Page 60 of Untamed

I calmly wipe my blade on his shirt, taking my time in the silence. Then I turn my attention to Dante.

“Wrap his entrails around his neck,” I command, my voice slicing through the air like sharp glass. “And hang him up like an exhibition in the heart of Messina.” Dante raises an eyebrow, not out of scepticism, but out of respect. “Let everyone witness theconsequences of defying me. I want them choking on the stench of his bravado.”

Dante nods once and gestures with his head for the two other men in the room to unchain Romano.

This isn’t just about revenge.

This is the opening salvo.

I peel off the gloves and drop them by the door without a word. The scent of blood still clings to my skin as I step into the cool night air. The silence out here is different, cleaner, but no less charged. My Ducati waits at the curb, all matte black steel and aggression. Pulling on my helmet, I swing my leg over, grip the throttle, and in one sharp roar, I’m gone, slicing through the Sicilian dark like a shadow on fire.

The engine screams beneath me, the night air biting against my skin as I tear through the winding coastal roads like a man possessed.

Wind whips through my hair, salt and asphalt thick in my lungs. The Ducati roars, all black muscle and fury beneath my hands, eating up the silence I couldn’t find in blood. I take every turn too fast, every stretch of road like it owes me something. I lean into the rage; let it bleed through my fingertips and burn behind my eyes until there’s nothing left but the cold.

By the time I roll back through the gates of the Russo estate, it’s morning, and my hands have finally stopped shaking.

Romano’s dead. His body should be strung up for the whole of Messina to see by now. But the fire inside me hasn’t gone out. It’s only changed colour.

I kill the engine and let the silence settle again. Dismount. Walk toward the manor, boots crunching on gravel, jacket heavy with sweat and smoke. I head toward the east wing—where my father and Enzo usually take their early coffee and discuss business—ready to give them the news.

But as I round the corridor leading past the side terrace, I slow.

There’s laughter. Light, hushed. One is Bianca’s voice, and the other,Jordyn’s.

I don’t mean to listen, I tell myself that, but I stop anyway.

There’s something in Jordyn’s tone, soft, uncertain...almost like a confession.

“I’ve just… never done any of it,” she’s saying. “I haven’t kissed anyone. Haven’t…beenwith anyone.”

Silence. Then Bianca, a smile in her voice. “Jord, are you telling me you’re still a virgin?”

“Well, yeah,” Jordyn answers, barely above a whisper. “And lately it’s like… I don’t know. I’m starting to want things. Tofeel… things.”

Something twists in my gut.

“You’ve touched yourself though, right?” Bianca asks, casual as you please. “Like had an orgasm?”

“Oh, yeah, I have done…that,” Jordyn replies, quieter. “With my fingers.”

There’s a pause. Then Bianca’s voice drops lower.

“Fingers? Oh, babe, no. We are going out and buying you a vibrator. Enzo used one on me the other night, and I swear for a second my soul floated right out of my body. No one uses their fingers anymore.”

I should leave. I have no business listening to this conversation.

But I’m rooted, I can’t fucking move.

Not when Jordyn’s voice sounds like that.

Not when the image of her sprawled out, slender fingers slowly caressing her engorged clit until she’s trembling while she climaxes won’t leave my head.

“I can’t believe you haven’t kissed anyone. What about that cute boy you were seeing back home? What’s his face... Liam? You never kissed him?” Bianca's voice carries a mix of disbelief and curiosity, as if she's probing an unsolved mystery.

Jordyn sighs, and I can almost picture her biting that bottom lip, a thoughtful crease forming on her brow. “No. We came close a couple of times, but… I just didn’t feel that spark with him, you know? I’ve never felt it with anyone, really.” Her words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken longing and a hint of wistfulness.

She pauses, and the silence is thick, as if she's gathering her thoughts from the depths of her heart. “When I kiss someone for the first time… I want it to be monumental. Something I remember forever.”

---