Page 34 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

T he door snicked shut behind me, but the sound stayed lodged in my chest.

I didn’t move. Not at first.

My hand hovered next to me, fingers curled, body still too full of heat. Not just from him. From the truth of it all. I’d been walking this line for far too long, pretending the pull between us was friction instead of gravity, and today, it came to a head.

I walked away from his cabin slowly, my body feeling raw now—stripped of the armor I’d grown accustomed to wearing.

I’d kissed him.

Even worse, I’d wanted it. Needed it.

I was ready to let it shake something loose inside of me that I’d kept bolted down for years. Ever since we first crossed paths at D’Arc.

And my mind flitted back to my first months on campus, and this enigmatic man—Gabriel—I kept running into.

The sun struck the courtyard with merciless brilliance—too bright for comfort. The air smelled like freshly turned stone and ambition.

I was in my third week.

Long enough to make friends. Not long enough to know which ones I could trust.

That’s when I saw him.

He was leaning against the west archway near the archives wing, dressed in a dark three-piece suit.

Older than most students, but not old enough to clearly mark him as faculty.

His hands were in his pockets, his posture too relaxed for this place.

He wasn’t watching the quad like a student at all—he was surveying it like a chessboard.

“Hey, Santos!” a shout rang out across campus.

He turned, flashing a smile that made my heart stutter.

That’s when it clicked.

Gabriel Santos.

The only student turned professor on campus this semester—a strange arrangement cloaked in even stranger rumors.

Heir to the Santos Cartel, raised by an aunt who was a journalist and a half brother who was a mobster.

People whispered about him the way they whispered about blackmail: carefully, and only when they thought no one was listening.

But the man leaning against the arch didn’t fit the image of a professor—or a criminal.

He was too still. Too self-assured. Too charming.

The way he watched people wasn’t idle. It was calculating. As if he already knew everyone’s next move—and found them predictable.

Then his gaze shifted and found mine, holding it for a stretch of a moment.

I didn’t look away. Neither did he.

A flicker passed between us—not flirtation, not quite. More like recognition. Two hunters, spotting each other from across a clearing, each wondering who’d make the first move.

Then he smirked. Barely.

I turned away before the moment could stretch into something more. I had no time for trouble.

Still, as I walked off, I felt his eyes on my back.

He didn’t follow. He didn’t have to.

Somehow, I already knew I’d see him again.

And I was right.

He’d be my silent, dark shadow for many years to come.

Santos ended up playing the long game.

He always knew how to spot things people tried to bury, and now he’d seen it in me. Worse, he’d named it.

Desire. Chaos. Fear.

Dammit, this wanting—especially when it came to someone like him—was a liability. Although deep down I knew he was right; it didn’t make me weak.

Pretending I didn’t want him? That was what would break me.

I pressed the heel of my hand to my chest, grounding myself in the steady thrum of my heart. Below deck, I could hear the men working away, the sound of metal clanking against metal.

It served as a reminder of why we were here, and what we’d yet to accomplish.

Pull yourself together, Amara .

No sooner had I stepped into the office than the comms unit on my wrist buzzed—a sharp, needling vibration that felt more like a slap than a nudge. It startled me, slicing through my memory like ice water down the spine.

Mom: Call us. Dad and I want to hear your voice.

I stared at the message for a moment, jaw tight. The last thing I wanted was to hear their voices—warm, probing, and well-meaning, but inevitably dangerous in the state I was in.

I was still reeling from what happened with Gabriel. Lying to them now would be like trying to thread a needle in the middle of a storm.

But ignoring the message?

That would only be worse. Silence was suspicious. Silence made them worry. And worried parents in my family didn’t just ask questions. They started pulling strings.

I drew a slow breath and fished my phone from my jeans. The office was supposed to be soundproof, though the open windows undermined that illusion. Still, with the yacht floating in the middle of a calm, empty sea, the risk of anyone overhearing was more paranoia than reality.

I flicked through my contacts until I landed on Dad. Calling him first was more of a strategic move on my part. He could be distracted.

Dad was, after all, the reigning Kingpin in place of my mom, and the de facto head of the Irish Mafia for his family. That meant his calls were often interrupted and that was an advantage I could exploit if I played it right.

Still, even that plan felt thin. I hesitated, thumb hovering over the call icon for a second or two before my finger pressed it.

It took only two rings for my father to answer.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

My chest instantly warmed. My father wasn’t like most. He was warm, but also not overbearing. He worried about me, but also trusted me to take care of myself. Until my recent actions, I’d earned that trust.

“Hey, Dad,” I greeted him, ignoring my guilty conscience. “Good time?”

“For you? Always.”

I smiled at his response.

People always assumed I was like my mom, or even compared me to Mother Liana, but I liked to think I was more like my father. The two of us were two peas in a pod, our tempers always ruled by reason.

“Mom texted, so I’m calling you.”

“I hope that’s not the only reason.”

“Of course not. I love talking to you and hearing your voice.”

“How is backpacking going?” he asked. “Is it all you dreamt it would be as a little girl?”

I’ve been talking about doing this for years, and my father had always been supportive despite my mom’s worries. It was the reason I agreed to delay backpacking until I was a bit older.

“It is even better, Dad,” I answered. “Everyone should do it at least once in their lifetime.”

He chuckled. “I can’t imagine your mama backpacking Europe.”

The image made me laugh too. “Yeah, me neither, but she might enjoy it. I know you definitely would.”

“Ahhh, speak of the devil,” Dad said. “ álainn , our daughter is on the phone.”

For as long as I remembered, my dad called Mom beautiful in Gaelic, and treated her like he really believed that. Their love story might be unconventional, but it was a love story nonetheless.

“Your mom’s about to snatch the phone from me,” he said with humor lacing his voice. “I love you, and hurry back home. We miss you, sweetie.”

“I will,” I said, although I wasn’t sure if I had any business making that promise.

“Amara, sweetie,” Mom’s voice filled the line. “Liana’s worried about you, and now I am too. Is everything okay?”

I should have known it would somehow lead back to Mother Liana.

“Of course, everything’s fine. Did she say why she’s worried?”

Mom’s laugh sounded somewhat forced. “You know her, she’s always scared something is happening.”

I sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately it’s the side effect of her name and power.”

“It is,” Mom agreed. “But she isn’t often wrong either.”

“I swear I’m fine.” It was best not to comment on Mom’s latter statement. “You and Dad would be the first people I’d call if I wasn’t.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” I could hear the smile in her voice. Two heartbeats passed before she continued. “You know, sometimes I worry about you having to take over for your father. I wish… I don’t know… I know you’re capable of doing it, I just wish you didn’t have to.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d voiced those thoughts. She was happier being the pillar, Dad’s helper, and thought I would be too. She might be right, but there wasn’t an alternative, so it made no sense to ponder on it. But Mom sure did enough for the both of us.

“Well, unless you marry,” she added pensively.

I groaned. “Mom, really?”

“Well, it’s a thought. I know you’re independent and strong, and you can take over for your father all on your own, but it’d be easier with a husband by your side to share the load.”

My sexy Colombian prisoner flashed in my mind, but I instantly shut it down. Marriage wasn’t on my agenda, and I certainly wasn’t going to entertain it while going through this mess. Besides, I was fairly certain I’d extinguished any chance I’d had with Gabriel when I kidnapped him.

“I know you want me to find what you have with Dad,” I said slowly, “and I hope it’s in my cards one day, but it’s nowhere on the horizon right now so…”

“But you’re open to it?” she questioned.

“Yeah, sure,” I stated matter-of-factly, although I wasn’t so certain that I was. But it was what my mom wanted to hear, and her next words confirmed it.

“I’m glad you’re keeping an open mind.” Her voice practically bubbled with delight and it made me smile. “With the right person beside you, it makes all the difference.”

“I know, Mom. I see it every day with you and Dad.”

“You’ll find that too,” she stated confidently. “I just want you to be happy.”

I chuckled. “I don’t need a man to be happy.”

“Of course not,” she said quickly. “But an equal partner is nice.”

We exchanged a few more words and then I ended the call with a small smile, but my reprieve was cut short when my phone buzzed again.

Mother Liana: FaceTime me.

I groaned, not wanting to talk to her.

The universe, with its impeccable timing, had chosen this precise hour to unleash everything at once.

I drew in a steadying breath, squared my shoulders, and then I tapped the button.

Her face flickered onto the small projection panel embedded in the wall. Liana appeared as she always did: posture flawless, expression composed, every inch the embodiment of regal poise. But beneath that calm exterior, a quiet intensity simmered.

“Amara,” she said. Her voice carried that familiar clipped edge, but beneath it was the warmth that’d kept me alive for the first five years of my life.

“Hi.” I smiled brightly.

“I’m worried about you three.”

Just for a breath, I froze. My mind leapt to conclusions. Had she found out about Gabriel? Had something slipped? But then I remembered: she believed Jet was with us. That illusion, at least, was intact.

“You’ve been wandering the world long enough,” she continued, her eyes narrowing just slightly. “Why don’t you all come home?”

The word home landed like a stone in my chest.

“Well… we haven’t exactly been roaming the world,” I said lightly. “Just Europe. Remember?”

It was a small lie, rehearsed and already worn smooth by repetition.

Her gaze sharpened. “Just Europe?”

“Yes,” I replied without flinching. “Europe is grand.” I said it with a smile—careless, casual, entirely fabricated.

She studied me for a moment, like she was listening not to my words but to what I wasn’t saying.

“What’s keeping you there? Are you thinking about moving to Europe?” she asked suddenly, panic in her voice evident with each spoken word. “Are your father’s connections tugging at you? That’s too far from me.”

There it was. Not suspicion, but her greatest, unspoken dread: that I would disappear. That I’d sever the thread and go where she couldn’t reach.

I felt the churning in my gut but I kept my features still, my voice calm.

“No, of course not,” I said. “Moving to Ireland hasn’t even crossed my mind.”

Her shoulders eased almost imperceptibly. Relief softened her expression, and for a moment she looked older. Tired. But also oddly at peace.

“Good,” she said. “You know how much I love you and?—”

She stopped, lips parting as if the next words were too heavy to speak aloud. She swallowed hard instead.

“I love you too,” I assured her. “I promise, I’m not moving away from the States.”

We stayed in silence for a moment. Then she gave a short nod, as if convincing herself everything was fine. That she still had some hold on me.

The call lingered another few minutes—her voice smoothing into calm, the way it always did when she felt in control. I offered reassurances, one after another, until her expression cleared completely. Until her peace of mind was restored.

Until the screen went blessedly dark.

I exhaled, pressing my palms to my thighs.

The kiss with Gabriel had unsettled me more than anything in the past month, and I’d had my share of excitement in that time.