Page 60 of Gabriel
“Is that a good hmmm or bad hmmm?” she questioned.
“That’s a ‘let’s drop it’ hmmm,” I muttered, turning to look at the map with a pin of our end destination. “Now, since it’llbe a minute while we sail across the ocean to get to Albania, we’ll take turns guarding our prisoner and ensuring he’s safe and comfortable. However, in no circumstance will you be threatening him again. Got it?”
She let out a sardonic breath. “Got it, got it. I won’t hurt the Colombian. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Elira knew me better than most, but I also knew her. This whole thing with Jet, his disappearance, and vague messages kept me in suspense. Now, combined with Elira’s strange behavior, I couldn’t help but wonder whether those two were up to something. Not to endanger me, because one thing I knew for certain: my siblings would always protect me.
“It’s practically his backyard,” she said, cutting into my thoughts. I tore my gaze from the map and our destination to meet her sharp eyes. Her jaw was clenched, her expression calculating. “He won’t be happy if he finds us there and we didn’t give him a heads-up.”
She didn’t need to mention him by name.
Kian’s presence in Albania wasn’t just known; it was embedded. He didn’t operate like a man so much as a weather system during a monsoon: unpredictable, atmospheric, impossible to ignore. His criminal network bled through those borderlands like groundwater, seeping into every crack. If we got anywhere near that village, the mountains would whisper it to him. The sea would carry our scent.
“We don’t have a choice,” I said, voice low, dry in my throat. “That’s where the coordinates lead. Kian is family, but he wouldn’t agree with what we’ve done.”
“No, he wouldn’t support our decision to kidnap an heir of the Santos Cartel,” Elira reiterated.
I sighed. “No, he won’t. He’s the mobster with the strictest morals. He’d probably hand our asses to Santos and his familyto teach us a lesson. Not to torture us, but maybe to wash their windows or some shit like that.”
“Torture, I can handle; washing windows… fuck no,” Elira said, then leaned in closer, her knuckles whitening on the desk. “We could come in through Montenegro,” she offered, already plotting. “Hike the trails, stick to the tree line, avoid roads. No cell towers, no digital trace.”
“That’d take weeks,” I said, shaking my head. “And we’re not exactly in shape for an alpine expedition. Need I remind you how much you complained while we backpacked Europe?”
Her glare said she didn’t appreciate the reminder.
“We could do it,” she said, then, after a pause, added, “Or we go in by water and hit the shore when the night falls.”
I nodded slowly, the pieces starting to fit. “We launch a small boat before we hit the Albanian coast, leaveMidnightanchored. We cannot risk running into Kian.”
“He’ll mess up whatever plan Jet has,” Elira grumbled. “Or even worse, he’ll call Mother and your parents. That will screw up everything.”
“We’re putting a lot of trust in Jet,” I mumbled.
“Do you not trust him?” Elira asked slowly, and I considered the question. I trusted Jet with my safety and his loyalty to our family, but there was no denying that something had been off with him for the past year. He’d been in touch a lot less and disappearing more than usual. “Amara?”
“I trust him,” I answered slowly. “Anyhow, we’ll land at night, hit the coordinates, and vanish before Kian even realizes we’ve stepped ashore. Jet better be there.”
She exhaled, considering it. For a brief second, the hardness in her face cracked, and something softer flickered behind her eyes.
“And if we do run into Kian?” she asked.
I didn’t blink. “Then we improvise.”
Elira gave a short, bitter laugh. “Improvising with Kian is like playing cards with a mirror behind us. He’ll know what we’re doing even before we figure it out ourselves.”
I looked at her dead-on. “Then we don’t give him time to figure out what we’re up to.”
A beat passed. The yacht creaked gently beneath us, the sea tapping at the hull like impatient fingers.
Finally, she nodded. Decisive.
We both turned back to the map and the screen that pulsed dimly in the low light, casting a soft glow over our faces. The coordinates waited. Still, silent, inevitable.
And somewhere beyond the horizon, Jet waited too.
Gabriel
Iwaited until they were gone.
