Page 67 of Jetmir

Tension rolled off his body as his harsh breaths filled the space between us, stealing air from my lungs and suffocating me.

“Stop using Gabriel as an excuse,” he gritted. “This is about us.”

I scoffed, beyond certain he would never understand. Our families had been caught in the crossfire due to our actions. There was no coming back from that.

“You’re right. This is about us. We fucked up. Both you and me. We can’t go back in time, but we can move forward—apart. The only way to achieve that is by disentangling our lives.”

His hold around my throat tightened. “That won’t be happening. It’s you and me until death do us part.”

I struggled with my emotions. I didn’t know whether I should panic, scream, or just be resigned. In the end, I didn’t do any of it. The truth was that I was too damn tired of this man’s stubbornness. My family thought the Santoses were hardheaded. Jetmir took the cake in that department

Nothing I did or said would change this man’s mind. It would seem one of us would have to come out scathed from this and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be me.

“Fine, Jetmir, have it your way,” I murmured slowly. “You promised me a tour of the house and the island. Does the offer still stand?”

He eyed me warily, but I kept my resigned mask on and waited.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Let me show you around, but first…”

He trailed off while I followed him through the house, my mind working furiously. I would end this ill-fated relationship one way or another before any more members of my family got hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JETMIR

I’d expected resistance. More questions. Instead, I got an easy surrender and that made me suspicious. Or maybe paranoid.

This was my wife we were talking about.

People didn’t simply make decisions that defied logic. I ran a successful empire by assuming they were driven by their motivations. The day I stopped believing that was the day someone would put a bullet in my head.

So I watched Anya, convinced she had an agenda.

“I cooked breakfast,” I said. “How about we eat and then do the tour?”

“Ah, that’s what that delicious smell is,” she remarked cheerily. Again: suspicious.

I sighed and led her toward the kitchen, pulling out a chair.

“Sit.” She did wordlessly and so did Dozer, who had followed us back into the house. He took the spot next to her, patiently waiting to be served. “I’ll have food on the table in a couple of minutes.”

Her gaze drifted across the kitchen and I allowed mine to do the same, cataloging it from her perspective. The space looked less like part of a home and rather the private domain of a Michelin-starred chef. Polished stone countertops stretched beneath sleek walnut cabinetry, their clean lines interrupted only by gleaming copper pans suspended above a vast marble island. The air carried the faint scent of sea salt through the open glass doors, where the dining area flowed seamlessly onto a broad terrace bathed in Caribbean sunlight.

Beyond the terrace, the land fell away into rugged cliffs, and the sea unfurled in endless shades of turquoise and sapphire. Whitecaps curled lazily against the rocks below, their rhythmic crash rising faintly on the warm breeze that wandered inside. It was the kind of view that belonged on the cover of a luxury travel magazine—so breathtaking it almost made the room’s state-of-the-art features seem secondary.

She took it all in without a word. This was a kitchen built for artistry, capable of satisfying the exacting standards of a well-traveled palate, never mind that of a woman whose culinary résumé consisted of questionable baking abilities.

We ate breakfast in silence.

When we were finished, I gathered the plates and we washed them by the double-basin sink in tandem.

Afterward, I led her through to the back of the house and onto the ivy-covered terrace.

She stopped for a second and turned to glance at Dozer who hadn’t moved from his spot. “Hey, buddy. How about a little walk?” The Frenchie opened his eyes and promptly closed them. Anya’s shoulders slumped. “I guess that’s a no.”

“I think so,” I agreed. “He’s incredibly lazy, even for his breed.” I held up my palms in surrender when she narrowed her eyes on me. “No offense,” I added, then nodded toward the doors. “Are we ready?”

“Lead the way,” she muttered.