Page 56 of Untamed

Bianca sighs. “I get that, kid, and I promise Enzo and I will do whatever it takes to help, okay?”

I smile when she reaches over and takes my hand into hers.

“You’re not alone.”

“Thanks, B.”

“Now, if you want to nail this job, you need to look the part, so...”

I groan, already anticipating what she’s going to say.

“We’re going shopping!”

The last time I went shopping it was with my Mum, for our trip out here. I honestly forgot what this felt like.

Laughter that isn’t forced. Sunlight warming my face. Music playing from a storefront. For the first time since the crash, it doesn’t feel like I’m floating through someone else’s life.

Bianca loops her arm through mine as we step out of the third boutique, bags in hand, her oversized sunglasses perched on top of her head like a crown.

“This place is a goldmine,” she says, flipping her dark hair. “Honestly, I’m offended I haven’t dragged you here sooner.”

“I’m offended you didn’t warn me about the prices,” I say, glancing at the tag on one of the bags. “That silk blouse cost more than my car back in London.”

“Please,” she scoffs, “We have a garage full of cars, take your pick, babe.”

“Yeah, yeah we get it, you’re rich.”

Bianca grins and steers us toward the next shop. The windows are dark and sleek, mannequins dressed in slinky black dresses and glittering heels. I swallow hard.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask.

“If you’re working VIP, you need to look VIP,” she says. “You’re not showing up in jeans and a ponytail, babe. These guys pay tofeel something. So, give them something to look at.”

I roll my eyes, but she’s already dragging me inside.

Behind us, four men in sharp black suits trail a discreet distance back, sunglasses on, earpieces in, movements silent but watchful. Like shadows stitched to our heels.

I lean closer to her as we walk. “Why exactly do we have a small army following us?”

Bianca shrugs not even phased. “Security.”

“For what? You’re married to a shoe designer, not the President.”

She grins. “Yes, a veryhandsomeshoe designer. But I’m also aRussonow.”

I blink. “And that means…?”

Bianca tugs her sunglasses down just enough to wink at me. “It means the Russo family is one of the most affluent in Sicily. Wealthy. Respected. Sometimes…envied. That kind of presence attracts attention.”

I glance back again, unsettled. The men don’t look at me. But I feel it, like I’m being watched through tinted lenses I can’t see behind.

Still, Bianca acts like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing. And maybe for her… it is.

Two days later I find myself standing at the front entrance of the exclusive gentleman’s club. After I applied, I got an email back the next morning inviting me for an interview.

The sign is sleeker and more polished than I had anticipated. It's crafted from matte black material, with backlit gold lettering that gleams softly, exuding an air of understated elegance and intimidation, much like the aura of luxury itself. It doesn’t need to declare itself as a bar or club. Just a single word,Eden,confidently suggests that those who belong will understand its essence without further explanation.

I stand outside the entrance, a swarm of nerves buzzing within me like static electricity, trying to draw a steady breath despite the pinch of my heels and the tight knot twisting in my stomach.

---