6. Camille

Chapter 6

Camille

T he motorcycle ride to Dante’s house blurred by like the smeared streaks of city lights, my thoughts too loud to let me focus on anything else. Before I knew it, Dante was holding the door open, ushering me into his space like he was shielding me from the rest of the world.

“Can I fix you something to eat?” he asked, his voice low, steady. A counterbalance to the storm raging inside me.

I shook my head, my words feeling heavy. “I think I’d just like to lie down for a bit.”

His hand caught mine as I tried to slip past him. His grip was firm, grounding, but I didn’t look up. “I know you’re hurting, baby, but I’m here for you.”

I gave him a small nod, the effort to smile too great. He didn’t let go, guiding me to his bedroom instead of letting me retreat into my own head.

It was my first time seeing it. Like the rest of his house, it was clean and unassuming. Nothing out of place. Nothing overly personal. Except for the picture on the nightstand.

I froze, my gaze locking onto the framed photo of me. The scarf I was wearing in the picture was one I’d lost months ago, yet there it was, forever captured in the background of autumn leaves. My hair was windswept, my expression distant—like I hadn’t even known the camera was there.

“Does the picture make you uncomfortable?” Dante’s voice broke the silence.

“Does it even matter?” My voice sounded foreign to my ears, hollow and worn.

He stiffened slightly, his jaw tightening. “Of course it matters.”

I wanted to believe him. He didn’t deserve this—this coldness, this doubt. But trust wasn’t something I could give anyone right now. I glanced back at the photo, and my gaze fell on the small stone resting beside it.

“Citrine,” I murmured, picking it up. The reddish-orange surface caught the light, warm but solid in my hand. “For abundance.” My lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Too bad we don’t get to pick whether it’s an abundance of good or bad.”

Dante said nothing, just watched as I set the stone back down.

I kicked off my shoes and crawled onto the bed, staying on top of the covers. Dante’s scent surrounded me anyway, faint and comforting in a way I wasn’t ready to embrace. Curling into myself, I closed my eyes, but the image of Daniella flashed behind my eyelids, sharp and unrelenting. Her perfect face, her perfect life. Everything I wasn’t.

How had I let myself fall so hard for someone who’d made it clear we were temporary? My chest tightened with the weight of it all—Kage’s secrets, Bianca’s warnings, the constant swirl of danger and betrayal.

The mattress dipped behind me, and then Dante was there. He wrapped himself around me, his warmth seeping into my skin. For a moment, I resisted. Then I turned and clung to him, burying my face in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I feel dead inside.”

His hand stroked my hair, his lips brushing my forehead. “I know. But you’re not. And when you remember that, I’ll still be here.”

His words wrapped around me like a safety net, and sleep pulled me under before I could answer.

* * *

Sleep pulled me in and held on to me for what felt like days. It provided a comforting cocoon away from my pain, so I continued to chase it. Dante tried to get me up and talking, but I told him I needed to rest. Physically, aside from the stitches at my temple and some bruises, I was fine, but I don’t think I’d ever felt so broken, not even when Ty had ended things with me over text two years ago. In between sleep, the room turned bright then started to darken again.

“Sit up, Peaches.”

I jerked at the sound of Dante’s voice. When I opened my eyes, he was standing above me carrying a tray. “What time is it?”

“Mid-afternoon,” he said. “Sit up.”

His voice was firm and while I wanted to resist, I found myself doing as he said. He placed the tray on my lap. A bowl of soup sat in the middle, along with a spoon rolled up in a napkin, a glass of my favorite soda and a single pink rose sitting in a vase.

I wasn’t hungry in the slightest.

I stared at the soup. “What’s this?”

“Soup,” he replied with a trace of a smirk on his lips.

I made a face at him. “Obviously. I meant what kind of soup.”

“Chicken and kale.”

“Kale?” My nose wrinkled. “What am I, a rabbit?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Just try it. You might surprise yourself.”

I took a tentative bite, then another. He was right—it was good. Before I knew it, the bowl was empty.

“Thank you,” I said softly, setting the spoon down.

“Of course.” He took the tray and set it aside before sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’m not hungry anymore,” I said, managing a weak smile. “But my heart still feels like it was hollowed out with a spoon.”

His hand covered mine, his touch steady. “I know you’re hurt. I’m not excusing what Kage didn’t tell you, but it’s obvious how much he cares about you. Daniella’s his past?—”

“She’s his future,” I cut him off. “That’s the whole point of being engaged to someone, Dante. You’re promising them your future. He never promised me anything. We were always temporary.”

“Then he’s a fool,” Dante said, his voice low and firm.

My mouth trembled, and I looked down at our hands. “Do you think he’ll really marry her?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe you should wait to hear what he has to say before writing him off completely.”

The suggestion twisted something inside me. A part of me wanted to go back to the hospital, to see him, to demand answers. But another part of me, the part still raw and aching, couldn’t bear it.

“Do you know if…” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the question.

“I called,” Dante said. “The hospital wouldn’t tell me much, but Callum answered. He said Kage was improving before he hung up.”

Relief and guilt hit me all at once. Kage had taken a bullet for me, told me to leave him in the Bugatti to save myself. Despite everything, I didn’t want him dead.

“Thank you for checking on him,” I said quietly.

“Of course. If you want me to take you back?—”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “I can’t.”

Dante kissed my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. He’d been nothing but patient and selfless, but I couldn’t give him what he needed right now. I couldn’t give anyone anything.

“I’m tired,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I need to sleep.”

His brow furrowed, but he nodded. “Okay. But only for a little while. After that, I’m dragging your ass out of this bed for dinner.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his hand caught my chin, holding me in place.

“That’s the deal, Peaches. You don’t like it, fight me as dirty as you want. But you’re still getting up.”

Dante

I leaned against the kitchen counter, my knuckles pressing into the edge hard enough to whiten them. Camille had been on the couch for hours, staring at nothing, completely checked out. I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I’d retreated to the kitchen to make something—anything—that might pull her out of whatever hell she’d been lost in.

Dinner wasn’t much. Just spaghetti with jarred sauce and a salad. Not exactly five-star, but enough to keep her from going to bed hungry again. She’d picked at the sandwich and soup earlier, just enough to shut me up, and I knew she was running on fumes. The betrayal she’d felt when Kage’s engagement came to light had gutted her.

The thought made my jaw clench, my grip tightening on the counter. Kage. That selfish bastard. Even if I wasn’t in love with her, even if my life didn’t revolve around her the way it now did, I’d still want to beat the shit out of him. Not telling Camille about Daniella? Letting her fall for him? I wanted to break him for that alone.

But then, wasn’t I just as bad?

My stomach twisted. I’d kept my own secrets. Maybe not the same kind, but I wasn’t clean in all this.

I ran a hand through my hair and pushed away from the counter. The food was ready. I needed to get her to eat.

When I reached the living room, the couch was empty. I scanned the room, my mind already racing through worst-case scenarios.

The sound of running water hit my ears, and my pulse slowed. She was in the shower.

I dropped onto the couch, elbows on my knees, hands cradling my head. Relief warred with the ache that wouldn’t let me go. Camille, in the shower, probably crying in silence because she wouldn’t let me see her break again.

She hadn’t shed a tear since the hospital. Since she’d learned about Kage’s betrayal. She’d retreated, pulled away from me and everyone else.

I hated it. Hated seeing her like this.

But some part of me, the dark, selfish part, couldn’t stop remembering the last time she’d been in my house.

I groaned, guilt already clawing at me as my mind drifted to that day when I’d come out of the shower to find her waiting for me, full of fire because I’d been trying to pull away from her.

She’d called me on my bullshit, and then she’d made it crystal clear she wanted me. And damn, I’d wanted her.

We hadn’t fucked, but I’d made her come before she’d sucked my cock. I hadn’t seen her completely naked, but she was naked now in the shower, and I could imagine just how she looked. Creamy skin. Pert breasts. A toned youthful body. She was petite, enforcing how different we were. I’d felt for myself how tight her pussy was because her walls had clamped around my fingers when I made her come.

I groaned imagining how she’d feel around my cock.

Jesus, you idiot. Stop it!

She didn’t need me thinking about her like that. Not now. Not when she was barely holding herself together.

I glanced at my watch. I’d been out here for five minutes.

I stood and approached the bathroom door and knocked. “Camille, dinner’s ready. Are you going to come out soon?”

Nothing.

I knocked again. “Camille.”

Again, nothing.

My mind immediately went to the razor I’d left by the sink. To the pain pills I still had in the cabinet from my motorcycle accident.

I hated what I was thinking but she was hurting. And I knew exactly the lengths a person would go to to erase their pain.