Page 55 of Untamed

I find Bianca in the sunroom, curled up with a fashion magazine and a glass of sparkling water, like she belongs in a Dolce & Gabbana campaign.

She glances up when I walk in and smiles. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, dropping onto the sofa across from her. “Appreciate the honesty.”

“You okay?”

I pause, then shake my head. “Not really. I’m going stir-crazy just sitting around here. There’s a limit to how much lounging one soul can endure before it turns into slow-motion madness.” Bianca raises a brow.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” I echo, then sigh. “I just... I need something to do, B. Anything. A job. A distraction. I’m one nap away from becoming furniture. I’m not cut out to be sitting around all bloody day.”

She sets her magazine down, all business now. “Okay. So, let’s fix that.”

I blink. “Great. How?”

“You want a job, you’ll get one. You think this place runs on men and espresso alone?” She smirks. “You’re in Sicily now, babe. There’s always something going on.”

I sit upright, a smile tugging at my lip. “Really?”

Bianca sits upright on the cream sofa opposite me, cross-legged, caffeinated, and scrolling through her phone with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb in Candy Crush. I brace for a pitch to become a bikini model or the spiritual guide to some unhinged lifestyle influencer. Shockingly, she spares me, and I’m torn between gratitude and the unsettling notion that even my delusions aren’t marketable.

“Okay,” she says, tapping her screen. “What are we thinking? Boutique shop? Coffee bar? Dog walker?”

“I don’t care,” I murmur. “I just want something that makes me feel normal again.”

Bianca glances over, her expression softening. “You know, getting a job isn’t going to magically heal you, right? You’re not going to feel normal for a while, Jord.”

I nod. I know she’s right.

But I also know I need something that’s mine. A job. A flat. A life that isn’t handed to me by someone named Russo.

“I know. But anything beats sitting around here with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.”

We scroll in silence for a while. Most of the listings are for tourist shops, language-dependent roles, or require skills that make my head spin.

Then Bianca stops. “Oh. What about this one?”

She tilts the screen toward me. And there it is staring back at me. The answer to all my problems. A sleek black banner with silver lettering reads:

Now Hiring: VIP Bar Staff – Exclusive Venue in Messina. Confidentiality, charm, and elegance required. Competitive pay. Flexible hours.

“No experience needed,” she adds, scanning it. “That’s a red flag... or a green light. Could go either way.”

I laugh under my breath. “Sounds... expensive.”

“Sounds like exactly what you need,” Bianca says. “It’s chic. Stylish. Probably full of rich men, but who cares?”

I hesitate. There’s a part of me that bristles at the idea, serving drinks to sleazy men in suits. But another part, the part that’s desperate to feel something again, anything... says yes.

“I’ll apply.”

Bianca grins. “You’re really doing this?”

I nod, heart thudding.

“I’m not staying here, B. If I’m going to live in Sicily, I’m going to do it on my own terms. I’m not like you. I’m not built for a kept life. I need to be in control of my life, and right now, I don’t feel like I have any.”

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