Page 5 of Gabriel

The space between us tightened.

“Shame,” he murmured, almost wistful. “Anya’s?—”

“Choose your next words carefully.”

Jet chuckled, like he enjoyed dancing on landmines.

“You’re so protective.” He tsked. “Relax. I was just going to say she’s got that angelic thing going on. And black souls like mine…” His eyes glinted, almost as if he was picturing Anya right here and now, and it made my stomach churn. “We can’t help but want to see how far that halo bends before it snaps.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth. “Can’t relate.”

My hand drifted to my holster. Not drawing, just reminding both of us it was there. And that I didn’t bluff.

“I tried to do this the easy way, Santos. Remember that,” he said, his voice a velvet threat. Jet took a step forward, just one, but I took it for what it was. A threat. “Anya would be my salvation, you know.”

His quiet—almost honest—words surprised me, but I wouldn’t budge, because that alone made this even worse.

“She won’t be your redemption,” I said, steel threading through my voice. “And you can’t trade women like that, Jetmir.”

“I guess you’re not into Amara enough, huh?” He laughed softly, but his expression morphed into something twisted. Then he murmured, “Everyone’s a villain in someone’s story.”

“Stay the fuck away from us,” I warned again, then turned around and disappeared through the emergency door.

Even now, an hour later, the encounter still left me unsettled. I could only imagine Sailor’s—the woman I considered my mother, but who was actually my aunt—reaction to anyone with the last name Tijuana showing interest in her daughter. The memory of what Santiago Tijuana did to her—how he kidnapped and broke her—was carved into my bones. I remembered theway she moved through the house afterward, hollow and quiet, like a ghost learning how to live again.

Anya could never go near Jet. Not now. Not ever. He was the bastard blood of the man who had tortured our mother, and I’d burn the world down before I let that cycle repeat itself.

Jet’s unhinged, psychopathic ass wouldn’t get anywhere near Anya.

And I wasn’t about to make choices for Amara; she’d made it crystal clear she wanted nothing to do with me, so I could only imagine how she’d react if she learned what her dearest brother proposed to me.

As I walked ahead, I found myself standing in front of the door Anya shared with her roommates—Amara being one of them. I hadn’t planned to stop, but instinct overrode logic. I needed to know if she was awake. It felt ridiculous, but something about her recent behavior—especially her choice to go to Albania for her portfolio project—wasn’t sitting right with me.

And now, after learning Jet’s interest in her, the need to check on her twisted into something sharper. I had questions. And I wasn’t leaving without answers.

I tapped—twice, then once, then twice again—on the door. It was the old signal we used when she was little, and somehow it had stuck all these years later.

The door creaked open and Anya appeared, her brows knit tight in confusion.

“Gabriel?” she whispered, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Has something happened?”

“No, I just wanted to talk.”

She scoffed softly, laced with irritation. “Look, I know you’re some cartel badass or whatever, but waking me up and crashing my dreams with blue aliens and shape-shifting chickens just to talk? Not your smartest move.”

I chuckled. “I honestly don’t want to know about those blue aliens. Are your roommates asleep?”

She rolled her eyes, then stepped out, shutting the door behind her.

“Amara isn’t here,hermano. She, Skye, and Penelope snuck out. Francesca and Gianna are asleep though.” Then, as if she thought better of it, she added, “At least, I think. I didn’t exactly go check on them. You know, on the account of being a free country and all.”

“Let’s sit down.” I suggested to the nearby bench in the hallway. She didn’t move. “Anya, we need to talk.”

The soft warning in my voice earned me a double take and she made her way to the bench. When we sat down, she asked, “What happened? You look like you murdered someone.”

“I haven’t yet.”

She stared at me for a beat before she sighed. “Okay, are you going to tell me who, or do I have to guess?”