Page 7 of Until You Break

DAMIANO

All hell had broken loose. And I was smiling.

Gunfire split marble and men alike. Muzzle flashes carved the warehouse into gold and black.

Shell casings skittered underfoot. Cordite burned my throat, smoke clawed my lungs.

A body slammed into marble, the ricochet whine of bullets screaming above.

Luca’s knife winked red as it cut, blood scent metallic and sharp enough to taste.

Through it all, I kept my grip on Emilio’s jaw, thumb digging in until his breath caught. Possession, not comfort. A reminder to every man in this room that I could do whatever the hell I wanted with him, and no one would stop me. Not his father. Not his brothers. Not God.

Riccardo roared somewhere in the smoke, but I didn’t bother looking at him. Why waste breath? He wasn’t the prize here. His son was.

Now he was mine.

I dragged Emilio flush against my side, letting the crowd see it.

His spine was rigid, but the drugs still threaded through him, twitchy and unsteady.

He hated needing my hold to stay upright, but he couldn’t stop it.

His head lolled too freely, muscles betrayed by the chemicals, thoughts scattered like sparks in a storm.

“Papà…” Emilio’s voice cracked, soft and desperate. His pupils were blown wide, breath hitching under my hand. Still fighting, still pretending.

“I’ll get you out of here, figlio.”

A lie. The chuckles that rippled from my men said it for me.

I smirked, bent close enough for Emilio to feel my words at his temple. “You still think so, Valenti? Think you can break through our walls and take what’s mine? Watch me.”

Riccardo roared, a sound that rattled the smoke and stone. Emilio trembled against me, pulse hammering under my thumb, breath stuttering as if the noise could break him in half.

I was loving every second.

Gunfire kept carving the air, but I didn’t let go.

“Escort my fiance out,” I barked. My men surged forward, shielding Emilio as Alessandro shoved him toward the exit.

Orders snapped, bodies shifted, the warehouse dissolving into noise and smoke.

I laughed, low and sharp, even as rounds sparked off steel.

Truth. Blood pays blood, and Emilio Valenti, bruised and burning with hate, was the ransom fate delivered into my hands. The thrill coiled sharp in my chest. My future husband.

He twisted, tried to tear free. I caught his collar and yanked him into my chest. Thumb dug in, forcing him upright. Spine rigid. Every movement betrayed him. “You walk, cucciolo. To the car. Or I drag you.”

“Then drag me,” he spat.

“Good. I like it filthy.” I threw him over my shoulder like contraband, grinning at Alessandro, who rolled his eyes.

“So much drama.”

“You know me. A showman.”

He huffed and kept barking orders. We pushed through gunfire. Someone screamed. Someone fell. I didn’t care.

Tonight wasn’t about survival. It was about conquest. And Emilio felt way too good against me, lithe muscle, stubborn as he pounded against my back. “Let me go! You filthy pig. Let me…go!”

“Be nice.” I squeezed his ass hard enough to make him flinch, nothing more. A demonstration for anyone watching. Proof he was mine to handle, not theirs.

At the SUV, I dropped him and shoved him inside the first black truck. Behind us, gunfire cracked. Luca slid in, knuckles drying brown.

“Time to go back to your palace, Princess,” I said, winking at my brother as I hauled Emilio closer. I bent near his ear, letting him hear the command without mistaking it for comfort. “Let’s go.”

The ride was fast and silent but for engines and Emilio’s tight breathing.

Under the dome light, his pupils tried to focus.

Drugs still clung, a haze making him twitchy, reckless.

Streetlights smeared into ribbons. His head lolled, catching, fighting.

Sweat slicked his neck. For a moment I swore he thought I could hear his thoughts, his gaze darting to me like I was already inside his head.

Cute, in a cruel way. His tongue tripped on the words, slurred at the edges, drugs loosening his defiance.

“Where…where you takin’ me?”

“Home. You’ll recognize the accommodations.”

“I…won’t…go in there.”

“You’ll go exactly where I tell you.”

“No—”

I closed a fist in his shirt and dragged him into the cone of light. His body resisted, but the chemicals still running through him betrayed the fight. His shoulder sagged a fraction before he caught himself.

“Try me again,” I murmured, sliding my thumb over the column of his throat just long enough to feel his pulse jump. “I enjoy the sound of you losing.”

His teeth caught his lower lip. Shoulder pressed into the seat, testing the hold. Black curls spilled across his forehead, stormwater eyes burned with defiance. My grip tightened, shoving him back into place. “Every time you push, you prove you’re already inside my hold.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he muttered, voice thick and uneven, the drugs dragging at the edges of his defiance.

His defiance stirred me more than his silence ever could. Proof he was fire even under drug weight.

We rolled through the gates under a bruised sky. The Bellandi gates shut behind us, Palermo gone, his father nowhere to reach him now. Gravel snarled under our shoes when I yanked him out. He twisted. I shoved him into brick hard enough to break his breath.

“Take him to the cellar,” I told Adrian.

My mouth curved with calculation. Emilio would look even better underground, stripped of every option but me.

Then I bent close, words for Emilio alone, low enough that the guards still saw the control even if they didn’t hear it.

“We’ll meet again soon, cucciolo. Try not to miss me. ”

“Not a chance,” he rasped, voice rough, slurred at the edges from whatever they’d given him.

I caught his chin, tilting his face toward me, not to touch, but to show him off. His father had failed. His brothers had failed. Every guard watching saw it too. Emilio was held where I wanted him, on display, and there was nothing anyone could do.

“You won’t break me.”

“I don’t need to break you.” My voice carried, sharp as a blade. “I only need you to obey. And when you do, you’ll do it in front of every man who thought you were theirs.”

He twisted. “You think I’ll just let you—”

“Let me?” I stepped in until chest met chest. Heat through thin fabric. The bite of cologne and gun oil between us. “You’re already letting me. Every time you breathe, kitten, you do it on my terms.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ll take you there myself.” My thumb pressed below his lip. “You’ll thank me for it.”

“Never.”

His pulse kicked against my touch. Mine answered. The defiance in his eyes made it better.

“Keep talking, cucciolo,” I murmured, breath stirring his hair. “I like the sound of you fighting when I already know how you’ll sound when you beg.” My hand slid lower, pressing just above his belt before I released him. A promise without hurry. I lifted my chin. “Take him down, signori.”

Adrian, my bodyguard, and another guard closed in. Emilio snarled, clawed, cursed. They dragged him through the back door and down.

I watched him go, heat spreading. Property. Prize. Problem.

Euphoria throbbed.

Upstairs, I shrugged off my jacket, kicked away my shoes, poured myself whiskey, and lit a cigarette. I drew in smoke that tasted like victory, nameless and sharp.

Already, I missed the fury in his eyes. Already, I wanted him close enough to touch. Close enough to shatter.

I opened the feed and watched them throw Emilio into the cell.

He lay there a while, then pushed up, slow, mapping his box.

Every twitch of his fingers, every drag of his lip across his teeth, I recorded in memory.

The mic carried his breaths, sharp, catching, almost like he was already learning surrender.

My pulse ticked in time with his defiance.

I hit the mic. “There he is,” I murmured to the lens, making sure he’d hear. “All bruised and beautiful. You think this is punishment? This is foreplay.”

His head jerked toward the camera, movements sluggish under the drugs. “I swear…I’ll kill you,” he slurred, the threat wobbling even as his eyes burned.

“Then aim higher, cucciolo. God left this place a long time ago.”

He slammed his palms against the wall, noise, breath, a curse swallowed by stone. Then stillness.

I let silence stretch, sweet and tight. “Tsk. Temper, temper. We’ll fix that. I’ll decide how many nights you scream into the dark before you learn to whisper yes.”

Defiance draws a moth like me. Emilio was feisty, determined to survive this, whatever he thought this was. He didn’t yet understand this wasn’t an inconvenience. Mama had orchestrated every bar of the song, and this wasn’t just theater, but a wedding march, and he was cast as my unwilling groom.

Mine.

Time passed in slow drags of smoke and silence, the kind that settles heavy in the bones. I let the minutes stretch until they hurt, savoring the anticipation.

I flicked ash, exhaled slow, and touched the comm. “Bring him up. It’s time.”

From the landing, I watched as they dragged Emilio through the house. No crowd, no witnesses—just us. His curses echoed off marble, but no one came. Family orders are gospel.

Emilio, mine, was bones and fury. Rage clung to him like cologne. Mouth wet from cursing, lips bitten. Black curls in his eyes. Every step a fight. Art in motion.

He saw me on the staircase and surged against the hold. Guards swore, muscles straining to keep him bound. He spat curses hot enough to blister, each one a gift. “You again. What do you want from me?”

“Dinner. To celebrate your new life.” I let a cruel laugh slip, smugness curling in my eyes as I watched him struggle.

“No!” His voice was raw when he fought and failed. He hissed when Adrian rolled his wrist behind his back, stormwater eyes flashing.

“You’re too pretty when you’re angry. Keep fighting, cucciolo. Make them work for it.”

His glare hit like heat and venom. “You sick bastard.”

“That’s no way to talk to your future husband,” I said, tongue against my teeth. “Though it does sound pretty from that mouth.”

He thrashed, a guard cursed when his elbow landed.

“Easy,” I drawled. “You’ll wear yourself out before dessert.”

“I’d rather starve.”

“You won’t.” I let my gaze drag over him, deliberate. “Trembling and furious, you’ll eat from my hand dressed in nothing but blood, still pretending you’re not starving.”

His chest rose and fell in short, furious bursts.

“You don’t own me.”

I tilted my head, smiling slow. “Say it again, and I’ll make sure you regret it. You’ll still end up where I put you.”

Candlelight licked his cheekbones, fury in his eyes went molten. He was too close, too furious, and I was too far from the door.

“You’ll look perfect beside me at dinner,” I said. “Men beg for my table at summits. And here you are, truffle served, wrapped in disgrace. A Valenti beside me like a gift. The dons would salivate. And you? You’re the warning I’ll pour with the wine.”

He lunged so hard the guards nearly lost him. Curses tumbled hot and jagged in two languages.

“Careful now.” My laugh tasted like fire. “Keep that blaze and we’ll chain you to the chair and let you sit there the whole night.”

Revulsion flickered. Fear.

I smiled wider. “That’s right. Be good tonight. Or I’ll lace the wine and drink while you watch.”

Color drained a shade. He straightened, rage wrestling memory. He stopped fighting.

We didn’t take the grand hall. Not for the public wing.

I led them down the narrow corridor, obsidian tile, candles, the faint scent of roses and iron.

Shadows crawled the walls like specters, each step a drumbeat.

The house’s bones seemed to hold its breath.

I imagined him inside my suite already, candlelight gilding his defiance at a dining table meant for power, the two of us alone, his rebellion set against the quiet ritual of my control.

At the door to the private suite, I glanced back and let it cut like a promise.

“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.