Chapter 60
ILIAS
Casa Mia - Ghali
Leaving Sofia alone with Thomas didn’t sit right with him. Not even a little. But Ghita had offered to stay behind, promised she’d intervene if things went south, and he trusted Sofia’s judgment, even if every instinct in his body screamed to stay.
As he stepped outside the restaurant, he shot Thomas one last glare—daggers sharp enough to kill, not very mature, he knew—then pulled out his phone. The number Ghita had given him stared back. He hesitated, and hit call.
He had no idea what he was supposed to say to Emir.
They had never really spoken. Not after that night.
All he knew was that Emir was his stepbrother, fifteen, living in Casablanca for school, and apparently obsessed with surfing.
A final gift from their father, passed down to all of his children.
Unless there were more out there, something that wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest. José Antonio Ríos had lived his life like a hippie in the worst possible way.
As a husband. A father. A businessman. Not the peaceful, flower-child kind. The selfish, consequence-free kind.
Ilias leaned against the whitewashed facade overlooking the Bay.
The ocean stretched out in front of him, steady and indifferent, waves rolling in with the same rhythm they always had.
For a second, he let himself imagine he wasn’t trapped in this mess, wasn’t juggling grief, guilt, and other people’s futures, but about to wax his board and head down to surf.
“Salam?” Emir answered.
“Salam, Emir. It’s… Ilias.” He hesitated. How the fuck do you introduce yourself? Stepbrother? The son of the man who hurt your mother? The surfer who almost punched your dad two years ago?
Luckily, Emir spared him.
“Oh. Ilias. How did you get my number?” Suspicious. Guarded. Like mother, like son.
“Ghita gave it to me. I hope that’s okay.”
“No, yeah. It’s fine. I—I actually wanted to talk to you before, but my mother… she’s not exactly your biggest fan.”
No shit.
“Yeah. I figured,” Ilias said quietly. “I’m sorry I never reached out. Or tried harder when I was around Imsouane. I’ve been a shitty stepbrother. You were as much a victim of everything as Amira and I were.”
There was a pause.
“Yeah,” Emir finally said. “After Dad died, it was hard for us too.”
“I’m sorry,” Ilias said, and meant it.
“It’s okay.”
“How’s Casablanca?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Boring,” Emir groaned. “My grandparents won’t let me surf, and that’s literally the only thing I want to do.”
Believe me, I know.
“Would you want to come back to Imsouane someday?” Ilias asked.
“Obviously. Why?”
“I don’t know if Ghita told you, but she wants to turn Azul into a surf retreat. She could use the help.” He hated himself a little for going there, but the truth was, he wanted Emir involved. Wanted him here. Yasmine would murder him when she found out.
“Oh.”
“You don’t have to,” Ilias rushed. “It’s just an option. One that won’t exist if your mom sells the restaurant to the Americans. That would change Imsouane forever.”
“What?” Emir snapped. “What do you mean, sell?”
Joder.
“You didn’t know?”
“No. Is that why you called?”
“I called because my girlfriend thinks you might be the only person who can stop your mother from making a mistake, selling the restaurant to pay for your education when there are other ways—”
“There are other ways,” Emir cut in. “I got a scholarship. I was going to tell her when I got home. Surprise her.”
Ilias laughed, tension draining from his chest. “Well. You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“I fucking am,” Emir said proudly. Then, suspicious again. “Would you have called if your girlfriend hadn’t pushed you?”
Too smart. Unfortunately.
“Probably not,” Ilias admitted. “I was scared you’d hate me. Or wouldn’t want to talk to me after that night.”
“I would’ve punched him too,” Emir said flatly. “He lied to all of us.”
Ilias closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “It wasn’t a good example.”
“It taught me to protect the people I love,” Emir replied. “And words hurt more than fists. He hurt all of us.”
Ilias blinked. “You sure you’re fifteen? You sound way too wise to be related to me.”
Emir laughed. “People say I look like you. So yeah. Guess we’re stuck with each other.”
“When are you coming back to Imsouane?” Ilias asked.
“Two weeks. End of school.”
“I’ll try to be there. I’d like to… make up for lost time.”
“Yeah. Me too.” A pause. “I’ll call my Mom now.”
“Shukran, khouya,” Ilias said softly.
“You’re welcome, brother. And… thank your girlfriend. She sounds smart.”
“The smartest,” Ilias said, smiling as he hung up.
He tilted his head back, staring at the clear sky. No clouds. No storms. Just blue. He whispered a thank-you—to Antonio, to fate, to whatever had kept him from flying to Brazil. That call might’ve changed everything.
When he headed back toward the restaurant, Ghita stepped in front of him.
“What?” he frowned.
“They’re alone,” she said. “Yasmine just answered a call. I wonder who that could be.”
“Then why can’t I go in?”
“Because she asked you to trust her,” Ghita said gently. “And you should.”
Ilias met her gaze, then nodded.
Yes. He trusted Sofia.
She could handle Thomas.