Page 5 of Until You Break

DAMIANO

I left the cell with my pulse heavier than I wanted to admit.

He’d pressed under my skin without permission.

That was the problem with fire, you don’t choose what it lights.

Emilio Valenti wasn’t meek, wasn’t soft, wasn’t something to fold; he was flint, striking where most men learned to go quiet.

The thought repeated until I pressed it down where it could wait.

The door sighed closed behind me. A guard looked up. The look died when it met mine. “Problem?” My voice was mild.

“No, signore.”

“Good.” I kept walking.

The corridor gave way to the stair, then to the roof.

Palermo hit my face, salt, gasoline, garlic smoke.

Heat rose off the stone. The night pressed at my throat with the same insistence as the boy’s pulse under my thumb.

Emilio already lived in my senses like the city did, threaded in whether I wanted him or not.

The terrace was empty. Our kind of empty, watched, cataloged, owned.

I poured a drink from the decanter Luca kept out here.

The glass sweated. The whiskey burned. On the low table sat a neon mask from last night’s fight.

I picked it up, twisted it once. Through the hollow eyes, Palermo’s skyline looked like prey.

The way Emilio had looked at me, his fear braided with defiance, coiled under my ribs like a dare. Bellandi blood doesn’t drop dares. I’ve never met one I couldn’t turn into a game. I set the mask down, then slid it into my jacket pocket.

“Restless night?” Luca’s voice slipped out of the dark. He stepped into the spill of light with a whiskey and a grin that needed sleep. “Or is your new prize, pet, keeping you up?”

“Stai zitto.”

Luca tipped his head back, eyes flashing. “Rumors are asking if Damiano Bellandi finally found something he can’t break.”

I looked at him. He grinned harder. “Careful.”

“Careful’s boring.” Luca tipped his glass at the night. “You look… occupied.”

“I’m observant.”

“Nah, you’re obsessed.” His teeth flashed. “You know the dogs bark when a new king drags meat through the square. So tell me, fratello, is he barking for you yet? Or are you barking for him?”

My jaw twitched. “Let them bark. I’m listening for the ones who don’t.”

He laughed. “There he is.” He leaned on the rail, watched the city twist. “You going to tell me how it went? Or make me guess why your pulse still looks like it’s chasing him?”

I thought of the cell, the strip light, the way Emilio had looked at me. Afraid, yes. But not only that. Fear sat beside defiance, like he knew both could be true at once. That was the part I couldn’t shake.

Luca tilted his head. “You’re touched. Admit it. You like that he’s beautiful.”

I drank. He smirked. Silence sat with us.

“I saw him once, way before the casino opening,” Luca said. “At the old hotel. Shoes too polished, hair too good. The one who watches.”

“He still watches. Even when he’s afraid.”

“You’re not watching back,” Luca lied.

I didn’t answer.

He glanced at my pocket. “You keeping souvenirs now?”

“Sometimes a mask is a mirror.”

He whistled. “Philosopher King. Madonna help us.”

I set my glass down. “We’re done.”

“Never.” But he pushed off the rail. “Try sleeping, big brother. You get prettier.”

“I ruin easier.”

“That too.” He drifted into the dark. I left with a smile anyway, the kind that belongs to brothers who can bite and laugh in the same breath.

I took the golden stairs reserved for us.

Each step landed soft. The house swallowed my reflection and gave it back in pieces.

Riccardo’s voice flickered in memory, boasting over wine how his son had returned, as if loyalty came when called.

The taste of it went sour, him grinning like a king while Emilio stood behind with his sketchbook, quiet as stone, pretending not to hear the ridicule pouring from his father’s mouth.

Now he sat in my home, tied up like a dog.

Waiting for his owner. I filed the taste where it could work later, though every number on the page blurred.

Work refused to hold when his face kept pulling through it.

The drink went to the table. I went to the chair.

Irritation curled low, warm as banked coal. “Fucking Emilio.” Almost fond.

One tap on my phone and the cellar filled the screen. Sweating concrete. A strip light buzzing. A room designed to be honest about time. He lay like stone pretending velvet. Pride stitched into stillness. Fingers curled under the thin blanket. Chin lifted just enough to argue with walls.

My jaw flexed.

Luca was right. The ghost of his pulse still lived under my thumb.

I could count it without touching him and hated that I could.

I told myself I was checking the lock. I watched for fifteen minutes.

Then twenty. Every minute another hook. Every second a dare.

The mic brought me small sounds: a swallow, the whisper of fabric, the clipped exhale when the light stuttered and settled.

I shouldn’t have counted his breaths, but I did.

When I raised the volume, his swallow filled the room like a confession. When I zoomed the feed, his lashes quivered in rhythm. The camera’s red dot blinked like it thought it knew my heartbeat. “Enough.” I killed the feed, lying to myself. The images didn’t go when told.

The ceiling held its dark. The city hummed. Eventually exhaustion did what desire refused.

Morning came gray and sharp. The house slid into its rituals. Garlic and bread from the kitchen. Pans throwing their fits. A song from a radio with opinions. Marble cooled my feet as I crossed the hall. Sea air laid salt on gilt frames.

Two guards passed, murmuring about codes. The word port landed and didn’t apologize.

Alessandro turned the corner with a phone and a frown. He ended the call when our eyes caught. “Status?” His tone carried ledgers and guns—the kind of check-in that meant business, not pleasantries.

“Quiet where it shouldn’t be. Too quiet.”

His head tilted. “Heard you went to the roof last night to romance the skyline.”

“I prefer relationships with consent.”

“Since when?”

His mouth ticked. “Mama’s asking for you. She says it’s urgent, which means it’s personal.”

I kept on through the east hall. Oil-painted ancestors stared like they were still trying to invoice me. I knocked once on Mama’s door.

“Inside.” She opened it herself. Silk robe. Cigar smoke. Perfume with an edge. The room held quiet like a glass holds water. The faint clink of porcelain sounded like a verdict.

Outside, a gull cried once. The city thrummed under it.

Her eyes narrowed. I let the silence stretch. She never asked questions she didn’t already know the answers to. “You’re pleased with him,” she said finally.

“I am.” Smug, certain. “More than I expected.”

She nodded once. “He was Isa’s pride. My friend’s joy. She would have wanted him seen, not hidden. Safe, not wasted.” Her gaze cut to me, sharp as glass. “And now he’s yours.”

“Mine,” I confirmed. Possession, pride, truth.

“You’ll keep him, Damiano. Not because I tell you to, but because you want to. That’s what makes it real.” The smoke curled around her ring like it bowed. “The world will know soon enough. They’ll look at him and see you. They’ll look at you and know what he is to us.”

Belongs slid into place. Not a pawn. A gift. “I’ll keep him.”

“In one piece,” she murmured. “In the shape I like.” Her mouth curved. “Good boy. Isa would be glad. Riccardo will choke.”

I turned, pleased to carry her approval like a weapon. Her voice followed. “And Damiano?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t let them mistake it for weakness.”

“I’m not weak. I’m proud.”

“No. You’re precise. Let him be the proof.”

I left her with the smoke and the view, smug enough to smile.

The neon mask sat warm in my pocket. Through its hollow eyes, the city already bent to me.

And so would he. The world hadn’t seen him yet.

They’d learn his name beside mine, under the same light, and they’d understand what it meant when a Valenti flame burned inside Bellandi hands.

Mama was right. The world would know soon enough. It would be made official today.

Let them watch. Let them whisper. I’d give them a show worth bleeding for.

Footsteps echoed in the hall. Metal keys turned somewhere below.

The house exhaled like it knew what came next.

Alessandro waited at the corner, phone gone, expression sharp.

“You coming?” he asked. “Always,” I said, a grin twitching at my mouth.

He rolled his eyes. The smile stayed as I followed, carrying Luca’s banter still warm on my lips.