Page 14 of Jetmir

The lump in my throat grew, and I struggled to swallow. It felt like my heart cracked in half, and the splinter jagged its thorns into every fiber of me.

Jetmir approached Gabriel before we met. He couldn’t have possibly considered me his because I went parachuting the following month. That was where we met, although maybe even that was a lie.

I could feel my broken heart harden with every passing second. Everything with Thorne—or Jetmir rather—was a lie.

I walked back to the bed and sat beside Gabriel, and took his hand again. This time, I held it with both of mine.

“No more about Jetmir,” I said.

Although we stopped talking about my husband, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this wasn’t the end. No matter how much I wanted it to be.

CHAPTER THREE

JETMIR

Sitting in the hospital, I stared at the box of cigarettes that sat on the bedside table while battling an uneasy feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach.

Anya and her definitely not a nut-free baklava almost killed me, but I wouldn’t hold that against her. I guess I deserved it. After all, the explosion that was a result of my dealings with the Triad almost killed all of us, so one could argue that I had this coming.

Those fucking Triads.

The fact they set it up where Anya was staying meant they had to be watching my movements and I was too wrapped up into my wife to have noticed it.

Ever since Enzo Marchetti, the head of the Marchetti Italian mafia, eliminated Nicki and Atticus Popov, dealing with the Triad had been challenging. According to the rumors, their leader seemed to develop a second personality. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have done business with them. Of course, the deal they offered was good. They never intended to pay.

I reached for my cigarette and slowly lit it up, then inhaled deeply before watching it cloud the air. I didn’t give a shit it was a non-smoking hospital. I needed to release some of my stress or there might be another explosion coming and this one would wreak even worse havoc.

My wife left me. She fucking left me.

I took another deep inhale, letting the nicotine fill my lungs and then exhaled.

There was a small part of me that hoped that Anya would come back after she visited Gabriel. She would come back, apologize for almost killing me, and we’d continue our lives together.

Yes, her family was pissed off, but we’d handle them.

I loved her, and we’d get through this together. The past several weeks had been one of the best of my life. I’d finally found someone who eased my demons and there would be no way I’d give up on that.

Just as I pulled the IV out of my arm, the door to the hospital room opened. My sister Elira and Kian—the man who raised me until my mother came into picture—came in.

Elira looked exasperated; Kian looked pissed.

“What the fuck are you doing smoking in the hospital,” Kian growled.

“You should leave that thing in your arm,” Elira scolded. “Fuck the cigarette.”

I discarded the tube, ignoring both of them. I swung my feet over the hospital bed, ignoring Kian who came to stand in front of me. We stood facing each other for a beat before he broke the silence.

“What the actual fuck, Jetmir?”

“What?” My voice was deadly calm. “This doesn’t concern you. It’s between my wife and me.”

“The wife that tried to kill you,” he spat. “I assured Raphael Santos that Anya would be safe in Albania. And then you saunter in, frolicking, flirting, and seducing her. Marrying her!”

“What the fuck is frolicking?”

Elira tried to explain. “Oh, you don’t frolic, brother. Trust me. That word means⁠—”

“Fuck that word and its meaning right now,” Kian shouted. “The point is that you fucked up big-time, Jetmir. And you…” He glared at Elira. “You were in on it.”