Page 164 of Untamed

They’ve locked her in.

Luciano, Bianca, whoever the fuck gave the order, it doesn’t matter. Someone thinks they can trap her. Control her.

Keep her from me.

A cold calm slides through my veins. I roll my shoulders once and flex my fingers.

Okay, bambina.

If you can’t come to me tonight,I’ll come to you.

The streets are a blur of muted lights and shadows as I move through them, each step deliberate, each breath measured. My pulse is steady, methodical. The game has changed, and now it’s mine to play.

The alley is narrow, the air damp with the scent of rain that never came. I pause, listening, every sound sharpening into clarity. A distant laugh, the hum of a generator, the shuffle of a boot against cobblestone. They think they know control, but control isn’t locking a door, it’s knowing what comes when the lock breaks.

The message is still open on my screen when I grab my jacket and step into the night.

No guards stop me. They never would.

The path from my villa to the manor is muscle memory by now, worn into my bones from years of moving between power and obligation. But tonight, it feels different. Heavier. Like the weight of her name is pressing into every step.

I don’t rush. Rushing leaves room for mistakes. And if Bianca really has posted security at the exits, then I’m not coming through one.

I’m goingover.

The south side of the manor has vines running all the way up the trellis, ornamental, mostly useless. Unless you were trained to scale a wall by the age of thirteen.

I move like a shadow, quiet, fluid, unseen.

The window to her room is cracked open, just like it always is. She likes the breeze. The quiet hum of night. She once told me it made her feel less trapped.

I slip through in one fluid motion, landing silently on the hardwood floor. The room is dark, faint moonlight spilling across the edge of her bed, but she’s not in it.

At first, my body coils, panic sharp and cold in my chest. But then I hear it: soft footsteps beyond the door. The click of the bathroom light two doors down the corridor. The water running.

I move fast, tucking myself behind the bedroom door before it opens. Every muscle in me stills, honed from years of moving in silence, in shadow.

The door creaks open.

She steps in, barefoot, wearing one of those satin night dresses again, that’s too short and clings in all the wrong ways. It’s not red this time though, it’s a baby blue, matching the colour of her eyes. She closes the door behind her slowly, like she’s trying not to wake anyone.

The second it clicks shut, I move.

One hand slides around her waist. The other clamps over her mouth as I drag her back against my chest, hard enough for her breath to catch.

She jerks, only for a second, until she hears my voice.

“Shhh,” I whisper against her ear. “Sono io, Bambina.”

She freezes. Her heart hammering, her spine tight.

And then she melts against me.

My hand stays over her mouth, not to silence her, but because I need it there. To feel her. Toremindher.

Her breathing’s ragged now, warm against my skin, and my grip doesn’t ease, not yet. I press her harder into the door, every inch of her caged by me.

I feel her exhale, slow, trembling, and only then do I let go.

---