Page 14 of Untamed

“Be safe, sweetheart,” Mum whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “Have the adventure of a lifetime.”

Bianca lets out a soft, watery laugh, squeezing Mum tight.

“I will,” she promises, her voice cracking just enough to give her away.

Dad is next, pulling her into a strong, steady hug, the kind that says everything he can’t find the words for. “You take care of each other,” he murmurs into her hair.

“We will,” Bianca says, her fingers clutching the back of his shirt for just a second longer than she means to.

When she finally pulls away, she swipes at another tear and laughs again, a little breathless. “Go,” Dad says, nudging her gently toward Enzo. "Before your Mum changes her mind and tries to drag you back. Enzo, you take care of our baby girl.”

Bianca smiles through the tears, linking her arm through Enzo’s as he chuckles under his breath. “You have my word, James. I’ll protect her with my life.”

And just like that, with one last wave, they’re gone, getting into the car waiting to take them to the airport.

I watch as the car pulls away and Bianca waves and blows kisses at us until they disappear out of the gates of the manor. Leaving me standing there... trying to shake the sudden, hollow feeling from my chest.

While I’m genuinely thrilled for Bianca, there’s this undeniable twinge of sadness knowing she won’t be nearby anymore. She’ll be a thousand miles away, living in a different country, in a whole new world.

She couldn’t have fallen for a good-looking Italian man who lives in London...oh no. She had to go and fall in love with one who lives sixteen-hundred miles away in Italy.

And sure, the thought of her being surrounded by vibrant culture, romantic sunsets, and the kind of scenery you see in films fills me with admiration andenvy… but deep down, selfishly, I want her close. I want her home with us.

Who am I going to bicker with over who gets to use the bathroom first now.

Shit, it’s really starting to hit me how much I’m going to miss her.

“Come on darling, we still have bags to pack before our flight.” Mum says as she throws her arm over my shoulder and leads me back inside the manor.

We came to Sicily with one suitcase each, somehow, we have wound up with two additional cases and three bags. “Jesus, how much did you shop, Anna?” I hear my Dad grunt as he and one of the Russo’s drivers play suitcase Tetris in the boot of one of the cars.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, dear.” I let out a snicker when my Dad stills and shoots her a playful glare and she shrugs back at him sheepishly.

“Well,” Dad huffs, stepping back and placing his hands on his hips while he stares at the luggage’s hanging out of the boot of the car. “All these bags won’t fit. We’ll have to load it in the back and have Jord hold a case in her lap or get a second car.”

I scowl at him and look at the large cases. Brilliant. An hour squashed in the back of the car with that heavy thing crushingmy legs sounds delightful. Before Dad can suggest anything else, Luciano Russo steps forward, his voice smooth but firm.

“James, don’t stress, we’ll arrange another car,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Matteo, you’ll take Jordyn and follow them to the airport.”

Uh, what? An hour journey with Matteo...alone?

Matteo, who’d been leaning against a wall with his hands stuffed into his pockets, watching the entire spectacle gives a lazy salute. “Sí, Nonno.”

Once the cars are loaded with the bags, we say our customary goodbye to Luciano Russo and pile into the cars to start our journey to the airport. As I climb into Matteo’s sleek, black Ferrari Portofino, because of course the playboy prince of the Russo family would drive a Ferrari, I feel a gnawing deep in my gut. It’s a feeling I can’t quite place. It’s not nerves of being alone with Matteo, no, something feelsoff...almost like impending doom. Maybe I’m just sad that we’re heading home to a life without my big sister.

Matteo’s Ferrari growls to life, the low, throaty purr of the engine filling the driveway. The car is sleek and predatory, all smooth lines and quiet power, the deep metallic black paint catching flashes of the morning sun. The leather seats are butter-soft beneath me, the interior smelling faintly of expensive cologne and something sharper that tastes a lot like adrenaline. He taps the steering wheel with an easy confidence, a cocky grin tugging at his mouth. As if he was born behind the wheel of a car like this.

“Don’t be nervous, Fossette. I’m a good driver,” Matteo says with a cocky smirk, sliding his designer shades onto his face like he has all the time in the world.

“I have a question,” I say, shifting in my seat to face him. “What is Fossette, and why do you keep calling me that?”

Matteo smiles, pulling his sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose until his hazel eyes meet mine. “Fossette means dimples, in Italian,” he says, his voice lower now, softer.

Oh.

I fix him with a glare, and he smirks back at me, leaning over to turn the music up. “Relax, princess, I know these roads like the back of my hand. You’re safer with me than with any speed limit.” The nickname makes me roll my eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. I’m not convinced, but I suppose I don’t really have much of a choice but to trust him.

I let my head fall back against the seat, watching the villa shrink in the side mirror as we pull away. Ahead of us, Mum and Dad’s car leads the way down the winding Sicilian roads.

---