Page 3 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Gabriel

T he D’Arc campus sprawled across prime real estate in Connecticut, perched dramatically on a cliff that offered sweeping views of the Atlantic Ocean.

It wasn’t just a school. It was a fortress disguised as an elite university.

It was a place that attracted heirs and heiresses from criminal empires around the globe.

But its true purpose was more specific: to mold mafia princesses into powerful, self-sufficient women capable of surviving—and thriving—in the dangerous world they were born into. That was why Anya was here. Technically my niece, but in every way that mattered, she was my sister.

My loafers echoed softly against the pavement of the sleeping campus, moonlight hanging high above while Amara and her friends were still lost in the shadows of Revelation, her words slashing my chest. But it was for the best, especially after Jet’s proposition in the hallway back at the club: Anya for Amara.

I refused without hesitation. He was lucky I didn’t kill him right then and there for the suggestion alone.

The dim hallway reeked of expensive perfume, candle wax, and sex. It clung to the air, promising nothing good. Just like the man leaning against the wall near the emergency exit.

Jetmir Thorne Volkov Tijuana, a Satan reincarnate, looked like he belonged in here, wrapped in shadows and wearing a smirk that I would like to wipe off his face. His black suit was perfect, each line pressed into place like he wasn’t capable of chaos. But I knew better.

I stepped into the silence, letting the emergency door click shut behind me.

“What the fuck do you want?” I gritted, tempted to just punch that smirk off his face. “After our last encounter, I thought you’d know better than to fuck with me, never mind call me with some fucking proposition.”

I wouldn’t admit that I was curious, but a knot in my stomach warned that whatever it was wouldn’t be anything good. Nothing good ever came from dealing with Jet.

He didn’t move, just tilted his head slightly with a cold amusement curving his mouth.

“Straight to business,” he drawled. “I like that about you.”

I scoffed. “I fucking doubt it, but as you know, time is currency, and I fucking hate wasting my time with the likes of you.”

He pushed off the wall slowly. “Like my message said… I have a proposition,” he drawled.

“I can’t wait to hear it.” Sarcasm laced my words.

“I’ve been thinking about your interest in Amara,” he said with a lazy smile, ignoring my jab. “And I’m willing to let you have her—on one condition.”

I tensed, his words and the gleam in his eyes making me uneasy.

Yes, I wanted Amara. For years, I’d been her shadow, playing a game of cat and mouse while waiting for her to cave in to the clear attraction we both felt.

But I wanted her of her own free will, not offered by Jet on a silver platter like a sacrificial lamb.

Still, I asked, “What condition?”

His eyes flickered with darkness and he let a heartbeat pass before he replied, “Anya for Amara.”

“No.” The word was out of my mouth while shock trembled in my chest. “You’ll fucking stay away from Anya, and if I catch you anywhere near her, I’ll fucking kill you. You hear me, Jet? I’ll slice you into pieces and feed you to the dogs, then deliver your bones to your family.”

That wiped that smug smile off his face—only for a second, but I saw it.

“This is between us, and leave my family out of it.” His expression was cold enough to freeze geysers, but it had no impact on me. “It’s a good deal, especially with the dangers of organ trafficking. It’d be an alliance stronger than the Omertà.”

“I don’t give a damn about an alliance. My family will keep Anya protected from organ traffickers and leeches like you. She’ll marry a man she loves, not some sick bastard who thrives on torture and pain.”

He didn’t flinch, but I could see a crack in his mask, the gleam in his eyes sharper and meaner than ever.

“Anya is mine,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “I’ll give her more than anyone else can. Freedom. Empire. And ? —”

“You’ll cage her in velvet and call it freedom,” I cut him off. “I’m warning you, Jet. Say her name one more time and I’ll end you right here and now.”

He tilted his head, half amused.

“You want Amara?” he said. “You can have her. Just give me Anya.”

They didn’t call Jet and his sister ruthless for nothing. They didn’t seduce—they devoured. They didn’t negotiate—they bled people dry and called it even.

“I’m not bargaining with my sister’s life,” I scoffed. “That’s not on the table.”

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 the way 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?”

“I was in a club tonight.” Her brows lifted, but she said nothing. “And I ran into Jetmir.”

“Amara’s brother?”

“Adoptive brother,” I corrected her, although it was silly, because it was completely irrelevant. She considered them her family.

“Okay, whatever.” She watched me as if she was waiting for me to elaborate, and when I didn’t, she continued, “Did you try to talk to him or something? You know, the stories surrounding him and Elira aren’t very… nice.”

“So you know him?” I asked carefully.

She chuckled. “I know of him. I mean, who doesn’t? Honestly, I’m not sure that I want to meet those twins. They are locos, those two. You have to stay away, Gabriel.”

Relief washed over me, but dread accompanied it. If Anya had never met Jet, how was it possible that the fucker was interested in her?

“Anya?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there a… boy you’re?—”

“Gabriel!” She shot me an undignified look as she continued. “When I’m ready to share boy names with you, I will. Until then, respect my privacy like I respect yours.”

My eyebrows met my hairline. “So there is someone?”