Page 59 of Until You Break
“What do you think happened to your mother?” Damiano asked, his emphasis deliberate, turning the words into a knife.
The question was clean and sharp. It landed and stayed.
“My father said it was your mother,” I said flatly. “All of you.”
“And you believed him?”
“When the man with a gun sits at your table, you believe what he wants.”
“And now?”
I watched my breath cloud. “Yes. It was the only truth we knew.” The admission scraped raw, and the ache of missing herhollowed through me. Grief pressed hard, so sharp I wanted to fold into myself, to hide from it, to find some other pain I could control instead. Damiano’s eyes caught mine, too sharp to miss the flicker. His thumb pressed firmer at my nape, a silent command not to disappear into myself.
“Mama would never have hurt your mother,” Damiano said, the words low but honest. “She was the only person she loved beside us.” His voice smoothed after, edge gone where others could hear. The thought scraped at me, but I let it linger in the back of my mind for now, too raw to touch. “Walk.”
We did. Two streets over a figure leaned on a parked car, one ankle crossed over the other, cigarette burning slow.
The sight stole my breath. It hit like a fist and a gift at once, shock and elation tangling so hard my chest hurt. For a second I forgot the guards, forgot Damiano’s hand at my neck. The whole street thinned to him: the curve of his shoulders, the way smoke curled above his head like time hadn’t dared touch him. Joy punched up raw and dizzy, my knees nearly giving out. I hadn’t realized how much of me still believed he was gone until he wasn’t.
He saw me in the same instant. His face cracked open, shock first, then something breaking loose that made his mouth tremble. The cigarette fell from his fingers.
“Mimmo,” he breathed. His eyes flicked once toward Damiano, wary and unwilling, and Damiano’s expression didn’t shift.
“Fratellino.” The word tore out of me, voice cracking under the weight of joy and disbelief.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
The cigarette fell from Enzo’s fingers.
I was already moving, crossing the street like gravity had been waiting for this. He caught me up hard against him, arms around me so fierce they hurt.
“Fuck,” he muttered into my hair, voice rough and shaking. “It’s so damn good to see you. I thought…God, I thought I’d never get this again.”
“I know,” I whispered, clinging tighter. “But I’m here.”
The minutes slipped past too quickly, too precious. Enzo held me at arm’s length, looking me over with a grin that cracked through his rough edges, then pulled me back in. We traded half-whispered memories, small laughs, words that didn’t matter except to prove we were both still here. For those stolen breaths, it was almost like we were boys again on the steps with stolen bread between us.
Enzo squeezed me once more, soft and fierce. “We’ll see each other soon, Mimmo. Perhaps even sooner than you think.” His hand lingered at the back of my neck like he didn’t want to let go. I whispered back, “I can’t wait.”
A sharp whistle cut from the corner. Valenti guards, watching. Enzo stiffened but didn’t look away from me.
Damiano’s grip closed hard, pulling me back against him. “Come now, piccolino.”
I watched Enzo step back toward the alley, his shoulders stiff, every line of him reluctant to go. The whistle sounded again, sharper, and he finally turned, disappearing around the corner with one last glance over his shoulder.
Damiano’s voice cut in low at my ear, meant only for me. “I let you have this. Remember who allowed it.”
“You organized this? For me?” I couldn’t believe it. My heart clenched anyway, touched and irritated at once. “Should I thank you? I should be able to move around as I please,” I snarled.
“Perhaps.” Damiano shrugged, careless. “And one day, you will. I keep what I adore, which means I won’t let you walk through enemy territory without protection.”
“Enemy territory? You’re incredible. This is my home.”
“No. I am your home.” His thumb found the back of my neck and pressed until my pulse jumped under it, a silent brand. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the weight of his hand said he’d already decided whose body left this street with bruises.
Damiano’s voice lowered again, almost satisfied. “Just like I promised you last night, tomorrow you’ll be on your knees for me.”
He pulled back just far enough to look at me, eyes burning like he hadn’t slept since the last time we touched. Protective fury flickered there already, banked but waiting.
