Page 29 of Until You Break

EMILIO

The noise ended with the bell, but the silence that followed was heavier.

The Valenti guards closed around their heir as he stepped back from the ropes.

For a moment the crowd disappeared. Salvatore turned over his shoulder, eyes finding Emilio.

His hand lifted, quick, subtle, fingers brushing the air, tapping temple, then ear.

Call me. A sign meant for his brother, caught by phones, caught by whispers, turned into myth before it even faded.

Emilio’s hand twitched, almost reaching. I tightened mine at the hinge of his neck until the impulse stayed inside him. Still, his eyes followed until Salvatore vanished into the dark beyond the terrace.

The crowd shifted, torn between applause and silence. Respect clung in the air like smoke, reluctant and undeniable.

*Valenti. Wolf. *

Husband.

Words hissed low, not meant for my ears. Every phone caught it. Tomorrow the city would wake knowing he’d chosen me.

I kept Emilio close as we left the ring. My knuckles split, blood drying in dark lines. His eyes caught it, mouth tightening, mothering worry creeping in where I didn’t want it.

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured.

“Not enough to matter.”

He caught my hand, thumb brushing the split, too careful. I let him fuss over me for one beat before I curled my fingers and caught his chin.

“Careful, piccolino. You patch me up like you plan to keep me.”

His mouth twitched, torn between irritation and something softer. I pressed his neck until his attention came back where it belonged.

Adrian cleared the path ahead, and the others closed it behind.

We took the private exit. The golden stairs spilled away in a hush of light and echo. The metal caught the city’s spill and fed it back in strips across his throat. The smell changed, less blood and beer, more glass and cold rain. Our footfalls stacked up like a heartbeat going down.

Inside our rooms, the city’s noise turned into memory. The door shut behind us and I didn’t bother with lights. Enough gold from the stairwell made him shine.

Emilio turned to me fast, words already spilling, his eyes wet at the edges.

“I can’t believe they did that. Salvatore—he came here, into your house.

Do you think Enzo knew? Do you think he planned it with him?

Salvatore was always so distant, so cold, and now he—” His voice cracked, then rushed faster.

“He fought for me. I can’t believe he fought for me. ”

“I can’t either,” I said with a crooked smile, blood still at my mouth. “Crazy stronzo.” My hand slid to his nape, steadying the tremor under his skin.

He blinked, still spilling over. I tilted his chin until his eyes met mine. “But he did it. And you’re still here.” My thumb pressed his pulse, slower now, more deliberate. “With me. You told the whole terrace you chose me.”

His eyes shimmered. He didn’t deny it.

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “I did. Even if I can’t explain it yet. But I want something else too. I miss my brothers. I don’t want them fighting for me anymore. I just want time with them again. Meals, afternoons. Normal.”

I studied him, the honesty in his eyes, the ache laid bare.

My thumb stroked his pulse once. “Then you will. You’ll see them again, not only at terraces or in fights, but the way you want.

No more brothers proving loyalty with blood.

But for now, there’ll be guards. Riccardo hasn’t cooled, and I won’t have him near you without eyes on him.

You’ll have your time, cucciolo, but you’ll have it safe. ”

He gave me the smallest smile, raw and grateful, a whispered thank you trembling at the edge of his mouth.

I brushed his temple once in answer, then guided him by the neck toward the bathroom.

The door shut behind us. My hand found the switch automatically.

Light spilled over tile, bright and clean.

Emilio squinted, almost flinched. “Can we dim it? Or… just a candle?”

“Only if you want it softer,” I answered gently. I watched him shift under the light, fingers worrying the seam of his sleeve. “But I’d rather see you.”

His throat worked, silence betraying him more than words.

I turned the tap; water rushed in, the sharp scent of eucalyptus curling into the air. Steam began to climb the glass. I rolled my cuffs back, veins and knuckles still streaked from the fight, and looked back at him. He lingered at the threshold, arms crossed like the frame itself might save him.

“You’re holding something,” I said, quiet but certain.

“I’m not—” His voice cracked, denial fraying even as it left his mouth.

I dried my hands slow, then closed the distance. He tried to slip sideways through the frame. I braced a hand on the marble beside his head, the other at his neck, cornering him in the spill of steam and light.

“Let me see you.” My thumb stroked once against his pulse, a promise more than a command.

His jaw tightened. “No.”

“Then we do it together.” My voice dropped, reverent, coaxing. “You’ve always tried to hide from me, but not tonight. You think I never noticed?”

His eyes widened, wet and defiant all at once. I took the hem of his shirt, slow enough for him to stop me. He didn’t. I peeled it up, knuckles grazing his ribs, and he lifted his arms stiffly until the fabric dragged free. His chest rose and fell too quick, heat rushing across his face.

“Bravo, cucciolo,” I murmured, letting the shirt drop. “Again.”

Trousers next. He fumbled, I steadied. His hand closed over mine, our motions clumsy and deliberate until the fabric slid to the floor.

He stood bare in the gold spill of light, breath fast, but he hadn’t hidden.

I brushed my thumb along his jaw and felt him steady under it.

“Brave,” I told him, low. “You undress for me now.”

By the time Emilio stepped into the bath, steam was already rising thick and fragrant, eucalyptus filling the air. The water lapped high, hot enough to blur the mirror. He sank in slow, as though the tub itself might offer shelter, and for a moment I let him believe it would.

I stepped in after him, still dressed, cuffs rolled high, trousers soaking dark the second they touched water. I didn’t care. The heat swallowed us both. I drew him back until his spine touched my chest, until his shoulders fit under my chin like they’d been carved for it.

“Lean,” I murmured. He did, stiff at first, then softer when my palms spread across his sternum. The bone there rose and fell too fast. I stroked down slow, cloth dragging heat over ribs, belly, the fine ladder of muscle that clenched and tried to hold still.

“Breathe.”

He shuddered. Steam curled off his skin.

Every inch of him was a map written in scars and softness, lines I intended to memorize until nothing about him could hide again.

I pressed the cloth into the hollow of his throat, down to the sternum, traced the curve of each rib.

When he flinched, I replaced linen with lips, slow and claiming, a kiss to sternum, another to collarbone.

“Brave,” I whispered against damp skin. “You let me see.”

Then the water betrayed him. Steam parted and the truth showed itself—angry, red, carved into the tender skin of his thighs.

Lines too fresh to ignore, layered over paler ghosts that spoke of older nights.

His whole body jolted, shame hitting sharper than heat.

He tried to fold, arms dragging down, knees clamping to hide what he thought I shouldn’t see.

I didn’t let him. My hands steadied, my shins anchoring as I spread his knees wider and held him open to the light.

His hands clenched the porcelain edge. I covered one with mine, pried his fingers loose and threaded them with my own until his knuckles loosened.

“You don’t have to hold on to that anymore,” I said softly as I threaded our fingers.

“You hold me. But if you try to hide from me again, I’ll drag it into the light myself. ”

Steam thickened, blurring the mirror until we looked like one shape. I ran the cloth over the inside of his arm, where skin thinned and pulse fluttered quick. His breath hitched. “Good,” I told him, voice low. “That’s mine too.”

I dragged the cloth over his wrists, his hands, washing each finger slow, rubbing circles into the base of his thumbs until his grip softened fully. He let me handle him, body heavy against my chest. I kissed the crown of his damp hair, murmuring praise he couldn’t quite answer.

His whisper came raw, “Don’t...don’t look.”

I caught his wrists, brought his eyes back to mine. “You think I’d rather be blind? No, cucciolo. I want every truth, even the ones that hurt.” My thumb pressed into his pulse until it steadied under me.

He broke then, words spilling out like he couldn’t stop them.

“Sometimes the nights are too long. Too quiet. After Mamma… she faded faster than memory should allow. I hated that I couldn’t remember her laugh.

And the silence in that house, it swallowed me.

I needed noise, any noise, so I carved it into my skin instead of screaming.

Just for a second, it worked. And then I hated myself for it. ”

I held him through it. Pressed my forehead to his temple, let my mouth shape vows into his hair. “You carved silence. I’ll carve presence. Every sound you need, you take from me now. No more blades. No more hiding.”

He trembled, wet lashes sticking. “It worked, just for a second,” he whispered, ashamed.

“Then I’ll give you longer than a second.” My palm flattened to his chest, over the frantic beat beneath it. “I’ll give you as long as you want.”

He swallowed hard and whispered more. “The first time…I was thirteen. The house was so quiet, I thought I would die in it. I cut once just to hear something louder than my head. And it worked. For a second.” His voice broke again. “Then I couldn’t stop.”