Page 107 of Gabriel
“What… what did he say?”
“Just that Anya is his and he intends to make it legal.”
“Oh my God,” she rasped. “You have to stop him, Kian. What the hell is he thinking?”
I looked out at the city again. “I put extra guards on Anya and have additional eyes on her property. I’ll get eyes on Jet.”
“I should come out there.”
“No, it’s best you stay where you are,” I protested. “I’ll figure out where he is and let you know. And I’ll deal with my guests and their prisoner.”
“This is my fault,” she muttered.
“No,” I said. “It’s ours. We told him to find a girl, get married, and ensure a legacy so he can take over the empire. It would seem he took it literally. Who could have envisioned it going this way?”
She didn’t respond at first. But when she did, it was with the steel she was known for.
“If Jet gets Anya, we need to make them disappear and pray those two have… a connection.”
“I prefer to stay out of gossip, but I think Anya might already have a boyfriend. Do you know who he is?”
“How in the hell would I?” she hissed. “I don’t even readPeoplemagazine. Jesus Christ, when I get ahold of my son…” I could practically envision Liana pulling her hair out. “Myonly comfort is that I know Jet would never endanger a girl, regardless of his intentions with her.”
For all of our sakes, I hoped she was right.
“I hate to admit it, Liana, but these kids turned out just like us,” I grumbled.
She scoffed. “I wouldn’t tut that too loud, Kian.”
The line went dead with a soft click, leaving the house in a hush so profound it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
I was leaving the office and headed to the back of the house where my bedroom suite was when my phone buzzed again.
My brows knitted at the name on the screen.
The newest head of the Triad—that had taken over after Enzo Marchetti executed the last one—had just entered Albania with his men. He didn’t sneak in but crossed the border legally. As in, they wanted their presence known. I wasn’t about to jump to conclusions, but I didn’t like the timing.
My fingers flew across the screen as I typed a message to my right-hand man to look into the purpose of the visit. Once upon a time, I handled it all myself, but now that I had a wife and more of a life, I’d learned to delegate.
After sending the message, I slipped the phone into my pocket and continued toward the bedroom, drawn by the golden glow spilling into the hallway.
Inside, my wife waited for me, half covered by the sheet, her body curled into the softness of the mattress. Her hair fanned across the pillow in wild, dark spirals. She turned her head lazily when she heard me, one leg bending and drawing the sheet just low enough to reveal the smooth line of her thigh.
She made a small sound, almost a pout, as she shifted onto her back. The sheet slid farther down her body, revealing the bare slope of her hip.
“I might have to be away for a day or two,” I said.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “What am I going to do without you? None of my vibrators do the trick anymore.”
Her tone was playful, but there was a quiet ache threaded through it.
I moved to the edge of the bed and climbed in beside her, pulling her close.
I kissed her shoulder, slow and unhurried, then the curve of her neck, then the line of her collarbone. I tasted her skin—warm, lightly salted from sleep, faintly scented with the lavender oil she loved.
“I’ll call,” I murmured, lips grazing her jaw. “Lots of video calls.”
Her fingers slid into my hair, nails lightly grazing my scalp as she drew me closer.
