Page 76 of Until You Break
He pressed me back against the cool glass wall, champagne still stinging my tongue. My shoulders struck the pane, reflections layering over us, his dark outline, my pale throat, the faint glow of candles doubled in the smoked glass. His breath burned my ear as he murmured, “I should take you here. Against your own canvases. Let you watch yourself come with your art as witness.” My body flushed, shame and heat colliding.
His mouth crushed mine once more, then broke with a rough smile. “Not yet. But soon. I’ll show you exactly what you’ve earned.”
The gallery gave us back our silence. Outside, the city lights bled through rain, stars smothered but still trying. Inside, I carried his promise like a brand, dark, possessive, waiting to be collected.
When we finally stepped out, the car waited with its engine low and steady. Guards shifted but did not speak. Damiano’s hand stayed at the small of my back, directing, claiming. I slid into the leather seat and the city’s glow spilled across his face through the wet glass. He looked at me the way men look at territory already theirs, and yet still worth conquering again.
“The city claps for art,” he said quietly, voice nearly drowned by the rain on the roof. “But it whispers about power. You’ll learn to take both.”
I breathed deep, the scent of smoke, champagne, and his cologne thick in the air. “Then let them whisper,” I answered. “As long as they know it’s us.”
The car slid through wet streets, lights bending into streaks across the glass. Rain hammered the roof like a crowd refusing to quiet. Guards followed close behind, shadows in their own cars.
Damiano’s hand stayed over mine, heavy, certain. “Next time we sit at a table,” he said, “you’ll keep your eyes open the whole night. You’ll see who leans too close, who waits too long to smile. You’ll tell me before I have to tell you.”
I nodded, throat dry, pulse steady under his thumb. The order felt less like a burden than a crown placed carefully on my head.
His hand caught mine, visible enough for the driver to see in the mirror. A small gesture, but heavy as oath. The city slid by, blurred lights and black rain, while his thumb pressed against my pulse, teaching it the same rhythm as his.
CHAPTER 26
EMILIO
We woke late, light stretching across the room like it meant to keep us there. The house hummed faintly beyond the walls, muffled guard voices, the smell of coffee drifting up the stairwell, reminders that the world was already moving even if we weren’t. Palermo glittered under a clear sky, the streets bright and dry, the sea-salt air sharp in the open windows. Damiano brushed his mouth against my hair, voice low but certain. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day.”
When we came downstairs the guards moved quiet through the hall. One asked if Damiano needed anything. He waved them off, snatched the SUV keys from the hook, and Adrian fell into step behind us anyway. Damiano shot me a half-smile as he opened the door. “He’s always there. Bodyguard or not, he acts like my shadow. At this point, I should start charging him rent for it.”
We drove into the city, his hand steady on the wheel, the other warm and heavy on my thigh. The sea flashed between buildings, waves restless under the morning sun. At the corner, gelateria Romana's shutters rolled up, the green awning snapping in the breeze, the bell chiming like it had been waiting.
We took our order to a terrace table in the sun. A couple at the next table whispered and looked away too fast, and I felt the weight of stares trailing us even here. Damiano’s hand stayed heavy on my thigh under the table, possessive, making sure no one mistook where I belonged.
The barista’s hands shook when she served us, but in the open air it was only the clink of cups and the hum of traffic.
Damiano tasted his coffee and let out a pleased sigh. “Perfect,” he said, settling back.
I pulled my phone out, turning it over in my hand like it was some strange relic. “Feels weird to hold one again,” I muttered. “Like it doesn’t belong to me.”
Damiano smirked. “You’ll get used to it. Just don’t text anyone prettier than me.”
I snorted, thumb hovering over the screen. “So we’re still set on tonight? My brothers, the roof terrace?”
“Of course.”
I typed the message to Enzo, the thread blinking at the top.
Emilio: Fratelli. We need to talk. Come tonight to the Bellandi residence. Ask for the roof terrace when you arrive. I’ll be waiting.
The reply came fast.
Enzo: We’ll be there
I stared at the screen a moment longer, warmth rising in my chest.
Damiano’s fingers tapped once against his cup, eyes distant, thoughtful. His voice came quiet, measured. “I’m curious what Salvatore will bring tonight. Whatever he’s holding back, I’ll have my men digging into it too. I don’t like mysteries sitting at my table.”
I nodded, setting my cup down. “I agree. No one threatens our life.”
His gaze cut back to mine, sharp softening into something deeper. He lifted a ringed finger and threaded it through mine, holding me with that small, territorial touch. “Our life,” he murmured, close enough that his words landed on my mouth. He kissed me, thumb dragging slow across my knuckles. When he pulled back he spoke into my lips, low and certain. “You’re right, and anyone who tries to fuck with us will end up regretting it.”
