Page 79 of Untamed

And if I don’t get us out of here soon, I’m going to do something unforgivable.

The ride back is a blur of wind, darkness, and silence. Jordyn doesn’t say a word, and neither do I.

When we pull through the gates of the Russo estate, I kill the engine and swing off the bike without a glance in her direction. I hear the gravel shift as she climbs off behind me, but I keep walking, straight toward my villa, straight toward the only place that doesn’t feel like it’s going to explode beneath my feet.

I don’t trust myself to speak.

Not yet.

The front door slams behind me. I strip off my gloves, letting them drop to the floor as I head to the bar and pour myself a double of whatever’s closest. My hands are still shaking. Blood,not mine, crusted across my knuckles. I don’t feel the sting. I don’t feel anything except the thundering of my heart in my ears.

I don’t hear her come in, but I know she’s there.

She’s quiet and cautious.Waiting.

“Ares?” Her voice is soft, frail.

I don’t turn. I lift the glass to my lips instead, letting the burn ground me.

She crosses the room slowly, coming to stand a few feet behind me. I feel her presence like heat on my skin. She waits, for me to explode, to scold, to shatter the air with fury.

But I don’t.

And maybe that’s what finally breaks her.

“You're really not going to say anything?” she demands, her voice cutting through the tension in the room, now sharper and braver. “I thought you would be furious. I thought you would yell or throw things.” I set the glass down with a deliberate motion and clench my molars together, feeling the strain in my jaw.

Finally, I turn to face her. She’s standing in the centre of the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest as if she's trying to hold herself together. Her makeup is smudged, streaks of mascara staining her cheeks, and her hair is a wild mess, strands escaping in every direction. Yet, despite her dishevelledappearance, she remains the most dangerous thing I've encountered all night.

“Go home, Jordyn,” I say, my voice carrying a weight of finality.

“No,” she insists, shaking her head, her tone softening as she murmurs, “I'm trying to apologise.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” I reply, my voice steady, low, like the calm before a storm. “Maybe next time, don't do stupid and reckless things you have to apologise for. Maybe listen when someone tells you not to do something.”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “I didn't think, "

“Was it worth it?” I interrupt, my tone icy, cutting through her defences. Her eyes widen in surprise. “Putting yourself in that situation, dressed inthatoutfit for one of the most dangerous men in Sicily, Jordyn?” I watch as her lips part, but no words escape. “Do you have any idea whoNicolai Morettiis?”

“No,” she squeaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I figured he wasn’t exactly a cinnamon roll when he offered me money to sleep with him and then flashed his gun at me after I slapped him.”

Silence.

Cold and heavy.

Something inside me goes still.

Not calm nor quiet.Still, like the moment before a bomb goes off.

My eyes fix on her, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe.

“He didwhat?” The words come out low. Threaded with something lethal.

She blinks, caught off-guard by the shift in my voice. “He, he offered me money. I said no and slapped him. He pulled out his gun, tried to intimidate me.”

A laugh escapes me, dead and hollow. My knuckles twitch at my sides.

“Did he fucking touch you?” My voice isn’t mine anymore. It’s rough and unhinged.

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