Page 78 of Until You Break
I huffed, breath shaking. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this.” The words slipped out fragile, half-ashamed, my eyes skittering away from his.
"Yes, you can." His laugh was low, dangerous, pleased. He flipped the blade and pressed the hilt into my palm. “Go on,piccolino. Mark me first. Put yourself in my skin. Show me you’ve got the courage.”
The weight of it trembled through me. I lifted the blade to his chest, just under the collarbone. He didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe, only stared down like I was already holy. Slowly, carefully, I carved the first line, the steel parting skin in a shallow arc. Blood welled bright, following the trail as I drew the letter into him. His breath left in a groan, head tipping back, chest rising intothe blade like he wanted more. I dragged the second line just as slow, the cut sharp and clean, blood running in thin rivulets down his ribs. His hand stayed steady on my hip, grounding me as I finished the final stroke, the letter taking shape under my trembling hand. TheEbloomed red, carved into him, stark and raw.
He groaned again, voice rough. “Good. Yours.”
“I wanted this,” I whispered, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.
For a breath we just stared at each other chest to chest, the bad hovering between us like a promise. My heart thrashed so hard I thought it might split before the steel ever did.
His grin was sharp, blood at the edge of it. “Now mine. And I’ll mark you where no one else will ever dare look. My initial over your scars, so every time you see them, you’ll remember they belong to us, not to your pain.”
The knife left my hand before I could stop it. The sound of steel kissing skin rang sharp in my ears, a slice that sang of pain and permanence. The scent of iron rose hot between us, metallic and heavy, mixing with sweat.
It coated my tongue when I licked my lips, sharp and copper-bitter, the taste of us burned into my mouth.
The sting spread outward in waves, fire clawing through my thigh, twisting into something that made me shiver with both terror and need. My breath hitched, half-choked by fear, half-broken by arousal, as if my body couldn’t decide whether to recoil or beg for more. Cold kissed the inside of my thigh, over old scars, before heat split through me.
The blade bit shallow, but enough to send fire through my nerves. Hot blood welled fast, slicking down my skin, and the pain made me gasp, raw, sharp, undeniable. My thighs trembled, torn between flinching and pressing closer.
His mouth followed at once, tongue dragging slow over the fresh line, licking blood like sugar, drinking every drop as though it were proof of what he owned.
A crude, rawDburned into me. His mark.
“Mine,” he whispered against it, voice torn between hunger and vow. “Forever. Every cut from now on is a crown. You’ll never bleed alone again. You’ll bleed as mine.”
I swallowed, still shaking. “Then we match.”
His eyes cut up to mine, fever-bright. “Yes. We match. King and consort. No more loneliness. No more hiding. You bleed with me now, and the world will learn what that means.”
The knife clattered to the floor. His hand stayed heavy on my thigh, his mouth softening over the wound until pain and promise blurred together. Blood streaked our skin, smeared between our stomachs, slick enough that he dragged his hand down and used it to stroke us harder, the mess becoming our seal. He pressed his mouth to my ear, whispering of families, of territories, of how we would rule this city together in blood and pleasure as he pushed me back onto the bed. Our cocks rubbed slick against each other, desperate and raw, the heat of it unbearable. He gripped my jaw, forced my eyes to his, and growled, “Come with me. Bleed and come as mine.”
The pain sharpened the pleasure, every thrust of our hips dragging us closer until release tore through me, wet and violent. His growl filled my mouth as I came, my body breaking against his chest. He followed a heartbeat later, groaning my name, spilling across my chest, across the mark he had made, grinding against me until we were both ruined in sweat and blood.
We collapsed in the mess of it, mouths still seeking, kissing through the wreckage as if we couldn’t stop. Blood and come bound us tighter than any vow, iron heat mixing with salt and skin. Damiano’s mouth dipped lower, kissing the wound as if sealing it with his lips. A drop of blood slid off my thigh andhit the sheets with a soft patter, stark in the quiet. He reached up after, thumb brushing the sweat from my temple, covering me with his body as if shielding me from everything outside this room. I shuddered, whispering back into his hair, “Always.”
And for the first time, the cut didn’t feel like loss. It felt eternal, a vow carved in blood that bound us to reign together. It felt like a future. It felt like reign.
It felt like us.
CHAPTER 27
DAMIANO
"Welcome." The hush of glasses stilled, a cough caught in someone’s throat, the night air tightening as if it bent to her will. Marcella stood at the center, black dress severe, white hair gleaming like steel under firelight. Perfume clung to her sleeve, grappa burned in her glass. She lifted it, and silence spread until even the night held its breath.
“I have carried this family as far as my hands will allow,” she declared, voice sharp as steel against the night. “But after tonight, I retire. The weight passes from me to the one who was born to bear it. From now on, this house belongs to my heir.” Her eyes cut to Damiano, weight and warmth bound together. “From this moment, our blood answers to him. Damiano leads us, together with his Emilio.”
He stepped forward, shoes whispering against stone. Sweat gleamed at his temple in the fire’s glow. He raised his glass toward Marcella. “You built it, Mama. I’ll guard it, brick by brick. And I’ll carry your name so the city never forgets who made it strong.” The alcohol’s scent laced the air between them, sharp and heavy, binding past to future.
Marcella inclined her head once, then stepped in close. She hugged Damiano, stiff at first, then fierce, before turning anddrawing me into her arms as well. A single tear caught in the firelight at the corner of her eye, quickly brushed away but seen by all. The family’s approval closed like a lock around him. My chest swelled at his side, pride searing hotter than the night, my palms damp against the cool glass of my drink.
Luca grinned, though his eyes shone damp at the edges, and he cleared his throat quickly as if to swallow it down, tossing his glass in one hand like he was weighing its worth. “So it’s true. Our Damiano finally gets the crown.” Laughter rolled through the terrace as he gestured for Lina to crack open the bottles of whiskey and keep every glass full, the sharp scent of peat and smoke drifting in the warm air.
Nonna muttered with a crooked smile, loud enough for all to hear, “About time the girl sat down.” Another ripple of laughter followed, quick and irreverent, before the hush returned and the moment settled with the seal of finality.
I pulled my brothers into quick, rough hugs, smiling as their guards lingered a step behind, watchful shadows on the terrace. “I’m glad you’re here.”
