Page 16 of Jetmir

She fucking left me.

I straightened and locked eyes with my twin. “Help me get her back, Elira.”

She was mine and I would get her back.

Even if it killed me.

CHAPTER FOUR

JETMIR

Three Years Later

The sun rose over the horizon and shone through the wall of windows in my South Beach penthouse in Miami. Of course, it wasn’t in my name, since that would alert the Santos family. I bought it in Anya’s name; she just didn’t know about it.

After all, she was my wife. I had to be close to her and keep an eye on her.

I leaned back in the leather chair in my office and lit up a cigarette, a habit I picked up after my wife left me and ran back to her family. Yes, my actions might have contributed to it, but we should have worked through it. Marriage was supposed to be for life and I was going to fix everything.

Didn’t Anya know I would have done anything for her?

Even if that meant clawing someone’s eyeballs out to get her brother’s vision back. If she would have only stayed, it would have been done already. But she ran back to her family. She claimed to hate me, convinced I would only commit another atrocity to give Gabriel his vision back.

Sure, I was going to, but if she preferred a different method, so be it. I would find a legitimate, proper way to replace his eyes.

“Fuck,” I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose.

If my own family knew the extent I was willing to go for Anya, they’d be shocked too.

Hell, sometimes I was shocked by it.

I moved forward in my chair, but the thought of her followed me.

Anya.

Even now, saying her name was enough to bring pieces of that first day I saw her in the woods rushing back.

Not the whole day.

They were just flashes of memory.

Silver-blonde hair catching the sunlight.

Those impossible blue eyes.

That chuckle. God, the way it rang, like a siren's call for my soul.

It had caught me completely off guard that afternoon in Connecticut. I could still recall every single detail—the soft, almost musical sound drifting through the air as she hummed and read her Kindle while swinging back and forth on a lone swing and completely unaware that I was watching her.

I stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of me, recalling that day that changed my life and me.

I had gone to St. Jean d’Arc’s campus looking for Gabriel Santos. I'd flown back from Albania with one purpose: teach the bastard a lesson about keeping his eyes off my adoptive sister, Amara. Anya had been nothing more than a means to an end.

At least, that had been the plan.

Then I saw her. Son of a bitch.

It was like I’d been struck and not a single brain cell remained intact. Her pictures hadn't prepared me for the real thing.