A thousand responses claw up my throat, I’m scared, I’m excited, I’m not sure I deserve this. Instead, I nod, brave enough to lie convincingly.
“Yes.”
He watches me closely, searching for cracks in my armor. Slowly, he nods back, fingers sliding possessively around mine, lacing us together like an unspoken promise.
“Good,” he whispers. “Because they’re going to see exactly what I see.”
“What’s that?” I ask quietly, almost afraid to hear his answer.
His eyes soften, dark and devastating. “The reason I breathe.”
Kane
I grip the steering wheel harder, knuckles white, jaw locked so tight it fucking aches. My gaze flickers constantly between the road ahead, the mirrors, and the sleek black SUVs trailing behind us. Every vehicle packed with security, my men, armed and lethal, each of them aware of the unspoken rule: Camille’s life before theirs.
She sits beside me, quiet, almost serene. Her delicate fingers rest lightly in her lap, the gold silk of her dress shimmering softly against her skin. My eyes cut briefly to her throat, to the pulse beating gently there. She thinks she’s hiding the tension in her spine, the quickened breath she tries to control. But I feel it. I feel every fucking tremor she tries to disguise.
It’s driving me insane.
This is the first time she’s left the fortress of my compound since Miami, the first time I’ve moved her openly, exposed to an enemy whose name still evades me. My nerves are frayed, razor-sharp edges slicing deeper with every mile closer to Diego’s compound. I don’t know if this is brilliance or madness, bringing her out here like this. Maybe both.
But Diego’s estate is a fortress, just like mine. And right now, with her life tangled in danger I still can’t fully name, the line between family and ally blurs sharply. I need Diego’s loyalty, hiswatchful eye, his strength. Camille’s safety is worth the risk of exposure.
The gates loom up ahead, massive iron doors that open as we approach. Diego’s guards nod briefly, exchanging quick, coded glances with my security team. There’s a flurry of murmurs into radios, a synchronized understanding that nothing happens to Camille.
The driveway is wide, circular, grand. My tires crunch over gravel, the tension in my muscles only tightening as I park. The air shifts immediately, laughter dying down slightly, music lowering as curious eyes lift from their conversations to track us. Friends, cousins, men whose loyalty to Diego is unquestioned, but not necessarily to her. Yet.
I get out first, rounding the car to her side, keeping myself between her and every lingering gaze. My hand slips protectively around her waist, a clear message: Mine. Off limits. Fucking untouchable.
Diego strides out from the house, shoulders relaxed but eyes sharp, scanning Camille quickly before they land on me. His mouth curves slightly in approval, relief flickering subtly beneath his carefully neutral expression. He closes the distance, gripping my shoulder, pulling me into a fierce embrace.
“Bienvenido, hermano,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, squeezing tighter before releasing me. “Finalmente la trajiste aquí.”
“Era hora,” I reply, the tight knot in my chest loosening marginally as his steady presence calms my racing pulse. I gesture Camille forward, holding her close to my side. “Diego, you remember Camille.”
His dark eyes lock onto her carefully, openly assessing, measuring every inch of her. “Sí. Por supuesto.” Diego’s voice lowers, Spanish slipping easily from his tongue as he turnsslightly toward me. “Es hermosa. Pero, ¿estás seguro que está lista para esto, hermano? Para nosotros?”
Camille shifts slightly beside me, delicate brow arching, a soft smirk curving her lips. “You know it’s rude,” she murmurs evenly, “to discuss someone when they’re standing right here.”
Diego’s eyebrows rise slightly, surprise blending into open amusement. “Ah, perdón, Camille,” he replies smoothly, eyes sparkling with something approaching genuine warmth. “I forget you’re more than just decoration.”
My fingers tighten possessively at her waist, pride flaring hot beneath my skin at her quiet strength. “Careful,” I warn Diego lightly, though the sharp edge is clear. “She bites.”
His chuckle is deep, genuine. “I have no doubt.” He nods toward the house. “Rosa está adentro, esperando. She’ll want to meet your Camille.”
My Camille. The words wrap around me like barbed wire, painful, possessive, protective as hell. Because that’s exactly who she is: mine. To keep. To ruin. To guard with every ruthless inch of my existence.
Diego leads us inside, his strides confident and measured, completely in control. Camille stays pressed against my side, her hand gripping my arm just enough to betray the anxiety she’s desperately hiding. I squeeze gently, silent reassurance that I won’t let a goddamn thing touch her here.
The sprawling interior is alive with noise, the familiar murmur of voices blending smoothly with the clink of glasses, laughter bubbling quietly beneath Spanish music drifting from outside. My gaze darts over every face, cataloging threats and dismissing them rapidly, instinct honed sharp enough to cut. Everyone here knows the stakes. They know who I am, and what she means to me.
And if they don’t, they fucking will.
Rosa emerges from the kitchen, her presence instantly calming the tension coiled deep in my chest. Her dark eyes soften the moment they meet mine, maternal warmth glowing openly as she approaches. Without hesitation, Rosa pulls me into a fierce embrace, her voice quiet yet firm.
“Kane, hijo mío,” she murmurs warmly. “Ya era tiempo que la trajeras aquí.”
“Lo sé,” I admit quietly, allowing myself a rare moment of vulnerability as she leans back to study my face. Rosa sees past all my carefully constructed layers, straight to the raw edges beneath. “Necesito que la cuides también, Rosa. Ella es importante.”
