Page 80 of Untamed

“No,” she says quickly, her chin lifting. “I didn’t give him the chance.”

My teeth clench so tight my jaw cracks.

The image plays out in my head like a film reel doused in gasoline, Nicolai cornering her, his hand at his hip, that smirk, the offer. The implication.

The fuckingaudacity.

He’s a dead man.

I turn away from her because I can’t look at her right now. Not without seeing red.

“Quel fottuto figlio di puttana.” I growl. “You should’ve told me sooner,” I mutter, trying but failing to rein it in. “I would’ve?—”

“What?” she challenges. “Would you have killed him, Ares?”

I don’t answer.

Because we both know the truth.

Yes.

Yes, I would have.

Hell, I fuckingamgoing to kill him. In the worse possible way a man can be killed.

I ram my fist the edge of the bar, the glass shattering in my hand as if it sensed what I was thinking.

Jordyn flinches and I hear her gasp.

Blood drips down my fingers, sharp and bright, but I barely notice. Not until I feel her beside me, her hand reaching for mine.

“I’m fine,” I grit out, pulling my hand away before she can make contact. I don’t need her touching me right now. To soothe me or clam me down. I don’t need her scrambling what’s left of my goddamn sanity.

But I’m not.

I’m anythingbutfine. I’m seconds from storming out of here, riding back to Messina, and ending Nicolai Moretti’s bloodline.

“Ares, you don’t have to protect me. I can handle myself.” she says after a moment, quieter now.

I spin back to face her, eyes burning. “No, you can’t.Not when it comes to men like him.”

She straightens. “Then tell me, Ares. Instead of giving me empty warnings, tell me what kind of man he is.”

I stare at her for a long moment. Then I take a step closer.

“You want to know what Nicolai Moretti is?” I ask, voice like gravel. “He’s the kind of man who once slit a girl’s throat becauseshe tried to run out on him during dinner. Left her body in the booth and finished his wine before walking out.”

Jordyn blanches. I literally see the colour drain away from her face.

I press in. “He traffics women across the Adriatic like cattle. Has a network of clubs in three cities. His money is soaked in blood and built on pain, and you, walking into that club in that outfit? You just became his next fucking obsession.”

She sways slightly, like the weight of it hits all at once.

“The fact you slapped him and you’re still breathing means one thing…” I say, quieter, darker. “You’ve got his attention now. And he doesn’t lose interest easily.”

Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out.

The silence between us turns suffocating.

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