Page 111 of Gabriel

The path twisted and climbed, hemmed in by old cypress trees and stone walls laced with creeping ivy. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and the sound echoed through the night like a warning.

Gabriel tried to dial Anya again.

“She always answers,” he muttered for the hundredth time, his voice threaded with barely restrained panic.

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. My throat was too tight with the same fear, the same ugly pressure building in my chest. I wanted to believe Anya was fine. I had to believe that. But her silence stretched out like a blade. Too long. Too sharp.

I knew Jet wouldn’t hurt her, that much I was certain of. But if we were talking obsession? That clouded people’s judgment. And infatuation? It had teeth. Jet had never been denied anything he wanted, and right now, he wanted her.

We reached the top of the hill, the air cooler now. The house came into view, a modern villa with windows on all sides, its terracotta roof and pale stone walls glowing faintly in the moonlight. It was beautiful. Too peaceful for what waited inside.

I could see golden light spilling from the front windows. Curtains drawn but not tight enough to conceal the movement of shadows behind them.

The house didn’t look like a battleground. It looked like a safe haven. The kind of place I could picture Anya reading on the patio with lemon tea, her camera handy.

A car was parked just off to the side. “Is that hers?”

“No.”

I stopped, grabbing Gabriel’s arm, heart knocking against my ribs.

“This is her house,” I whispered.

He nodded once, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching. He didn’t say a word, just kept moving forward like he was being pulled by something he couldn’t resist.

We approached the wrought-iron gate in silence. The garden beyond it was quiet. No cicadas, no breeze. Just the muffled beat of my heart in my ears.

I reached for the buzzer, my hand trembling as it hovered above the button. My breath caught in my throat.

“Amara,” Gabriel said, turning to face me. “Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together.”

His words pressed against something soft and raw inside me. I nodded once, exhaled slowly, and pressed the buzzer.

We waited until we heard footsteps. They were measured, unhurried, and deliberate.

The front door creaked open, and in all his glory, Jet appeared in front of us.

He leaned against the frame with a practiced kind of nonchalance. He’d been waiting for us.

His hair was a mess, pushed back like he’d just raked his hand through it. His signature three-piece suit was gone, replaced with dark jeans and a slate-gray shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing forearms inked with symbols.

His arms were crossed. His expression was smug. And his mouth was curved in that trademark half-smile I’d known sincewe were kids. It was the very same one that meant he was up to something and it was already too late to stop him.

“Welcome to Albania,” he drawled. “Took you long enough.”

I blinked. “What thehellare you doing here, Jet?”

“I gave you the coordinates, didn’t I?” He cocked a brow. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”

Gabriel moved before I could stop him.

His fist shot through the air and connected with Jet’s cheekbone in a sickening crack. Jet’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t stumble. He just lifted one hand, wiped at the corner of his mouth, and smiled up at us.

“Where is my sister?” Gabriel roared.

“She’s safe,” Jet said smoothly.

“Where, you piece of shit?”