Page 68 of Until You Break
His fingers curled around mine, silent but sure. Our grief pressed close between us, two weights shared, lighter for being held. I breathed him in, felt his body finally yield into rest, and let the night close on that promise. Even half-asleep, the weight of my cock pressed against him, promise waiting for the morning.
CHAPTER 23
DAMIANO
The next day began with a buzz from my phone on the nightstand. I swung my legs out of bed, crossed to pick it up. A message from Luciana lit the screen
Luciana: Everything is signed and confirmed. Tonight at 18:00. Dress code is black tie. I've informed the family. You just need to bring the husband
Damiano: Thanks sis, see you there.
My eyes were already pinned to the bed, watching him where I’d left him. My chest fluttered.
How would Emilio react?
I snorted at my own thoughts. When the fuck had I become so soft? If my brothers saw me now... It didn't stop me from picking out Emilio's favorite record. Piano music filled the room.
He lay against the pillows in one of my T-shirts, legs tangled in the blanket, skin kissed darker than mine from summer days he still carried. Bruises traced his chest and throat where my mouth had marked him last night, faint but certain. His eyesflickered when he caught me watching, shame and thrill in equal measure.
By the wide window, the coffee machine hissed to life. Steam curled, blending with the low piano line I’d already set on the record player. I poured two cups, set them down, and slid back into bed beside him. He pulled his knees up, watching me with wary amusement.
“You actually make coffee.”
“For you, I do it myself.” I handed him a cup, fingers brushing his. “Buongiorno.”
His mouth softened, lips quirking. “Good morning.”
I tucked myself under the warm sheets. Emilio’s sketchbook sat open near his hip.
“What were you drawing?”
“Nothing.” He tried to cover it with his hand, but I slid the book free. The page showed fast strokes, darker lines pressed harder than they needed to be. The garden outside the window, shaded and alive under his pencil.
He caught me looking and muttered, “Sometimes I wake up at night and draw. Couldn’t sleep. Your view is perfect for it.”
“You're talented,” I murmured. “I’d buy your work, if you’d draw something else. Something like…me.”
He chuckled, cheeks flushing from my praise, looking both handsome and boyish. Irresistible.Mine.
I took a sip of coffee, then leaned back into the pillows beside him. My free hand found his face, turning him to me. My thumb brushed the line of his cheek.
“So this dream,” I said, voice low. “Your gallery. What would you hang on the walls?”
Emilio's smile softened, eyes unfocused, dreamy. “My work. Other artists’ work. I always imagined a place of my own. White walls, glass high enough to catch the light. Mama and I used to go to galleries, museums. We’d fantasize about it. Once I thoughtI’d make one for her, for us. A place where we could spend hours and forget everything else. I’d put up young artists too, the kind I studied with, who never had a chance to be seen. Mama always said discovery was the soul of art.”
“You sure had a lot of time to dream,” I said. “I never saw you at meetings. I saw Salvatore. I saw Enzo. But never you. Where were you?”
“With my mother. My father never brought me. Said I didn’t have the heart for it.” His jaw tightened. A pause, bitter. “He was probably right.”
“You’re wrong.” My thumb traced his cheekbone. “He didn’t see what I see.”
Emilio’s gaze sharpened, voice quiet. “What do you see?”
I held his eyes. “A man who’s intelligent. Who has vision. Who carries both experience and art inside him. Someone strong enough to stand in my world, and still see the beauty in it.”
A soft chuckle escaped him, lips curling sly. “Is that how you see people like us?” His eyes glinted, teasing. He plucked the cup from my hand, set it aside, then leaned in close. “You know, in Paris, I was surprised. Students there romanticized the mafia. They didn’t know I was from one, but they loved the idea.”
I brushed my mouth to his ear. “What did they think?”
