Page 93 of Untamed

The way he looked at me, eyes dark and perilous, the way he pressed me against the wall like I was something reckless and dangerous, likehewas.

But all I can feel isheat.

It coils deep in my belly and wraps around my spine, this slow, pulsing ache that won't let me breathe right. My legs are stillweak. My pulse won’t slow. And my lips… God, my lips feel swollen from a kiss that never even happened.

The sound of his voice echoes in my head.

“And if you ever storm into a place with my name on it again like you own the fucking right… I won’t be so lenient next time...”

Every word is a warning, but it feels like a claim. Like somewhere inside that threat is the truth neither of us will say out loud.

I watch him as he pulls away, his eyes lock onto mine for a second before he withdraws his hand from around my throat and walks away. But the second I step outside that room, I know something’s changed.

Not in him.

In myself.

Because whatever line I crossed with him back there, I want to cross it again. I want to know what he will do to me if I push him enough. If he cares enough to burn down a club for me then it means I’m already under his skin.

I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But one day, he’ll look at me like I’m not a risk he shouldn’t take… but a fire heneedsto burn in.

Golden light streams through the towering windows of the sunroom. Outside, birds chirp and a soft breeze carries the scent of honeysuckle through the open doors. Bianca is curled up on the cream settee, a coffee in one hand and a magazine resting in her lap, the picture of serenity.

God, she is so impervious to everything around her. Or is she fully aware that something isn’t right with the family she married into and plays it off like she’s clueless? Either way, she’s blissfully happy.

But there’s no serenity in me.

My pulse is too fast, my thoughts too loud. I’m perched on the edge of a chaise lounge, one leg tucked beneath me, the other bouncing restlessly. My phone is in my hand, thumb scrolling mindlessly through apartment listings, then switching to job boards. One rejection after another. Places I know I could work. Places that suddenly stop responding the moment I give them my name.

Annoyance blossoms in my chest.

I catch movement beyond the glass from the corner of my eye. Ares. Enzo. Dante.

Their pace is purposeful, expressions unreadable. All three dressed in tailored suits, moving like shadows across sunlight.

They’re headed to Luciano’s office.

I stand, brushing invisible creases from my jeans and pad across the room to where Bianca is seated.

“B,” I say, lowering myself beside her. My voice is low, cautious. “How much do you know about Enzo?”

She glances at me over the rim of her mug, brow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean... about the Russos. About what they do.”

Bianca shifts slightly, straightening. “Well, you already know, Enzo owns a high-end fashion line and luxury imports. And they have a couple of hotels, one here in Sicily, one in Milan and one in London and... some clubs. Why?”

I hesitate, studying her face. There’s no deceit in her eyes, just honest confusion and a flicker of concern.

“Don’t you ever wonder?” I murmur. “I mean, look around. The security, the people, the way everyone tiptoes around Ares like he’s some kind of… executioner or something.”

Bianca lets out a small laugh, trying to brush it off. “Oh, Ares is intense, sure, but he’s just... brooding. You know, the whole tortured-soul thing.”

I look at her like she’s sprouted a second head.

“No,” I say quietly, shaking my head. “It’s more than that, B. There’s something underneath… something very dark and dangerous. And I think they’re hiding something.”

She sets her mug down slowly, watching me more carefully now. “What are you talking about? What happened, Jordyn?”

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