Page 97 of Untamed

Ares didn’t just hesitate, he unravelled. I saw it in his eyes. Felt it in the way his hands trembled when they finally touched me. He didn’t kiss me to prove something; he kissed me like it broke him to do it. Like he wasn’t worthy.

Unlike Matteo, whotakeswithout hesitation, assumes it’s his for the having.

And still, I kiss him back, because this is the safe choice. The simple one. Matteo is sweet, golden and uncomplicated.

Exactly what Ares said I deserved.

But I don’t feel safe. I feel hollow.

Because Matteo may kiss like he wants me, but Ares kissed me like I already belonged to him.

The chatter around me is nothing but static until I see her.

I’m standing beside Dario Bellini, an old associate of Luciano’s, pretending to care about projections for the new shipping route through Marseille. He’s going on about customs bribes, port tariffs, and the delays in transferring high-value cargo between the southern French coast and the Catania docks.

I nod when I’m supposed to, swirl the crisp wine in my glass like I’m listening.

I’m not.

Because the second the doors open and Jordyn steps outside, the entire fucking world narrows to her.

That sundress.

It’s the colour of Sicilian lemons, light and soft, clinging in the breeze like it was sewn onto her skin by the gods themselves. The hem grazes mid-thigh, every inch of her legs a fucking sin. Hair down and loose like she forgot to care what it would do to me. Soft golden waves brushing her bare shoulders, and there’s this glow about her, like she doesn’t know she’s pulling every eye toward her. Doesn’t know she’s pulling every thought out of my head like a thread I can’t get back.

And then she stops.

Right beneath the lemon tree, one arm draped lazily at her side, the other holding a glass of white wine that glows gold in the sun. She tips it to her lips without hurry, scanning the crowd like none of it belongs to her. I can’t tell she feels uneasy, lost in the chaos around her.

My jaw clenches and unclenches while I watch her.

And then Matteo appears.

He comes from the far end of the lawn, lazy and cocky, like he owns every step he takes. He’s wearing that same smirk he always does, hands tucked in his pockets, curls a little too perfectly tousled. He says something to her, too quiet for me to hear, but she smiles.

Not politely. Not distantly.

Soft.

And then she laughs.

My stomach knots painfully.

The stem of my glass I’m holding groans beneath the pressure of my grip. I set it down, slow and deliberate, before I snap the damn thing in half. I tell myself I won’t watch, but I do. I track them as he leans in close, his mouth near her ear, saying something that makes her glance away like he’s teasing her.

And then she nods.

They walk off together.

I don’t move. Not yet. I let the distance stretch, watch them disappear down the garden path toward the olive trees that fringe the estate. It’s quieter there. More private.

Too fucking private.

I murmur something to the man beside me, an excuse, I think, and slip away from the crowd. My steps are silent as I round the outer terrace, lighting a cigarette. I don’t know if I’m following them or if the weight in my chest just needs air, but my feet carry me without permission.

And then I see them.

Through a gap in the hedges.

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