Page 58 of Gabriel (Legacy of Heathens #4)

Amara

A full two weeks had slipped by since the explosion, weeks that felt strange and uneven, like time had decided to limp along instead of walk.

Gabriel was being released today.

His sight still hadn’t returned, but his strength had. And if you asked him, he was more than ready to get out of the hospital. He was already making plans that scared the hell out of me because they didn’t include “wait” or “heal” or “take it easy.” Instead, his goal was to go full steam ahead.

The doctors were in his hospital room now, walking him through post-discharge instructions. They spoke loudly, in broken English, and would adjust their pace when addressing Gabriel, almost like he didn’t understand English or basic human anatomy.

In the meantime, I paced the hallway.

The hospital smelled like anxiety and bleach, even with the cracked windows letting in a cool breeze. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and the floor tiles squeaked beneath my boots as I turned on my heel for the seventh time.

Just breathe , I told myself. In. Out.

I moved to the doorway and hovered there, hand resting on the frame, my heart in my throat. He was getting discharged. He was coming home. This was good. This was progress. We’d start planning the wedding. Seal the alliance.

So why did I feel like I was about to be sick?

Then I heard footsteps and I knew—just knew—my parents were here.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath, the words barely audible.

“Amara!” My mother’s smooth, commanding voice rang down the corridor.

I turned just in time to see the full parade approaching.

“Oh my gosh, Killian, it’s Amara. She’s fine.” My mother beamed, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Just like Kian told us,” my father deadpanned. He appeared tense but composed, giving me a quick once-over. His eyes narrowed slightly, like he could sense the emotional war playing out in my chest.

He was dressed in his usual black-on-black suit with an expression carved in stone.

And behind them was Mother Liana.

Click. Click. Click.

The unmistakable staccato of her five-inch designer heels on the tile echoed off the walls. She wore a blazer over her cream-colored dress, her long hair immaculately pinned and sunglasses perched on her head.

She smiled like she was walking into a gala.

“Look at you,” she said as she reached me. Her eyes glittered with too much pride and just enough mischief to make me nervous. “Pacing like an expectant father. How romantic.”

“I’m not pacing,” I muttered, even though I absolutely was.

Mom reached me and kissed the side of my head gently. “You look tired.”

“Ah yes, kidnapping the heir of the Santos Cartel and keeping him entertained for close to a month must have been exhausting,” Liana chirped, and I rolled my eyes.

“Liana,” my father scolded, but his gaze was on me. He knew—and so did I—that I fucked up. “What were you thinking, Amara?”

My shoulders slumped. “That I was helping Jet.”

“You three…” Mom sighed, shooting me a look that was equal parts pity and disapproval. “Whenever you get together, it’s like throwing a volcano, an earthquake, and an avalanche into a blender and hitting puree.”

“And this marriage?” Mother Liana asked.

I groaned; of course she knew.

I specifically told Kian not to tell anyone. I’d planned to ease them into it. One conversation at a time, calmly, ideally with alcohol involved. The plan was to get married first, deal with the fallout later.

But no. It would seem he was incapable of shutting his mouth when it came to matters of my personal life.

“We were going to tell you after we made it official,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.

Mother Liana just smiled. Not the sweet kind. The kind that had razors beneath it.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to marry anyone,” my father said. “You know we’ll have your back no matter what.”

I nodded.

“Is it your choice?” Liana asked. “You’re not being pressured into this?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she cut me off with a dramatic wave of her manicured hand.

“Because let’s be clear, my children are too good for any family. Santos or otherwise.” Her voice was low, velvet-wrapped steel. “I don’t care how many cities, countries, or drug routes they control.”

Father scoffed. “She’s Emory’s and my daughter first, let’s not forget that.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“It’s my choice,” I ground out. “No, I’m not being forced. And yes, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Mother Liana tilted her head slightly, skeptical. “Do you?” she asked. “Because love has a nasty habit of making people do very stupid, very permanent things. Like fall for men with tragic eyes and tongues so smooth they could sell salt to the sea.”

My mom let out a breath like she was holding back a laugh.

My father didn’t bother hiding his. “The tragic-eyes thing is a little on the nose, Liana. Amara snatched him, not the other way around.”

“And I applaud that,” Liana drawled. “But I don’t applaud Amara marrying some?—”

“Mother Liana, you better consider your next words carefully,” I cut her off. “Gabriel saved my life. He threw himself over me during the explosion, and the result is his blindness. I love you, but I won’t have you disrespecting my future husband.”

“Gabriel Santos is a good man,” my father said.

I shot him a grateful smile, but before the warmth could settle, Liana dismissed it with an eye roll.

“Men are always good until they get what they want.”

“That’s not fair,” I said, frowning. “Giovanni, your husband, has everything he wants, and he’s still a good man. So is my father.”

She scoffed, unbothered. “Yes, well. They’re the exception, not the rule. And trust me, I am the reason they stayed good.”

My parents shot each other an exasperated look.

“As long as it is your choice to marry Gabriel, that’s good enough for us, dear,” my mom said.

Liana let out a theatrical sigh.

“Well, love blinds us Volkovs too,” Liana said breezily, adjusting one of her rings. “It’s still dramatic, still dangerous—and frankly, it adds to the mythos.”

“Never mind she isn’t really a Volkov,” my mother muttered.

Mother Liana’s gaze slid back to me, sharper now.

“I only ask because once you’re in, you’re in, Amara. You know how our world works. We don’t do half-measures. Not with loyalty. Not with legacy. And definitely not with marriage.” She paused, letting the words settle like dust. “Marriage isn’t a performance.”

I met her eyes without flinching, even though a part of me wanted to.

“Neither is love,” I retorted.

That silenced her.

Just a beat. A blink. A barely there shift in her expression that might have passed for approval.

Then she nodded once, the motion crisp.

“Good,” she said softly. “Because if you’re going to blow up your life for someone, at least make sure it’s worth the fire.”

“Well, Liana,” my father cut in dryly, clearly over it, “thank you for this incredibly uplifting pep talk. Truly. Nothing like existential dread to mark a special occasion.”

Liana didn’t even glance at him. “I’m simply being realistic.”

“You’re being dramatic, Liana,” Mom added mildly, sipping from a paper cup with the resignation of a person who had been through this kind of scene far too many times.

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” she replied, then turned to me again. “All I’m saying is, don’t mistake passion for permanence.”

I exhaled slowly, my chest tightening, but I held my ground.

“I’m not mistaking anything. I know what I’m walking into.”

“Do you?” she murmured, not unkindly.

“Yes, she does, Liana.” My father came to stand next to me, shoulder to shoulder, his presence grounding. “We’ve raised her well, and she’s strong, so stop talking to her like she’s still a child.”

“And he’s a Santos. Amara has chosen well,” Mom said, as if that explained everything. And maybe it did.

“Alright, everyone,” I said, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “You’re acting like we’re negotiating a peace treaty, not talking about love and marriage.

” I fixed Liana with a pointed look. “I’ve seen what a good marriage looks like.

Yours is a happy one. And my parents? Don’t even get me started on them—they make The Notebook look emotionally repressed. ”

Father chuckled, Mother blushed, and Mother Liana arched her brow and said, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

I scoffed. “You guys are being so dramatic.”

“I don’t do drama, darling. I am drama. But today, I’m playing the supportive matriarch. I even wore neutral tones.”

Kian appeared at the end of the hallway before I could point to her “neutral” gold heels and sleek sunglasses. He held two coffee cups like peace offerings, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Is everyone behaving?” he asked dryly as he handed me one.

The warmth of it seeped into my fingers instantly, and I took a grateful sip.

“So far,” I muttered, casting a wary glance toward where my parents were whispering in a corner like co-conspirators.

Kian stepped beside me, his shoulder brushing mine in quiet solidarity.

“I thought we agreed,” I said under my breath, “you wouldn’t say anything until after the marriage.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You try ignoring your parents and Liana blowing up your phone. Honestly, you should be thanking me. I lasted a whole week. I deserve a damn medal.”

I snorted into my cup. “Fine. Bronze, at best.”

“Harsh.” He leaned against the wall. “So… how’s the patient?”

I sighed and glanced toward the room. Monitors beeped faintly in the background, steady but far too clinical.

“I can’t wait to get out of here,” I said.

Kian winced. “God, your optimism is infectious.”

“I aim to please.”

Silence followed for several heartbeats before Kian spoke again. “Gabriel Santos is a good man, and if I may say so, a perfect match for you.”

I tilted my head, studying him. “You seem to know a lot about him.”

He chuckled. “Of course I do. It’s my job, plus Jet admitted once or twice that Gabriel circled you like… what’s the word he used… a vulture.” I scoffed at the irony. “Anyhow, it prompted me to look into him, and I like him. He’s well balanced.”

My brows knitted. “What do you mean?”

“A good part of his childhood was fairly normal. He wasn’t part of the criminal world because he lived with Sailor away from it all and under the protection of the so-called Billionaire Kings.”

“Yes, I’m aware. He manages to surprise me at every turn,” I admitted, shaking my head with a bemused sigh.

Kian chuckled, the sound warm and a touch too smug.

“That’s a good thing. Keeps things interesting. Makes the marriage feel more like an adventure and less like a sentence.”

I smiled at the thought, imagining what we’d face together—the good and the challenging.

“Still,” Kian continued. “Gabriel’s got his feet on the ground. More… let’s say normal than the rest of the Santos clan.”

I stared at him. “Wow, that’s high praise.”

He smiled and opened his mouth to speak again when the door opened.

Gabriel stepped out of the room, dressed in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, like he’d walked straight out of a memory. There he stood with the same confident posture, same calm intensity in his expression.

But there was one undeniable difference.

In his right hand, he held a white guide cane.

For a heartbeat, I was between the past and the present, between who he was and who he’d become. But then I moved—leaving Kian behind without a second thought—and rushed to him, threading my fingers through his.

He squeezed my hand like an anchor, steady and sure.

“Hey, preciosa ,” he said. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

“So damn ready,” I breathed, not even trying to hide the relief in my voice.

Whatever came next didn’t matter.

We were stepping into it together, and that made all the difference.