Page 290 of Untamed

One of the SUVs falls into formation beside us briefly, windows tinted black, rifles visible in the hands of the men inside. Our soldiers. Our war.

We’re not heading into battle.

Wearethe battle.

And tonight, Sicily will be painted red with their blood.

The convoy slows as the compound where Nicolai is keeping the girls comes into view, an old villa crumbling at the edges, surrounded by rusted fencing and broken floodlights. It’s tucked between crooked trees and overgrown brush, far enough off the coast to stay off radar, close enough to Marausa to make a quick escape by sea.

Too bad they won’t make it that far.

I kill the engine and kick the stand down, dust rising around my boots as I dismount. Dante’s already off his bike, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes sweeping the terrain. He jerks his chin toward the treeline.

“We go in quiet,” I instruct, pulling the black pistol from the holster at my thigh and checking the mag. “No gunfire unlessnecessary. I want two posted on the east, watch the cliffside. They might try to run.”

I turn to the group of men behind us. All of them armed, locked in, waiting for orders.

“Vince, Marco, cover the rear fence. Anyone moves, shoot to kill. Aldo, you take the north wall. Cut the lights and jam the comms.”

“What about the docks?” one of them asks, already strapping a blade to his hip.

Dante answers, “They’re our last exit. Two guards minimum. We’ll handle it.”

I scan the faces around me, voice dropping to a low, lethal growl.

“No mistakes. No mercy. Anyone standing between me and her doesn’t walk out alive. Jordyn is in that villa. The second you see her, you call it in. And if I find so much as a scratch on her…” I pause, letting the weight of the moment land. “I’ll turn this place into a graveyard, starting with every one of you who failed to protect her.”

Everyone nods. The silence that follows is heavy, tense, like the moment before a thunderstorm cracks the sky.

Then I move.

Dante falls in beside me as we break from the clearing, stalking through the shadows. The grass is wet beneath our boots, branches snapping under our weight, but the winds in our favour. The villa looms ahead, a sliver of dim light leaking through cracked shutters.

We round the south wall just as a guard steps out for a smoke.

Predictable.

Before he can blink, I’ve got a blade to his throat. I clamp a hand over his mouth and drive the steel through the side of his neck. He gurgles, drops. One down.

Dante slinks past me, reaching the rear. Another guard stands watch by a rusted generator, bored and unaware, eyes cast down, scrolling through his phone instead of keeping watch. Idiot.

Dante whistles low. The man straightens and turns, too slow. A flash of silver. A grunt. The body crumples like paper.

We press on, blood already slick on our gloves. The air reeks of sea salt, metal, and death.

And this? This is just the beginning.

Dante disappears into the darkness like smoke, circling left. I take right, heart pounding not out of fear, but purpose.

I spot another one, gun slung low, distracted. A whisper of wind, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots. His head snaps up just as I swing. My fist crashes into his jaw, bone cracking beneath my knuckles. Before he can scream, I’m on him, knee to chest, blade to throat, his eyes go wide, bloodshot and panicked. I lean in, close enough he can smell the iron on my breath.

“Dov’è?” I snarl. “Where the is she?”

He stammers, lips trembling. “La ragazza, la ragazza bionda? Upstairs, bedroom at the far end of the corridor. Locked, guarded. And the other one is in the basement under the villa,”

I press harder, the tip of my blade biting into his skin. “How many guards?”

“Seven. Maybe ten. Heavily armed. Please?—”

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