Page 21 of Until You Break

DAMIANO

The party was already a performance. Glasses lifted, guests whispering, Palermo waiting for blood and for the Bellandi groom on display. They had come for the fights, but also to see us together, my unwilling husband, my beautiful prize.

Emilio’s breath caught as we stepped onto the terrace, eyes darting over the glitter and press of bodies. “This is your idea of a wedding party?” he muttered, half awe, half disbelief. Over-the-top, indulgent, merciless. Exactly the way I wanted it.

I didn’t slow down for him. He knew better than to make me call him twice. “Keep up.”

“I’m not the one stopping traffic.”

“You are the traffic.”

He muttered under his breath, “Christ, this isn’t a party, it’s a circus.”

Mirrors threw the skyline back at us in shards. A disco ball slit silver across short skirts and silk pants. Heels clicked. Laughter cut. The terrace pressed close, eyes following, giving us space but never distance.

The crowd tried not to stare. They failed. I took the center of the floor and lifted my glass.

“Everyone, meet my husband.”

Heat crawled under his collar. Every gaze pressed like a brand, not on me, but on him. A Bellandi husband on display, like he’d been mounted on the wall.

He looked like a painting hung for auction, a frame they’d strip until I told them it was priceless.

The night tipped toward us. Heads snapped. Someone choked on a drink. Glass hit wood. A Soriano twin laughed like he was on a stage. One man muttered, loud enough to carry, “Doesn’t look like much.”

My hand found his waist. Lower. Possessive. “My Bellandi.”

Glasses lifted, the phrase echoed.

“To the husband.” Over and over, until it sounded like a chorus.

Luca slid in with a woman in a sequin dress, spun her once, then let her twirl into a table with a laugh. Emilio shifted beside me, shoulders tight, the attention making him squirm even as a small, unwilling smile tugged at his mouth.

“Careful.” I nudged Luca’s arm. “You’re dripping vodka on my shoes.”

He grinned. “Worth it. Better than another toast to the bride and groom.”

We moved deeper, the crowd parting just enough to let us through. Emilio leaned close, voice low, wary. “What is this? Is that a dance floor?”

“Better,” I said. “Keep walking.”

I guided Emilio down into two chairs at the terrace edge, the perfect view over the pit.

From here the floor fell away into the ring, glowing hot from within, a stage built for ruin.

Guests leaned over the rail, hungry, waiting for blood.

The stink of sweat from earlier fights lingered in the pit, coppery with old blood, mixing with perfume and liquor from the crowd above.

Alessandro stood at the long gold bar with his leather ledger open, pen moving like a metronome. “Cash only,” he said first, without looking up. Then, louder, his tone carried. “Bets open in thirty seconds.”

“Bets?” His whole body jerked. His hand clamped the rail, knuckles bone white. Surprise widened his eyes first, then horror chased it, twisting his face before he could hide it. “What the hell…what is this? This is a party, right?”

I pushed his thigh down with mine, steady, claiming. “Not here. Smile. This is the other revenue. Next to the warehouse deliveries, this is our fortune.”

Shock rattled through him; he tried a grin, but it cracked at the edges. It almost held.

A trapdoor yawned. Two fighters climbed out like the city had birthed them wrong. Masks blazing, one jagged red-and-white fox, paint chipped like old debt. The other a sleek black wolf edged in neon blue, smooth as hunger.

“Candidates.” My tone was cool as smoke. “Fox owes forty. Missed three payments, lied. He walks in already doomed. Wolf’s a volunteer. He fights because he wants to, because he likes the noise, the money, the reflection. That’s the difference. Debt makes you heavy, desire makes you cruel.”

His jaw locked. “How do you know?”

I smiled, smug. “I know everything.”

Alessandro’s voice rose. “Bets open.”

I shoved a thick roll of cash into Emilio’s hand. His throat bobbed, eyes flashing panic. “My husband wagers as well.” The words landed heavy, echoing down the terrace, pinning him in place like a knife through canvas.

Eyes turned. No one pretended not to look. A murmur ran through the crowd, odds shouted, bills snapped between fingers as money changed hands fast.

He stared at the cash, eyes flicking down, then to the fighters below, then back to me. Doubt clouded his face, his throat working. “I don’t—” He leaned closer, whispering sharp. “Don’t make me choose this.”

His gaze cut back to the pit, to Fox, then to Wolf, measuring, second-guessing. His eyes begged, raw and silent. Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me pick. He lingered on Fox’s jagged mask, then the sleek wolf, his jaw tight, breath shallow, hesitation dragging like it might buy him mercy.

“You do now.” My tone was cool, smug, watching the panic climb under his skin.

He wet his lips, eyes darting again, clinging to the volunteer as if choosing the lesser evil could save him. “Wolf.”

I raised my voice, final. “Ten thousand on the wolf. From my husband.”

Alessandro scratched it down. “Logged.”

“Smile.”

He did. It cut me.

The bell rang.

No gloves. No count. No referee. Just bone.

Wolf moved like he’d rehearsed violence in a mirror. First hit split Fox’s lip under the mask. Second hit sent him skating on blood. The glass turned slick. The crowd roared. Some shouted names, others slammed bills on tables, the noise rising like thunder.

“That’s debt.” My hand slid higher on Emilio’s thigh, feeling the heat through his trousers. “Debt makes you heavy. Volunteers are light. They don’t carry shame. They carry expectation.”

“This is what I heard.” His throat worked tight. “That first night, in the bed. Not the dungeon. The noise under the floor…”

My mouth brushed his ear, satisfied. “Now you know.”

“He’s going to die.”

“That’s the point.”

“Damiano.”

“You married a Bellandi. Now, watch.”

Wolf hooked Fox behind the knee and drove him forward. The mask smacked glass. A crack veined across the pane. Blood smeared. Someone screamed happily.

“Look at me.” My words pressed against his ear.

He didn’t. He watched. Stubborn. Proud. Sick. His stomach turned, bile creeping up like memory, flashes of Paris, of white walls and canvas, clashing against this neon spectacle of blood.

“Good boy.” My whisper cut under the roar. “Hold your nerve and I’ll let you breathe later.”

“You make breathing a reward now?”

“I make everything a reward.”

His pulse flickered at his throat. “You’re a bastard.”

“You like me that way.”

Wolf dragged Fox up by the back of the mask and kneed him in the ribs. Something cracked. Fox folded. The neon turned the blood electric.

Alessandro’s voice carried. “Odds shifting! Last call.”

Luca leaned over the rail, all grin and teeth. “Finish him already,” he sang. “I’m bored.”

“Luca.” My tone sharpened.

“Yes, capo?”

“Try standing still for ten seconds.”

“Impossible.” He winked at Emilio. “Hello, brother-in-law. You look pale. Drink?”

“I’m fine.” Emilio’s voice was tight.

“You’re not.” My thigh pressed harder into his. “You’re obedient.”

He shot me a look that would have burned any other man alive.

I smiled. “Later you can show me how much you hated this. On your knees.”

“Fuck you.” No heat.

“You will. Ride me when I tell you. Arch for me when I take it. Don’t pretend you won’t.”

He swallowed and kept staring at the ring like it would pull him out of his body if he blinked.

Wolf slammed Fox’s head again. The mask split. The chin underneath looked young. The mouth bled. Fox tried to crawl. Wolf put a boot on his hands and pressed.

“No ref?” Emilio’s voice broke, faint.

“Not tonight.”

He flinched. Small. There and gone.

“Don’t. If you flinch, they’ll see it.”

The glass smeared with blood; he flinched again, then forced himself still under my voice. He stayed not because he wanted to, but because he knew I’d make him regret moving.

“Hold your face still.” My whisper was low, calm, merciless. “If you break, I’ll break you worse when we’re home.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do. And you care that I care.”

Silence. Then, barely, “Yes.”

“Good.” Soft, satisfied. “Now watch the part where hope ends.”

Wolf yanked Fox’s head back by the mask strap and snapped his throat open on the glass edge. It wasn’t clean. It was loud. It was final.

The crowd screamed. Bills waved. Hands slammed the rail. The frenzy hit like a storm.

Alessandro closed the ledger. “Winner is Wolf. Payouts at the bar.”

Emilio’s knuckles went white around the cash. His pulse hammered so loud he felt it in his teeth. His body screamed to run, but he couldn’t move.

I kissed his jaw like a sin. “That’s what happens when you can’t pay what you owe.” Satisfaction curled in my chest at how well he held, terrified, furious, but still obeying.

He didn’t speak.

I didn’t let him.

“Third card.” Alessandro’s pen tapped. “One fight. One finish. Masks on.”

The trapdoor opened again. One fighter. Then another. The first wore a mirrored skull that threw the disco light back at itself. The second wore nothing but a gold mesh over his face and a line of neon at his throat, thin as a promise.

“Skull’s a runner.” My voice held steady. “Owes a bookmaker in Naples. Goldmesh is ours. New. Fast. Mean. He wants his name sung.”

“What’s his name?” Emilio’s question came sharp.

“Tonight? Winner.”

Alessandro’s pen tapped. “Last bets.”

I pressed more cash into Emilio’s hand and didn’t let go. “Choose.”

“You choose.”

“I already did. I chose you.”

“Damiano.”

“Say it.” My voice dropped to a murmur. “Pick.”

He looked down into the pit like he was choosing which part of himself to kill. “Goldmesh.”

“Twenty,” I announced. “From my husband.”

“Logged.”

The bell didn’t ring so much as announce fate.

Skull charged. Goldmesh didn’t back up. He slipped sideways, low, fluid, then drove his elbow into Skull’s spine so hard the glass shook. The mirrored mask spidered. The crowd howled. Cheers tangled with shouted odds, money thrown onto the bar, the roar shaking the terrace.

“Watch his feet.” I tipped my chin at the ring. “He fights with ankles. See? He’s cutting space with his toes. That’s how you control a room without touching a wall.”

“You’re teaching me to fight?” Emilio’s eyes flicked to me.

“I’m teaching you to win. Against me. With me. Both.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re wet.” My whisper slid against his ear. “Don’t lie.”

He went still. Then, very quietly, “Yes.”

“Good boy.”

Goldmesh punished Skull against the wall, body, wall, body, wall, until the mirror showed cracks like bad decisions.

Skull tried a desperate headbutt. Goldmesh let it land and smiled behind the mesh.

Then he hooked two fingers through the eyeholes and dragged Skull’s face down the glass like he was erasing him.

“End it,” Luca sang.

Alessandro didn’t look up. “He will.”

Goldmesh knelt on Skull’s chest and set his hand at the neon throat line like he was testing satin. Then he slammed his palm down and crushed. The neon flickered. The mirror went dark.

No one pretended it wasn’t death. No one pretended to be sorry.

“Winner is Goldmesh.” Alessandro’s ledger snapped shut. “All payouts complete.”

The roof breathed. Money changed hands. The crowd laughed.

I turned Emilio’s face to mine with two fingers under his chin. “Look at me.”

He did. Eyes ruined. Mouth stubborn.

“You did well.”

“I did nothing.”

“You obeyed.”

He swallowed, then whispered, “Was it necessary?”

“Yes.” My answer was sharp, final. “And you’ll learn why.”

I kept my mouth at Emilio’s ear as we walked.

“When we get inside,” I said, soft enough that only he could hear, “you’re going to strip on your knees and crawl to me.

You’re going to take me out and ride me slow.

You’re going to keep your eyes on mine while the city tries to hear you. And you’re going to come when I say.”