I nodded, but a gnawing unease churned in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

  Amara

  The door clicked shut behind me with a sound too loud for how late it was. I stepped into the dorm suite quietly, half expecting the place to be dark and still. Instead, the soft glow of a lamp twinkled from the side table, casting a golden haze over the room. Music played low from someone’s Bluetooth speaker, its sad tunes matching my melancholy mood.

  Skye was curled up on one end of the couch in her oversized hoodie, legs tucked under her and her eyes closed. I breathed a sigh of relief to see her, because she was nowhere to be found when I returned after my bizarre encounters with both Jet and Gabriel.

  Penelope was sprawled across the shag rug, her makeup slightly smudged and her hair messier than usual, still very much in post-mystery-man bliss.

  And Anya sat on the loveseat, a Kindle in one hand while she munched on a bowl of dry cereal with the other.

  “Hey,” I greeted them softly, kicking off my heels. “Glad everyone’s back safe and sound.”

  Pen nudged Skye, and everyone’s eyes locked on me.

  “I’ve been here all along, so I was definitely safe,” Anya retorted dryly. “Although tonight seems to be full of… excitement.”

  “You’re back,” Skye signed, smiling tiredly. “Everything okay?”

  Penelope blinked at me through smudged mascara. “You look like you had a rough night.”

  “Well, yeah, I was worried some sicko got ahold of you two and looked around for you both like a madwoman.”

  Skye signed, “Nikola showed up and pretty much forced me back home. I didn’t want to rat out Penelope.”

  I gave a weak smile and dropped onto the couch next to Anya. She handed me the cereal without a word. I took a handful and sighed.

  “I thought you two got tired of waiting for me, which I wouldn’t blame you if you did, and left,” Penelope admitted sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I was in post-orgasmic bliss and wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “At least someone got lucky tonight,” I muttered. “You’ll never believe who I ran into.”

  “Gabriel?” Skye signed, already putting the pieces together.

  I nodded slowly.

  Penelope smiled just as Anya cleared her throat uncomfortably and said, “I'd like to remind you all that he’s my brother, so you better watch what you say.”

  I patted her hand. “I know you love him, but he really shows up at the most inconvenient moments. I was just about to go after Jet, and of course, Gabriel got in my way.”

  “Wait—Jet Jet?” Penelope asked, sitting up straighter, eyes widening. “Your bad-boy, scary-hot brother?”

  “Don’t say it like that,” I groaned.

  “You make it sound like it’s a soap opera,” Anya muttered. “Or one of my romance novels.”

  “We are in a soap opera,” Penelope said, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

  I laughed despite myself, but it faded quickly.

  “He was at Revelation,” I said. “He shouldn’t be in the States, never mind Connecticut."

  Anya rolled her eyes, then focused back on her Kindle as she grumbled, “It seems everyone but me was at Revelation tonight.”

  “Hey, don’t be mad,” Penelope retorted. “You’re under twenty-one, and you look barely of age. It would have⁠—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Anya cut her off. “No matter, because I had an awesome night with my blue alien.”

  Penelope, Skye, and I shared a guilty look. Maybe we should have included Anya on our little excursion to Revelation, but Pen was right. No amount of makeup could make Anya look legal.

  “Was Jet alone?” Skye signed, watching me closely.

  I shook my head. “He was talking to someone. It looked serious. I couldn’t hear much, but it didn’t seem like a social visit.”

  Penelope tilted her head. “Do your parents know he’s stateside?”

  “I doubt it.”

  Skye reached over and squeezed my hand gently.

  “Maybe he just wanted to get laid?” she signed.

  I scoffed. “And he traveled all the way here to do so? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Did you ask him?” Penelope suggested.

  “Yeah, after I got rid of Santos—” Anya lifted her head, narrowing her eyes on me, and I quickly amended my statement. “After I had a nice little chat with Gabriel, I called Jet. He said he was just handling some business.”

  “Maybe he was,” Pen muttered.

  “These mobsters make deals anywhere,” Skye offered.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I agreed reluctantly.

  I stared down at the cereal in my hand and let the words pour out before I lost my nerve.

  “I think I’m going to take some time to backpack Europe.”

  “You should,” Penelope said.

  “Yes, do it. You’ve been talking about it for years,” Skye signed, always ready to support everyone.

  “You shouldn’t do it alone,” Anya chimed in, shutting her Kindle. “It’s safer if you have a backpacking buddy.”

  I tilted my head. I wasn’t scared of doing it alone, but Anya wasn’t wrong, and there was no sense in worrying my family. They would probably be more open to the idea if I told them I’d bring Elira along.

  Silence hung thick in the room, the music filling the space where none of us knew what to say.

  “So when are you going to do it?” Skye signed.

  “Right after the holiday,” I answered. “I want time to get some space and perspective. Then I’ll be back and help my family with their empires or whatever they want me to do.”

  Penelope’s brow furrowed. “When you say backpacking, do you mean like real backpacking and no showers?”

  I chuckled.

  “Yeah, but I’ll occasionally treat myself to showers.” They all grimaced at the idea. I was raised differently than my roommates who were stereotypical girly girls. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but it was hard not to notice the differences.

  “I want to backpack through Europe,” I continued. “I want to see museums and eat gas station croissants in Paris and cry over overpriced espresso in Rome. I want to sleep in hostels and dance in dive bars and get lost in cities I don’t know how to pronounce. And I want to catch the most amazing views from mountains that surround picturesque little towns.”

  Anya smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Man, if you’d drive to all those places, I’d go with you. My fingers are itching to snap those photos. But no matter, because I will convince my parents to let me go to Albania and take the most amazing photos the world has ever seen.”

  “Why Albania?” I asked, surprised at her choice.

  She stared at me with a “duh” look. “Because the country is beautiful and wild, full of opportunities to take photos of things and places that nobody else has ever seen.”

  “Okay, okay. I see your point.”

  Skye shook her head, smiling, and even Penelope let out a soft, “You two are nuts.”

  I leaned back against the cushions. “I know it sounds impulsive, but… if I’m going to inherit a legacy built on blood, I want to understand who I am without it first. Before I start making decisions that could get people killed. I want to know who I am when no one’s watching.”

  Skye nodded slowly, then signed, “I’m sensing some Eat-Pray-Run through Europe in the very near future. You better send us photos while you’re going through this minor identity crisis. You too, Anya.”

  “You’re insane,” Pen said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “But if that’s really what you want, you’ve got our full support.”

  Skye signed with a smirk, “You’re both going to get scammed by some charming thief. I can feel it.”

  “I’m okay with that,” Anya said without missing a beat.

  I grinned, a lightness blooming in my chest. “I’m not. I’ll scam him first.”

  With a laugh, Penelope tossed a pillow into the air and straight at Anya’s face, starting a pillow fight.

  Amara

  Eight Months Later

  The air was alpine crisp, scented with pine, damp moss, and the faint sweetness of wildflowers. Slovenia in late summer felt like someone had photoshopped the entire country—too green, too blue, too impossibly serene to be real.

  We had hiked for over two hours to get here, sweat slicking our backs, our boots caked with dirt and stubborn gravel. But the view? The view was worth everything.

  From this ridge, the entire valley opened up beneath us. Lake Bled glowed sapphire under the late afternoon sun, with its fairy-tale island floating in the center like a secret. The little monastery on it sat in still perfection, while Bled Castle clung to a cliff edge nearby like it had been painted into the scene by someone with excellent taste and a flair for the dramatic.

  This year has felt like a fairy tale—unreal, beautiful, and a little out of time. Just like this castle.

  Elira, my adoptive sister, and I had been backpacking our way across Europe, and we’d loved every second of it. We started in Albania, where Grandfather Kian Cortes still lives, and wandered north from there—one train, one trail, one sunset at a time.

  Some people our age blitz through thirty countries in thirty days. Not us. We weren’t checking boxes, but rather collecting moments. Month by month, place by place, we let the world unfold slowly, savoring each sight and experience.

  When this trip concluded, I’d be back in New York, running back and forth to Las Vegas, because that was my parents’ legacy, and Elira would return to Boston where Mother Liana lived.

  Elira took a long swig from her water bottle, then offered it to me. “If I die here, scatter my ashes over that lake and make it look like an accident.”

  “You plan on dying soon?” I asked, breathless, half laughing.

  “Only if we have to hike back down.”

  She collapsed into the grass with a dramatic groan, yanking off her boots and socks like they’d personally offended her. Her toenails were painted a glossy, unapologetic purple—something that caught me off guard every time. Elira wasn’t exactly the girly type—until you looked at her feet. Then it was glitter, color, the whole chaotic spectrum. She wiggled her toes like she’d just conquered a mountain—and maybe, technically, she had.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said.

  “You’re loving this as much as I am,” I retorted, flopping down beside her.

  “I doubt it,” she replied, stretching out on her back. “And let’s not forget that you made it seem like a stroll around the lake and you bribed me with coffee. I was already halfway dressed before I realized you meant real hiking and not some bougie nature walk with a wine tasting at the end.”

  “Okay, that part I’ll admit.”

  A comfortable silence settled between us, filled only with the rustle of trees and the occasional birdcall. This trip had been my idea, my childhood wish. We spent months tracking Europe, light backpacks, no set itinerary.

  “I wish Jet were here,” Elira muttered.

  “Yeah, me too.” Jet had always been overprotective of both of us, but he and Elira shared a twin bond that ran deeper than anything I’d ever seen. Lately though, he’d been keeping his distance. It started after that strange night at the club. I’d asked him about it, pressed for answers, but all he said was that he’d dropped by to check out the place and happened to run into an old acquaintance. He wouldn’t say who.

  “Think he’s okay?” I asked softly without looking at her.

  Elira didn’t answer immediately. “Jet’s always okay. So yeah…”

  We didn’t talk more about it. Jet was my family, regardless that we weren’t blood-related, but I worried about his impulsiveness sometimes. If he was quiet for too long, it usually meant one of two things: he was fine and avoiding emotional intimacy, or he was in deep trouble.

  “Are you still in touch with your girlfriends from D’Arc?” Elira asked, catching me off guard.

  “Yeah, of course. We’ve got a group chat, but we don’t text every day.” I tilted my head back, letting the sun warm my face. “Anya should be landing in Albania right about now actually. She’s going to make that country her portfolio or something.”

  “Really?” There was mild curiosity in Elira’s voice, though she didn’t sound surprised. My adoptive siblings hadn’t gone to D’Arc—they’d chosen a prestigious university in the U.K. instead—but they always knew who was doing what. From an early age, they’d learned that information was power.

  “Arianna, Skye, and Penelope are happily married,” I went on. “Gianna and Francesca are probably causing chaos at D’Arc.”

  Elira let out a soft laugh. “Those two? Definitely trouble.”

  I was just about to ask if she wanted to head back when my phone buzzed in the grass between us.

  Unknown Number: Meet me in Paris in one week. Same place Mom and Giovanni celebrated their anniversary. J

  Elira’s phone buzzed a second later. Same message.

  We both sat up.

  “Talk about impeccable timing,” I murmured. I reread the text, then turned my screen to Elira. She was already holding hers up to show me. “He knows we’re backpacking, right? It’s not like we can run to Paris.”

  “He knows. He’s probably assuming we’re using a jet when we get too tired,” she said, eyebrows lifting.

  I scoffed. “He doesn’t give us enough credit.”

  She shrugged. “No matter. We’re going to Paris, and I’m actually looking forward to some action.”

  My eyebrow arched. “Are we talking like man action or…?”

  “Paris, here we come,” she answered instead, ignoring my question.

  I nodded, heart picking up speed. “Did you notice he’s using an untraceable number?”

  “Yep.” Elira exhaled and started pulling her socks and boots back on. “We better get moving. It will take us a while to hitchhike all the way to Paris.”

  “Or we can simply text back and say we’ll be there when we get there,” I suggested sarcastically.

  She chuckled, knowing it was an empty threat.

  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. It was too 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 sure my 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 me eight months of 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’s coastal 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.”