Page 39 of Untamed

“He’s a kid, Ares,” he snaps. “He’s twenty-one. He made a mistake.”

I take a step closer, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “A mistake?” I intone, my fists clenching at my sides. “Thatmistakenearly cost Jordyn her life.”

Enzo flinches at her name, but he covers it quickly. “Matteo didn’t force her to take the drug, Ares. She made her own choices. She’s grieving, she’s not exactly been thinking straight.”

“Then Matteo should’ve been thinking for her,” I hiss. “He should've been watching her back. That’s what family does.”

Enzo’s mouth tightens into a hard line. “He’s not you,” he says quietly. “You were born for this. Matteo wasn’t.”

“If he’s not built for this life,” I growl, “then he shouldn’t be anywhere near it, Enzo.” Silence crackles between us, heavy, dangerous, while we glare at one another.

I see the guilt flicker across his face. Because Matteo’s mistake doesn’t just sit on his shoulders, it sits on Enzo’s, too. “He just fucking left her there. If the barmaid didn’t find her or I got there a minute later, your wife would be burying the only family she has left, and it would have all been Matteo’s fault. Let that sink in for a second.”

Enzo pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales, like he’s carrying the weight of the entire world on his back.

“You’re too soft on that kid,” I say, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “You always have been.”

Enzo’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t argue. He knows it’s true. Deep down, he knows he’s let too many things slide. That every mistake Matteo has made is because no one ever made himpayfor them.

“You think being soft is protecting him?” I shake my head slowly, disgust burning low in my gut. “It’s not. It’ll get him killed. Or worse, it’ll get the people around him killed.”

Enzo recoils slightly, like my words split him open from the inside. I step closer, driving it home. “The boy is a Russo,” I growl, low and lethal, “but he doesn’t carry the name like it means something. He doesn’t command respect, he just expects it. He doesn’t inspire fear. And one day, if you don’t fix it, someone out there is going to remind him exactly what it costs to wear our blood without honour.”

Enzo looks like he’s aged a decade standing there, his hands curling into fists at his sides, the weight of the truth finally sinking into his bones.

“And now,” I continue, my voice dropping to a quiet, deadly promise, “Because of your son’s stupidity. I have to put a bullet in Nicolai Moretti’s son. He’s only eighteen, Enzo.”

Enzo’s head snaps up, eyes wide, but I see the moment he realises there’s no point in arguing. Not with me. Not after what’s happened.

I lean in closer, my words meant to cut bone-deep. “Polish up that million-euro smile, fratello, because this city’s about to bleed. They made it personal. They touched what’s ours. And you know the rules, Enzo. Blood demands blood.”

Enzo swallows hard, but he nods once, tight and grim.

He knows. They all fucking know. But it’s too little, too late. Because the damage is already done.

I step back, my hands flexing at my sides. For a long moment, Enzo just stands there, staring at me like he doesn’t recognise me anymore.

Maybe he doesn’t.

Because the man standing in front of him now, the one namedIl Mietitore, isn’t the little brother who used to patch up his knuckles after school fights. No, he’s the weapon our father created. The untamed beast behind the Russo throne.

And the one they’ll regret unleashing if they push me too far.

Without another word, I turn and walk away, leaving the weight of an imminent war to settle like dust in my wake.

The first thing I notice when I wake is the scent. It’s everywhere. In the air, soaked into the sheets, etched into the oversized t-shirt clinging to my skin. It’s masculine, dark, and clean... something that smells too much like comfort and danger all wrapped into one.

It smells like him. Like Ares. A scent I’m becoming dangerously addicted to.

My head throbs, a slow, dull pounding behind my eyes. I blink up at the high ceiling, confusion swirling thick in my chest. It takes me a minute to piece everything together, the club, the bathroom, the cold water. I can still feel the chill in my bones.

Ares.

He saved meagain.

The room is empty now. No sign of him. No deep voice calling me Bambina. No handsome face scowling at me. No strong arms around me. The only proof he was even here is the scent clinging to my skin like a memory I don’t know how to let go of.

I push myself up slowly, the world tilting slightly before it evens out. My bare legs swing over the side of the bed and touch the cool wooden floor. The t-shirt I’m wearing, far too big for me, brushes mid-thigh. I gather the hem in my fists, grounding myself with the feel of it, before forcing my legs to move.

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