Page 62 of Untamed

Enzo glances up from the bar cart, halfway through pouring himself a whiskey. Luciano sits behind the desk, suit impeccable, cigar already lit, the room thick with smoke and silence.

“I take it you’ve seen the news?” I say flatly. “That’s why I’ve been summoned.”

Luciano exhales, the smoke curling like a serpent around his words.

“Yes, Ares, we saw the news. You could’ve made your point without stringing him up by his guts in the middle of the city.”

“Then it wouldn’t have been a point,” I snap. “It would’ve been a whisper. And I don’t whisper.”

Enzo slams back his drink in one go. “That wasn’t you just sending a message, Ares. You lit a fucking match. Romano’s family are not going to let this go.”

“Then they can come find me.” My voice is ice.

Luciano leans forward, elbows on the desk, eyes pinning me in place.

“Romano was reckless, yes. But you killed him in a way that made it personal, Ares. You didn’t just take his life, you made it art and hung it up for all to see.”

I say nothing.

Because he’s not wrong.

“What’s your plan when his father retaliates?” Enzo presses, walking over to the empty seat across Luciano’s desk and grips the back. “Giuseppe’s already calling meetings, gathering sympathy. If he aligns himself with the wrong people, this could spiral fast.”

“Then let them spiral.” I meet Luciano’s gaze without blinking. “I carved that message into their memory. If any of them want to test the weight of it, they’ll end up just like Romano. I can get real creative in way’s I make them bleed.”

Luciano's voice drops, cold and sharp as a knife. “You better pray it was worth it, figlio. Because when the other families start choosing sides, and they will, this won’t be a war we walk away from.”

I can’t resist the smirk tugging at my lips.“Here’s a suggestion. Why don’t you two focus on keeping the business above ground and in operation…and I’ll do what you bred me for and keep the underworld on its fucking knees.”

Luciano doesn’t say a word. He just stares, jaw tight, the line of his mouth drawn like he’s trying not to let the pride show through the disapproval. Enzo lets out a low breath, half a scoff, half a laugh, but there’s no humour in it.

“Where is the Ares that was adamant that he was out? No longer wanted any part of the life.” Enzo asks, lifting the glass of whiskey to his mouth to take a slow sip.

I turn my gaze to his, my tone glacial when I speak. “Non puoi creare un mostro e poi sorprenderti quando morde, fratello.” I assert, and without a second look I turn and walk out the study.

You don’t get to build a monster and act surprised when it bites, brother.

Eden is dim, decadent, and full of shadows.

It reeks of money and expensive perfume, sleek marble floors, backlit liquor displays, velvet ropes, and whispers that never reach the light. The kind of place where power dresses itself in luxury, and sin is served in crystal glasses.

It’s not my kind of place, not really. But we have ties here. Business ones.

Tonight, I’m here to talk numbers. Shipment logistics. Routes we need to secure before the port audits tighten up next quarter. The man across from me is Carlo Ventresca, mid-tier family muscle with enough clout to manage his own cuts, but not enough to breathe without permission. Still, he’s smart enough to show up alone.

We shake hands. Exchange formalities. The music pulses faintly underfoot as we’re led by a hostess through the floor and up into one of the private alcoves, sectioned off by dark curtains, gold accents, and low lighting that was made for secrets.

He takes a seat.

I don’t.

I stand at the edge of the table, scanning the layout below. The club is busy but not loud. Smooth jazz on loop. Bodies in motion.Waitresses gliding between tables in dresses cut too high and heels made to be looked at.

Ventresca clears his throat, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Shall we?”

I nod once and sit, unbuttoning my jacket as he starts talking about the delivery schedules. I listen. Or try to.

Ventresca talks on about shipment rotations, dock timetables, percentages and payouts, his voice droning low, steady.

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