Page 52 of Jetmir

“Are you doing business with them?”

“No, but I used to before the explosion in Albania where they tried to kill Anya."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you fucking mad? Nobody sane does business dealings with them.”

I shrugged. “I wanted to give them a chance. It was a simple gun shipment, but then he tried to kill us, so the business was off.”

“Why are they after Anya?” she demanded.

“To get to me, I presume.” I shook my head.

“The head of the Triad must have lost his goddamned mind,” she remarked. “Yeah, they’re scary, but surely they’re aware of the Tijuana and Volkov reputation?”

“There’s always someone who wants to be the bigger monster,” I grumbled, turning back to survey the area.

“Yeah, and someone who wants to save the day. Speaking of protectors, Raphael Santos keeps trying to hack into Albanian police and the Tijuana Cartel database. Clearly that man has a death wish too.”

I let out a sardonic breath.

“The man is determined to learn who’s behind the explosion and refuses to ask for help.”

My lips lifted into a smile.

Raphael Santos was stubborn. It was a family trait that Anya inherited.

I turned my head and met my sister’s eyes. “You’re never letting go of Anya, are you?”

“Never.”

“You love her that much?”

“I do.”

The answer was lame compared to what I actually felt for her. I was so fucking in love with her that I was terrified she would hate me forever because I was too crazy, too obsessed, and too much like other Tijuana men who coincidently hurt her mother two decades ago.

I wanted her to choose me and stay with me willingly. Until death do us part.

We watched each other silently, and something in my sister’s expression told me she understood. After all, we lived our childhood together. We learned who and what shaped us. We experienced the same fears and anxiety.

“We’re seriously fucked up, aren’t we?” she finally stated flatly.

Fuck, that anguish on her face was gutting me alive.

“Yeah.”

My jaw tightened and bitterness flickered in my chest, because there was really nothing else to say. We were the Volkovs. We were the Tijuanas. Two bloodlines that managed to wreak havoc and damage lives for decades. That was our legacy.

She tilted her head, thinking. “Ever wonder how we would have turned up if Kian hadn’t taken us?”

“No.” Yes.

“Kian tried… I guess,” she continued. “He wasn’t a father figure, but he protected us.”

“He stepped in. If he hadn’t, we’d be dead,” I said. “The rest doesn’t matter.”

I didn’t want to lend my own demons and fears to my twin. I wanted at least one of us to believe there was something good in us.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She studied me, her eyes scrutinizing me for any sign that I wasn’t being truthful. She wouldn’t find any.