“Candidates.” My tone was cool as smoke. “Fox owes forty. Missed three payments, lied. He walks in already doomed. Wolf’s a volunteer. He fights because he wants to, because he likes the noise, the money, the reflection. That’s the difference. Debt makes you heavy, desire makes you cruel.”
His jaw locked. “How do you know?”
I smiled, smug. “I know everything.”
Alessandro’s voice rose. “Bets open.”
I shoved a thick roll of cash into Emilio’s hand. His throat bobbed, eyes flashing panic. “My husband wagers as well.” The words landed heavy, echoing down the terrace, pinning him in place like a knife through canvas.
Eyes turned. No one pretended not to look. A murmur ran through the crowd, odds shouted, bills snapped between fingers as money changed hands fast.
