Page 160 of Untamed

“Gio. Stay back a moment.”

He pauses, blinking. “Yes, Mr Russo?”

I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “Do we have any vacancies at the Catania property? Front desk, reception, something light. Or back of house.”

He shakes his head. “Not currently, sir. We’re fully staffed. Especially post-season.”

“Then create the position,” I state coolly. “She starts by the end of the week.”

His brow furrows. “May I ask who the position is for?”

“You may not.” I end the call without another word, and the screen goes black. I stare at my reflection for a moment, the hollowed-out eyes of a man who hasn’t slept. Hasn’t thought clearly, hasn’tbreathedright since she walked out of my villa this morning.

My phone vibrates on the desk, and a message pops up on the screen from Luciano.

Don:

Problema serio. Presentati nel mio ufficio fra venti minuti.

Serious problem. Be in my office in twenty minutes.

Of course. Because whenisn’tthere a fucking problem?

I should tell him to shove it. Would, if it weren’t for the one thing dragging me back into that godforsaken house, her. Even if all I get is a glimpse. A second of eye contact across a hallway. It’s enough to keep the storm in my chest from detonating.

For now.

The Russo manor is too loud for this early in the day.

I walk through the doors like I own them,because I do, and make my way toward Luciano’s office. He called me earlier. Said there was an issue with the shipments from Catania. Some dock worker with too much curiosity and not enough fear. Normally I’d deal with it myself, but Luciano wants a plan that doesn’t make waves. Not yet anyway.

I turn down the corridor that leads to his wing, past old portraits and polished floors that reek of politics. I’m halfway to the study when I see her.

Jordyn.

She’s coming from the opposite end of the hall, barefoot and fresh from a shower, carrying a glass of orange juice like this is just another day. Like she didn’t fall asleep with my name on her lips. Like my mouth hasn’t been on every inch of her skin.

She doesn’t look at me at first.

But I see the way her spine straightens. The way her fingers tighten around the glass. When her gaze finally meets mine, it’s only for a second, just enough to punch the air from my lungs.

She looks away just as fast like she’s trying not to react. Like we’re strangers again.

I grit my teeth, forcing my gaze forward as I pass her. I count to three. Four.

Then I turn.

“Jordyn,” I say, low enough that only she hears it.

She pauses but doesn’t turn. Doesn’t look back.

I close the distance in two long strides and stop just behind her. I don’t touch her. I don’t have to.

“Come with me,” I murmur, voice brushing the back of her neck.

She doesn’t speak, but after a long second, she turns and follows.

I find an unused drawing room off the hallway and pull her inside, shutting the door quietly behind us. No words. Just silence thick with tension.

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