Page 51 of Gabriel

That alone sent a cold ripple down my spine.

Because I knew that look.

It was the same one I’d worn too many times when I didn’t want to say what I was really thinking.

“She’s been kind of distant lately,” Sailor continued, unaware of the shift in Gabriel. “And I don’t mean geographically. I just can’t shake it off.”

“I can call her,” he offered.

Sailor waved her hand. “No, no. I don’t want her to feel like we’re ganging up on her. We’ll FaceTime her after this, but just keep an eye and an ear out.”

“I will,” he mumbled, tugging at his collar.

“And let’s make sure we’re listening to Anya. Okay?” Sailor continued. “If there’s someone in her life, we need to hear it and accept it, not act all medieval.” She tilted her head to look at me. “That means no breaking bones without permission, Raphael.”

“No promises,” I muttered.

Amara

The restaurant Santos picked whispered class and romance with its gold accents, polished marble, and a string quartet playing something soft.

I strode through the restaurant, locking my sights on the table in the VIP section and the man seated at it who traced my every move with a hooded gaze.

He looked good in a crisp shirt, tailored jacket, and an expression made of granite. He wore his clothes the way most men wore bulletproof vests—sharp and controlled. I spotted the telltale holster under his jacket. Same as mine strapped around my thigh.

My silk dress was midnight blue and backless, with a slit high enough to make a bishop blush. It cost more than it was worth, but I liked the way it moved when I walked. I paired it with heels and earrings that I borrowed from Elira.

His eyes tracked me like I was a loaded weapon until I came to a stop in front of him.

“Wow,” he said, setting down his wine and standing up to pull out a chair for me. “You dressed up for me. That’s thoughtful.”

I slid into the seat across from him with an innocent smile. “I dress up forme, Santos. You just happen to have a front seat to it. Besides, I wanted to look good after you had to witness me wearing grime and dirt.”

He chuckled. “You looked good wearing that too.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip from the already filled glass next to my place setting. “Cheers to Colombian smooth talkers.”

He leaned back into the chair. “Do you have something against Colombians? Because if that’s the case, I can resort back to my American heritage.”

I scoffed. “But what would be the fun in that?”

“Agreed. We need to embrace all of our heritage.”

The waiter brought out lobster grilled in citrus butter, arepas stuffed with cheese, and a ceviche so overdressed it looked like it belonged at Fashion Week.

I ignored the food, feeling slightly disappointed that tamales weren’t on the menu.

“My apologies,” the waiter appeared again. “Here are the tamales prepared specifically to your instructions, Mr. Santos.”

Gabriel nodded his head in acknowledgement. “It’s for the lady.”

Surprise shot through me as the waiter placed the plate in front of me, then disappeared again.

“You remembered,” I breathed, gushing like a silly schoolgirl. If Elira saw me right now, she’d smack sense back into me.

“Of course I did,” he drawled. “I remember everything you say. I hope you like it, it’s our family recipe.”

I arched my brow. “Wow, I’m flattered.”