Page 245 of Untamed

Dante rubs his jaw. His nod is small but resolute.

“Farla sparire. Lo so.”Make her disappear. I know.

We reach the armoured SUV. I slide into the back, the door slamming shut like a gunshot. Dante gestures with his head and Vincenzo Barone, one of close protection guard’s slides into the passenger seat.

He’s lean, quiet, and sharp-eyed, ex-military, with a knife always strapped to his boot and a reputation for getting the job done without leaving a mess. He doesn’t speak unless it matters. His loyalty is absolute, his presence easy to miss until it’s too late. He’s the kind of man who blends into a room until someone draws a weapon, then he’s the last one standing.

The moment we’re moving, I pull up the files on my tablet, names, timestamps, access logs.

I don’t trust Luciano. I sure as hell don’t trust Enzo. And if the mole isn’t one of them, they’re covering for whoever is.

Someone opened the gates. Someone killed our cat. Someone handed Jordyn over like she was currency.

I swipe through the data, heart rate steady, but my throat is tight. When I find them, and I will, I’m not just going to interrogate them.

I’m going to make them wish they had never been born. Their screams will echo longer than their names ever did.

The butcher shop hasn’t been open in years, but the scent of iron and rot still clings to the walls like it’s waiting for someone to bleed.

I step through the back entrance, past rusted hooks and empty bone-saws, down three flights of crumbling concrete. No guards. No eyes. Just the soft hum of the underground and the weight of silence that tastes like secrets.

The door at the bottom groans open beneath my hand.

It’s not a bar in the traditional sense, just a forgotten cellar lit by a flickering neon strip and the faint orange glow of a cigarette burning too close to the filter.

Gallo Ricci sits in the far booth, hunched forward, cigarette twitching between his fingers like he’s trying not to shake. He’s all bones and borrowed bravado, jacket too big, skin too thin, nerves shot to hell from years of blow.

He sees me and stiffens. Catches himself. Pretends he’s not about to piss himself.

I pick up the stench of his fear the moment I stepped through the threshold. Good, he should be scared.

I cross the room in silence, boots thudding low against the concrete, and slide into the seat across from him.

He stubs out the cigarette, but the smell clings. Old tobacco and sweat.

“You came alone,” he says, voice rough.

I lean back, arms stretched across the booth like I own the shadows.

“If I didn’t trust myself, I wouldn’t still be breathing.”

Gallo swallows. His eyes flick to the door like he’s calculating escape routes.

He won’t need one. Unless he lies or doesn’t give me the information I need.

“So, I hear you’re looking for a leak.”

“I’m looking for the reason someone crossed my line and walked out alive.” He licks his lips. Fingers twitch once on the table.

“There’s been talk… movement. Someone’s been leaking gate schedules. Security rotations. Minor stuff at first, routes, weak points. Nothing you’d notice unless you knew what to look for.”

“Who?”

He hesitates, shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Word is… Nicolai’s got someone close to your circle. Not just staff...Blood.”

I lean forward slowly, letting the silence between us stretch like a blade.

“Name.”

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