Page 12 of Gabriel
Iwiped the sweat from my brow as my shoes hit the blistering Albanian pavement, the heat rising in shimmering waves around us.
Perched on a slope above the Adriatic, a house gleamed white against the sun, all sharp lines and modern edges. The entire first floor boasted paneled windows, giving off the appearance that it floated between sky and sea.
Behind it, low cypress trees and pale limestone walls framed a narrow garden that clung to the hillside. But the view it offered of the ocean stretching endlessly, its surface dazzling under the midday sun, was what made it unique.
“¡Qué puto calor hace!”I grumbled. Itwastoo fucking hot here. “And coming from someone who spends most of his time in Florida and Colombia, that’s saying something.”
“Pffft,tonterías,” Anya chippered, calling me out on my nonsense. “El clima es más que perfecto.” It’s perfect weather.
Raphael, my half brother and Anya’s father, stood beside me, looking resigned. Standing on his other side was his wife and Anya’s mother, Sailor. She was technically my aunt, but in every way that mattered, she was my mother too. She’d made suremy childhood was safe, steady, and filled with more love than I probably deserved.
“How could you let her talk you into this?” I added, my mood souring by the minute.
“Kian assured me my daughter would be safe,” Raphael said tightly. His tone, however, made it clear that reassurance wasn’t doing much to calm him down.
“Excuse you all. It took meeight monthsof begging, bargaining, and borderline blackmail,” Anya quipped, sliding her hand into mine with a playful squeeze.
My sister studied photography, and for some wild reason, she decided Albania would be her muse. She built her entire portfolio around this country, especially Sazan Island, a former secret military base and prison. The project never made much sense to me, and the fact that her parents agreed to this lunacy made even less sense.
But agreed to it they did, and so Anya would spend the next twelve months in Albania. Alone! Okay, not exactly alone since she’d have her bodyguards with her, but that was practically alone.
“Is all this because your friends went off and got married?” I questioned, hoping I’d understand her better and find a way to convince her to abandon her crazy idea. “You can get your own place to live in the States. Just say the word and?—”
“I’m going to live here for the duration of my project,” she stated, jutting her chin stubbornly. “Nobody will stop me.”
Her blonde hair, so light it was almost silver, whipped around her face in the breeze, near-shimmering in the sunlight. She was practically vibrating with excitement, her stubborn grin stretched wide across her face.
I returned to look at the house we’d secured for Anya. It sat just a stone’s throw from our mysterious ally Kian Cortes’scoastal estate in Vlorë. It was close enough for comfort, but not so close it dipped into surveillance territory.
It would be guarded, of course—discreet but ever-present. Kian had promised to assign a few of his own men as backup. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse.
“This is still a terrible idea,” I muttered, half to myself.
Sailor folded her arms and shot us both a look.
“Anya is a nineteen-year-old young woman, in case you all have forgotten. She’s not asking for our permission. She’s asking for our support. And here’s a little newsflash for you two: we either back her or risk pushing her away.”
“Thank you, Mom,” Anya huffed.
“She could’ve just taken photos back home and made Florida her portfolio,” Raphael muttered, gesturing to the glittering coastline in the distance. “Albania’s landscape and beaches look close enough to Miami’s. Stay close to home, snap a few palm trees, and say it’s the Adriatic. No one will know.”
Anya laughed, her blue eyes dancing.
“No seas tontito, papito.”Anya looked at her dad, begging him to not be ridiculous. “I need real content for my portfolio, not digital smoke and mirrors. And you said it yourself—Mr. Cortes is your ally. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Besides, Florida doesn’t have Sazan Island, and that’s the star of my portfolio. Mr. Cortes’s connections will allow me to be one of the first photographers to ever set foot on that island.”
“I don’t know about Sazan Island, but we have Sanibel Island, and at least that’s closer to me than?—”
“Let her spread her wings, Raphael,” Sailor murmured, cutting him off.
“Yes. Let me.”
“You can do that just fine in the States,” he shot back, exasperation creeping into his voice. “This time zone nonsense is going to make your course load a nightmare to keep up with.”
I rolled my eyes. That was a weak excuse and he knew it. D’Arc’s online program was built for students bouncing between continents and time zones.
Anya glanced up at me, still holding my hand. “You believe in me, right?”
I sighed but gave a reluctant nod.
