Page 30 of Untamed

He tries to pull away, but the ropes hold. He starts babbling, spitting blood, choking on the words. I lean in closer. I want him to see exactly how little mercy lives in me.

“Who paid you, Sergio?”

His whole body trembles. Tears cut tracks down his bloody cheeks.

“Alessandro,” he gasps finally. “Alessandro Romano.”

The name hits the air like a gunshot.Son of a bitch.

I smile slowly. Not a nice smile, not a human one, either.

“Good boy,” I murmur, voice low and deadly. Before he can even think about begging for his life, before the panic can fully register in his bloodshot eyes, I slide the blade across his throat. A clean, sharp cut.

Sergio jerks against the ropes, a wet, choking gasp tearing from his ruined throat. Blood pours from the open wound, hot and fast, soaking the front of his shirt, dripping to the floor in steady, sticky splashes.

I don't move. I don't look away.

I watch as the panic flares in his eyes, as his mouth opens and closes uselessly, as he fights for a breath he’ll never catch. I watch the life drain out of him inch by agonising inch. One hand scrabbles weakly at the ropes. A gurgling sound claws its way up his throat.

Then another. Weaker this time.

His body spasms once, twice, and then stills.

The last breath rattles out of him. A broken, hollow sound that echoes in the small room. I wait until there’s nothing left. No twitch. No sound. No fight.

I wipe the blade clean with slow, steady strokes, the white cloth drinking up the blood like it was hungry for it. When it’s spotless again, I reholster it with a sharp metallic click, the sound cutting through the heavy silence. I straighten my cuffs, smoothing the blood from my knuckles, breathing deep.

Sergio slumps forward in the chair, lifeless. Just dead weight leaking into the cracks of the concrete floor. I turn toward the two men waiting in the corner, their faces carefully blank. “Dump him on Romano’s doorstep,” I say. “Make sure he knows exactly who sent the message.”

They nod without a word, as always efficient and loyal.

The fear of me still sharp in the air between us. They nod silently and move in.

As I watch them haul Sergio’s body upright, something coils low in my gut, something colder, heavier than simple rage.

Because Sergio’s death doesn’t solve the real problem. It just confirms it.

Alessandro Romano.

The same arrogant prick Luciano warned me about weeks ago. He’s the one causing problems down in Messina, making noise, buying loyalty. Pushing into Russo territory with quiet, surgical strikes. He’s testing limits, forgetting who built these streets before he ever crawled out of his mother’s womb.

I didn’t want to get involved. I told Luciano I was done with this shit. That whatever fires needed putting out in Messina weren’tmy concern anymore. He can send Enzo to deal with it, but I was wrong.

Romano didn’t just cross a line.

He slaughtered two innocents. Shattered a girl’s world.

He put his fucking hands on Russo blood.La mia famiglia.

And now? Now he’s going to be reminded of exactly who the fuck I am.

The underworld of Sicily is about to quake. Il Mietitore is back.

And they’re about to remember why they used to whisper my name in fear.

The door to the downstairs room slams shut behind me with a heavy thud, cutting off the stench of blood and fear. I roll my shoulders once, slow, feeling the tension bleed from my muscles in slow, steady pulses.

The club’s music thrums through the walls now, louder, messier, a heartbeat of chaos just waiting to be unleashed.

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