Page 27 of Untamed

I’m still desperately trying to find the point. Still searching for why it happened to us. Of all the cars on the road that day, why did that lunatic driver target ours?

Why them? When that black car came up behind us, it looked like it was gunning for Matteo’s car. Like it wasn’t random. Like it wasdeliberate.

Matteo swerved at the last second, I remember that. The tires screeching, the whole car lurching sideways. And then, impact. Shattering glass. Screams.

But the car didn’t hit us. It clipped the one in front, the one my parents were in.

The memory plays on a never-ending loop inside my head, over and over, until it feels like I’m losing my mind. Like I’m clawing at something just out of reach.

Fuck, listen to me. I sound like a damn loon.

With a sigh, I sit up in the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, and wander toward the window overlooking the manor gardens.

There are people everywhere. Event planners. Caterers. Decorators. All moving in a carefully choreographed chaos that makes my head spin.

I’m told that today is Matteo’s twenty-first birthday. He’s throwing a huge bash here at the house first, and then later, the party’s moving to a club downtown.

The Russo estate is buzzing like a hive, pulsing with life and noise and colour. And I’m just watching it all from behind glass. That is, until a knock comes around six.

Sharp, loud and very impatient.

I ignore it, pulling Ares’ hoodie–that I have yet to give back—tighter around myself, burrowing deeper into the corner of the bed like maybe the world will forget about me if I stay quiet long enough.

No such luck, though.

The door creaks open, and Matteo’s voice fills the room.

“Up and at it, Fossette,” he calls. “You’re coming to my party.” I squeeze my eyes shut. No. I absolutely am not.

“Matteo,” I croak, my voice scratchy from disuse. “Happy Birthday, but I’m really not in the mood to party.”

“Tough,” he says, breezing into the room like he owns it. “You can be miserable later. Right now, you’re putting on a dress and pretending to have fun.”

I drag my head up enough to glare at him. He’s already dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hazel eyes gleaming with that infuriating mix of cockiness and stubbornness.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to have fun?” I mutter. “Trust me, I will only kill the vibe.”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “It’s not about you, Fossette. It’s about me. AndIwant you there. Come on, it can be my birthday gift from you.” I open my mouth to argue again, but the look on his face stops me cold. For all the teasing and swagger, there’s something harder underneath tonight. Something that says he’s not giving me a choice.

“You’ve locked yourself away for weeks now,” Matteo says, his voice dropping into something serious. “One night won’t kill you. It might even do you some good, eh? You can meet my friends. It will be fun, I promise.”

Maybe it will.

Maybe it already is. Lucky for him, I don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

I let out a heavy breath and swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Fine,” I mutter. “One night and then I crawl straight back into my hole.”

Matteo grins like he’s won a battle, then tosses a garment bag onto the bed.

“I had Rosa pick something out for you,” he says. “Wear it. You’ll look hot.”

Before I can tell him exactly where to shove his fashion advice, he’s already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. I stare at the bag for a long time before I finally drag myself up to open it.

Inside the bag is a dress. Short. Black. Simple. Sleek enough to look effortless, expensive enough to scream Russo money. I mean, I would have to sell both my kidneys and liver to ever afford it—that kind of expensive.

I don’t think. I don't feel. I just move.

One step at a time.

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