Page 20 of Until You Break
“Dinner,cucciolo. Just us.” I opened the door, candlelight spilling like blood across the floor, and let the silence swallow his curses. Tonight, the table would hold more than food.
It would hold his defiance, and my claim.
CHAPTER 7
DAMIANO
They forced Emilio into the chair.
"My handsome fiancé." I let the word land like a bite. "Look at you. You hungry,piccolino?"
He bristled, lips parting to object, a short, animal sound like a snapped wire. "Don't."
"What? Fiancé?"
He steadied himself by smoothing the napkin once, twice. His fingers were unsteady. Linen whispered, neat lines for a man unraveling. "You don't own me."
"Oh, but I do. Mama decided," I added. "And I didn't see Riccardo objecting loud enough to stop it."
I leaned in. "So now you are mine to marry, mine to please." I chuckled at the uselessness of his struggles as the guards tightened their hold. "Adrian, what do you think? Do we need to shackle my feral fiancé? Or slip something sweet until he learns the taste of obedience?"
Short harsh laughs answered.
"No," Emilio said. The word cracked. He cursed under his breath and smoothed the napkin again. His fingers trembled.
A slow smile eased across my face. "Common sense returning. Good. That will make this more enjoyable." I leanedin, knuckles brushing his cheek. The skin was warm and trembled under my touch. "Your skin is hot, fiancé. Are you as hungry as I am?"
He tried to pull back. Adrian's hand closed at the nape of his neck and held him fast.
"Fuck you."
"Later, at dessert."
"I will not give in," he said, small and tired. He flinched when I set two fingers at his throat. "Words. Be careful. They stick," I murmured.
He flinched but did not move. His pulse drummed frantic under my ring. His pupils widened. A quick beat pulsed at his throat as if my voice had pressed fingers there without touching.
"Touch me again," he breathed, aiming for sharp and landing on scared. His lips trembled, corners betraying him faster than his tone. "I'll bite."
"You'll bite when I tell you to, and where," I said, silk on stone.
His large ember eyes darted to mine and away. Black curls clung damp to his temple in the candle heat. He was hot, not handsome the polite way, but hot the way fire is, burning everything too close.
"Why me?" he whispered. "Say it plain. Is it because I'm the weakest? Because I'm the only one who never desired this life?"
"The first time I saw you, you were behind a chair with the wrong name on it," I said. "You thought you could slip away. Mama decided otherwise and Riccardo did not shout loud enough to change her mind. So here you are on a plate for everyone to see. You watched the room like furniture told to be still and you refused. I liked that. I liked it better when you obeyed me tonight. You are the weakest of the family, the one who always wanted out. Both are useful. Both are mine."
"I'm not furniture." His jaw set, color high over bone.
"No. You're art."
"I'm not yours to hang."
"You're already hung," I said, amused. "On my wall. On my words."
The dining room was built for men like me. Stone table cold under the candles. Velvet curtains swallowed the city into hush. Crystal caught flame and fractured it into obedient pieces. Guards in the corners like statues with guns. Holsters glinting, shoulders squared. Oil, lemon, pepper, charred meat. The air pressed with weight. Silence stretched taut.
The latch kissed. Lina slipped in with olives slicked in oil and lemon, warm bread and a carafe of deep red. One guard shifted as she passed, fingers brushing his holster. Emilio's eyes flared and fled.
