Page 176 of Untamed

The road narrows the deeper we go.

I feel her arms tighten around me as the Ducati hums beneath us, her cheek pressed against my back like she’s trying to disappear into me. There’s no music. No talking. Just the wind, the engine, and the thoughts clawing their way up my spine.

I take the turn without thinking. Gravel cracks under the tires as we leave the main road behind, slipping through the rusted iron gates that mark the edge of what used to be my mother’s world.

It looks worse every time I come.

The vineyard’s mostly gone now, overtaken by weeds and time. The vines stretch wild over crumbling trellises, and the house isbarely standing. Ivy strangles the stone walls like it’s trying to hold the place together out of sheer memory.

I kill the engine.

She climbs off behind me, slow and silent, pulling off the helmet and staring at the ruin in front of us.

She asks, “What is this place?”

I don’t answer right away. Just swing my leg off the bike and stand still for a second, taking it in. The ghosts are louder here. Always have been.

“This was my mother’s vineyard,” I say finally. My voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. “She used to bring Enzo and me here when we were kids. Before everything turned to shit.”

I walk forward, gravel crunching beneath my boots, and stop near the old wall where she used to sit. It’s cracked now, overrun with moss. She’d drink wine there. Laugh. Breathe.

“She was pregnant when she died.” I feel her behind me, still, quiet. “She was going to have a daughter. Our little sister. If she was born, she would have been about your age.”

I don’t know why I’m telling her this. I never talk about my mother. Not with Enzo. Not with anyone. But the words refuse to stay buried.

“What happened?” Jordyn asks, her voice low, hesitant.

I stare past the broken trellises. Past the stone ruins and the overgrowth swallowing this place whole. “She made the mistake of trying to leave,” I say. “When she found out she was pregnant,she packed two bags. One for her. One for Enzo and me. We left in the middle of the night, no lights, no goodbyes.”

My jaw clenches until it sends a dull ache up the side of my face. “We got as far as the border before his men found us.” I don’t say my father’s name. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

“They dragged Enzo and me into one car. Put her in another. I remember the way she fought...screamed our names until her voice cracked. And then the door slammed shut. That was the last time we saw her.”

I pause, the silence sharp around me.

“I never saw her again. Just the casket.”

When I finally turn, Jordyn’s watching me, not with pity, but something else. Something still. And I hate that she sees me like this, raw, exposed, shaking under skin that usually feels bulletproof.

“Sometimes,” I murmur, “I still hear her voice in my head. Screaming for us. Like it’s carved into the back of my skull.”

The air feels thick enough to drown in, heavy with things I’ve never said out loud, things I swore I buried so deep no one would ever dig them up again.

But then I feel her.

A gentle hand on my arm. I glance down, and there she is, stepping closer like she isn’t afraid of the darkness I just laid at her feet.

She slides her hand up my bicep, slow and steady, until her fingers curl at the back of my neck, her thumb brushing against my nape soothingly.

“She loved this place,” I say. “Said it was the only spot in Sicily that didn’t reek of men and power. Just sun, and earth, and peace.”

Jordyn looks out at what was once the vineyard, the wind catches the ends of her hair, lifting them like soft ribbons. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at the rows of wild, overgrown vines twisting toward the sun, as if they’re still trying to grow despite the decay.

“This is the first time I’ve brought anyone here,” I murmur. “You’re the first.”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just holds on tighter.

“You still come here?” she asks gently.

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