Page 257 of Untamed

“Of course we do,” he mutters under his breath. His weight shifts as he straightens up, one hand sliding across my stomach before pulling the sheet up higher over me with more care than the situation deserves. But I know it’s his way of staying connected, even when the world demands he walks away.

He leans in one last time, lips brushing my forehead. I close my eyes and sigh.

“I’m sorry, Bambina,” he says, low and quiet. “Stay here, lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but me. Understand?” I nod mutely.

Then he’s gone, already moving, already somewhere else entirely.

And just like that, the room feels colder, and all I’m left with is the lingering ache of him inside me, the warmth he left behind slipping away like the rest of him.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind me as I finish doing up my trousers, hair still damp with sweat, Jordyn’s taste lingering on my lips. “You just pulled me out of bed, out ofher, after three days apart. So, unless God himself is knocking, you better make this fucking worth it.”

Dante doesn’t blink. Just holds up his phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

“You’ll want to see this.” He hands me the phone.

No words.

Just the footage.

I hit play.

The screen lights up with grainy video, shaky at first, like someone didn’t have the balls to hold the camera steady. And then it comes into focus.

Luca Moretti.

Well, what’s left of him.

Dumped outsideVizio, Nicolai’s sleek little monument to excess and power. He’s barely conscious. Slumped against the curb, one eye gone, the other swollen shut. The glow of club lights flickering over blood and bone. The camera shakes as people scream in the background. The audio crackles with chaos.

I fast-forward until A black SUV screeches up.

Nicolai steps out, flanked by two of his men. He sees Luca’s body and stops.

Stares like he’s not sure it’s real.

Then slowly, mechanically, he drops to his knees.

His face doesn’t twist in rage. Doesn’t break with grief. It darkens. Something behind his eyes snaps into place. And then he turns, and his eyes find the camera. Someone gasps behind it, just before Nicolai lifts a gun and fires.

The screen goes black.

I lower the phone slowly, blood pounding in my ears.

Dante doesn’t speak right away. He’s watching me like a man checking the wind before lighting a match. Then, flatly, he adds. “There’s noise on the wire.”

I turn toward him, slowly. “What kind of noise?”

“Something’s moving. Heavy. This isn’t just fallout from Luca. It’s coordinated.” His jaw strains. “Feels like a fucking operation.”

My knuckles flex. “Nicolai?”

“And someone else. The way it’s being handled… it’s too smooth. Too surgical. This isn’t just retaliation, it’s looking like a setup.”

A muscle feathers in my cheek. “Where’s the leak?”

He shifts his stance, glances at the phone still in my hand. “We traced the source. Didn’t come from our lines. Whoever dropped that footage wanted it seen, and they wanted it tied back to you.”

I stare at him.

---