Page 6

Diego

The sound of her scream reaches me first, sharp and frantic, cutting through the still night air. I round the corner of the mausoleum just in time to see her struggling against two men, their hands gripping her arms as they push her toward a black sedan parked on the narrow cemetery path.

One of them shoves her roughly, and she stumbles, barely managing to stay on her feet. Rage courses through me, cold and blinding. My gun is already in my hand, the weight of it steady and familiar, but my pulse thunders in my ears as I take aim.

“Let her go,” I call out, my voice low but commanding.

The men freeze, their heads snapping in my direction. Camille’s wide eyes lock onto mine, a mix of shock and desperation flashing across her face. For a moment, no one moves, the silence stretching taut. Then one of the men reaches for his waistband, and I don’t hesitate.

The first shot cracks through the air, precise and unforgiving. The man closest to her drops like a stone, a red bloom spreading across his chest as he crumples to the ground. The second man shoves Camille forward, using her as a shield as he pulls his own gun.

“Bad move,” I growl, my aim shifting instantly.

He doesn’t even get the chance to raise his weapon before I fire again. The bullet hits him square in the shoulder, forcing him to release Camille as he staggers back with a curse. She stumbles but doesn’t fall, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts as she scrambles toward me.

“Stay down!” I bark, my eyes never leaving the second man as he clutches his wounded arm. He tries to raise his gun with his uninjured hand, but I’m faster. The third shot ends it, his body crumpling beside the first.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by Camille’s ragged breathing. I lower my gun, my eyes sweeping the area for any signs of reinforcements. Nothing. Just the eerie stillness of the cemetery and the faint rustle of leaves in the cold night air.

I turn to her, my chest tight as I take in her pale face and trembling hands. “Are you hurt?” The words come out harsher than I intended, but my adrenaline is still spiking, my mind racing through every possible scenario.

She shakes her head, her lips parting as if to speak, but no sound comes out. Her wide eyes are locked on the bodies behind me, and I step into her line of sight, blocking the carnage.

“Camille.” My voice softens, and I crouch slightly to meet her eyes. “Look at me. Are you hurt?”

Finally, she manages to shake her head again, her voice barely above a whisper. “No. I... I’m fine.”

She’s not fine. Her hands are shaking, her breaths uneven, and her eyes dart around as if she’s still expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. But there’s no time to dwell on that now.

I straighten, tucking my gun back into its holster as I reach for her arm. “We need to go. Now.”

She flinches at my touch, and for a moment, I think she’s going to pull away. But then she nods, her movements stiff, and lets me guide her toward the edge of the cemetery. My truck is parked a few streets over, hidden in the shadows where no one would think to look. It’s not far, but every step feels like an eternity.

As we walk, she glances up at me, her voice trembling. “You... you were watching me, weren’t you?”

I don’t answer right away. There’s no point in lying, but admitting it doesn’t feel right either. Instead, I keep my focus ahead, scanning the path for any signs of danger. “I was keeping you safe,” I say finally, my tone clipped.

She stops abruptly, pulling her arm free. “Keeping me safe? You mean stalking me, following me, showing up out of nowhere? What the hell are you really doing, Diego? Tell me the truth. You’re the one who left that letter under my door, weren’t you?”

I grind my teeth together, but say nothing.

“Oh my God, you were the one!” She gasps.

Her mouth opens, then closes, and I see the conflict flash across her face. She’s angry, scared, and confused, but she knows I’m right. Without another word, she starts walking again, and I follow silently.

We reach my Range Rover, and I open the passenger door, gesturing for her to get in. She hesitates, her eyes narrowing as she looks at me. “Why are you doing this?” she asks quietly. “Why do you care?”

I don’t have an answer she’ll believe. Hell, I’m not sure I believe it myself. So I say the only thing I can. “I owe your brother a favor.”

A favor that I am starting to feel is more trouble than it is actually worth.

Her lips press into a thin line, but she climbs into the truck without another word. I shut the door behind her, my mind already racing with what comes next. étienne was in deep with a lot of people and the dirt he had on people, not just Maranelli, is enough to bury the entire cartel. If they wanted her dead, then she would have had a bullet in her head by now.

And as I slide into the driver’s seat, I know one thing for certain: Whatever storm is coming, I won’t let it touch her.

The drive to my apartment is tense, the silence between us thick and suffocating. Camille sits stiffly in the passenger seat, her arms crossed over her chest, her face pale but set with determination. I keep my eyes on the road, forcing myself to focus, but the weight of her glare burns into the side of my head.

Every turn of the tires feels slower than it should, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows across her face. She hasn’t said a word since we left the cemetery, but I know it’s coming. Her questions. Her anger. And the truth I can’t tell her.

When we finally reach my building, I park in the underground garage, killing the engine with a sharp twist of the key. Camille hesitates for a moment, then gets out, her movements quick and tense. She doesn’t wait for me, heading straight for the elevator.

By the time we step into my apartment, the pressure I’ve been holding in feels like it’s about to snap. The faint scent of wood polish and leather hangs in the air, the dim lighting casting everything in muted tones. I shut the door behind us, turning the locks with a practiced flick of my wrist.

“Sit,” I say, gesturing toward the worn leather couch.

She doesn’t move. Instead, she turns to face me, her arms still crossed, her chin raised defiantly. “No. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

Her voice is sharper than I expect, but I can’t blame her. She was nearly dragged off by two men tonight, and I haven’t given her a single explanation. Still, the weight of her demand hits me harder than it should.

“I told you—”

“No,” she cuts me off, stepping closer. “You haven’t told me anything. Why were you at the cemetery? Why were you at the club? Why are you following me, Diego?” Her voice cracks slightly, but she pushes forward. “Do you know who killed my brother? Do you know why any of this is happening? Why did he call you his friend?”

My heart constricts. Friend? He thought of me as his friend, too? The guilt swallows me whole.

Her words hang in the air, each one sharper than the last. I meet her eyes, my chest tightening as the guilt I’ve been trying to bury claws its way to the surface. I should tell her something—anything—to ease the tension, but the truth is a noose, tightening around both of us.

“I’m trying to protect you,” I say finally, my voice low and even.

“Protect me?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “From what? From the people who killed étienne? From the people who almost took me tonight? Or from you?”

The last words hit like a punch. I take a step back, my jaw tightening. “If I wanted to hurt you, Camille, I wouldn’t have saved you.”

Her eyes narrow. “Then why won’t you tell me the truth? Why won’t you tell me who you are in all of this? What’s your role, Diego? Because I know you’re not just some guy who happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

I glance away, my fists clenching at my sides. She’s right. She’s always been right. But there are things she can’t know—things I can’t say without breaking everything apart.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I mutter, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Try me,” she snaps.

I meet her irises again, and for a moment, I see the fire in her eyes, the same fire that drove her into the club, into the cemetery, into the storm she doesn’t fully understand. It’s the same fire that reminds me of étienne, and that reminder twists the knife even deeper.

“I don’t have all the answers you’re looking for,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But I know this: Your brother was involved in something bigger than you realize. Dangerous. And whatever he was trying to do, it put a target on his back. That target’s on you now, too.”

She shakes her head, her expression torn between anger and disbelief. “That’s not good enough, Diego. I need more than vague warnings. I need to know why. Why was he involved in the first place? Who killed him? What does this have to do with me?”

Her voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time, I see the cracks in her armor, the fear she’s been trying so hard to hide. It tugs at something deep inside me, something I thought I buried a long time ago.

“I don’t know who killed him,” I admit, my voice rough. “But I know he was trying to take down something big. And he didn’t trust anyone—not even the people closest to him.”

Her breath catches, her eyes glistening as she stares at me. “He trusted me,” she whispers, her voice trembling. Her hand goes to her neck tentatively. I glance at the small heart locket and then focus on her face again.

I don’t respond. I can’t. Because even if that’s what she believes, I know better. étienne didn’t trust anyone. Not fully anyway.

The silence stretches between us, heavy and unrelenting. She looks away, her hands gripping the back of the couch as if she needs something solid to hold onto.

“He was trying to protect me,” she says, more to herself than to me.

I take a step closer, my voice low but firm. “And if you keep digging, Camille, they’ll come for you. Let me do my job and keep you safe for now, okay? Stay low and keep out of trouble. Don’t go to the club, and for fuck's sake, no talking to Montague.”

She lifts her head, her eyes locking onto mine. “Why am I here?”

“Well, the last I checked, you were about to be murdered.”

“Mur—Jesus Christ.” She runs a tired hand through her hair. “I am a fucking kindergarten teacher. How did I go from that to nearly getting killed by my brother’s grave?”

The panic in her eyes is clear and evident. She looks petrified.

Without thinking, I close the distance between us, my hands steadying her shoulders.

“You need to sit down,” I say, my tone softening.

She hesitates, but she lets me guide her to the couch. I kneel in front of her, my hands still on her shoulders as I meet her eyes. “You’re safe here,” I say, my voice firm. “No one is going to hurt you. I will keep you safe.”

Her laugh is soft, bitter. “My brother didn’t make it out of whatever mess this is alive, so how can I?”

Her words pull at something in my chest.

“He didn’t have me watching his back, and you do. That is the difference. Look, I can’t tell you everything, but what I can tell you is that I am contracted by the cartel to do jobs for them. I am not within it but I am connected enough to it to be considered a part of it. Your brother was not one of them, he never was. He was one of the good guys.”

I watch her body visibly relax. “He was?”

I nod. “He was. He had his reasons for being there, and I am sure that in the end, it will all make sense. But for now, I just need to keep you safe so you can see this through till the end. Me killing those guys will raise some alarms and there will be some fires that I need to put out. I need you to stay put here while I go sort everything out. Okay?”

She doesn’t argue, leaning back against the cushions with a shaky breath. I rise, moving to the window to check the street below. The tension in my chest doesn’t ease, not even a little.

Because no matter how much I want to protect her, I know the truth is catching up to both of us.

My mind is racing with the events of the night—the men in the cemetery, the look of fear on Camille’s face. This shit is getting bigger and more dangerous by the second.

I don’t know how long I stayed by that window, but when I turned, Camille was laying on the couch, sleeping. Her chest rises and falls slowly as she eases into dreamland. She hasn’t been getting much sleep, so I should count myself lucky that she is able to find enough peace to rest.

The shrill ring of my phone cuts through the silence, and I pull it from my pocket, glancing at the screen. Miguel. My jaw tightens as I answer.

“What?” I keep my voice low, careful not to wake her.

“You’ve got five minutes to get to the usual spot,” Miguel says, his tone clipped and impatient. “They want to talk. And they’re asking about Dupont.”

The name hits me like a punch to the gut. étienne. I force my voice to stay steady. “He’s dead.”

“Not that one.”

My blood runs cold. “What do they want to know?”

“Get here and find out,” Miguel snaps before ending the call.

I lower the phone slowly, my grip tightening around it. This is bad—worse than I thought. My hopes of wanting to keep her out of it are completely lost.

I glance at Camille’s sleeping form on the couch, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. I can’t leave her here alone. But I don’t have a choice. If I don’t show up, they’ll come looking for me—and find her.

I grab a blanket from the chair and drape it over her shoulders, hesitating for a moment as I watch her. There’s something about the way she looks, so small and fragile now, that stirs something deep inside me. But I push it down, locking it away with everything else I can’t afford to feel.

I leave her a note on the table, simple and direct: Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. I’ll be back.

I tuck my gun into my holster and slip out the door, locking it behind me.

The drive to the meeting spot is short, but my mind churns the whole way. étienne’s name. The questions. The danger Camille doesn’t even realize she’s in.

The warehouse is dark when I arrive. Miguel is already there, leaning against a stack of crates, his expression unreadable.

“You’re late,” he says as I approach.

“Traffic,” I reply dryly, earning a faint smirk.

Inside, the air is heavy with tension. The table is surrounded by familiar faces, but their expressions are cold, calculating. I take my seat, my posture relaxed even as my gut twists.

The boss, a man known only as Maranelli, leans forward, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Navarro,” he says, his voice smooth but edged with steel. “We’ve been hearing whispers about Dupont. Tell me, what do you know?”

I keep my expression neutral, my voice even. “Not much. He kept to himself, didn’t share details. Quiet guy. You ordered me to kill him, so we can’t exactly get info out of him anymore.”

I know exactly what étienne was into. He was trying to take down the cartel underbelly, and he wanted to start with Maranelli. And he had a good reason for doing so.

Maranelli’s lips twitch into a faint smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s not what we’re hearing. Word is, Dupont was working both sides. Informant. Mole. Whatever you want to call it.”

I keep my features schooled. The last thing I need is for them to know what's on my mind.

“And now,” Maranelli continues, his gaze piercing, “his sister is asking questions. Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Makes you wonder—did Dupont share his secrets with her?”

Every muscle in my body tenses, but I force a shrug. “She’s grieving. People do stupid things when they lose someone. Doesn’t mean she knows anything.”

Maranelli leans back, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe. Or maybe she’s cleaning up his mess. Either way, keep an eye on her. If she knows something, I want to know. If she doesn’t, make sure she doesn’t become a problem.”

His words hang in the air like a threat, and I nod, keeping my face blank. “Understood.”

The meeting ends shortly after, but the tension lingers as I leave the warehouse. Miguel catches up to me outside, his expression hard.

“You sure you’re not too close to this?” he asks, his tone low.

I glance at him, my jaw tightening. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. “If you are tangled up in shit, I can help you. But if you try to go at this alone, you will find yourself in the same-sized pit Dupont is in.”

The warning in his voice is clear.

“I told you, I’m fine.”

I watch him walk away, his words ringing in my ears.

I climb into my truck and drive back to the apartment, my thoughts a tangled mess. If the cartel suspects her, if they think she knows something, then I need to get her out of the city, maybe even the state. My mind races with different ways of how I am going to keep her safe.

When I finally reach the apartment, I pause outside the door, my hand resting on the knob. Inside, she’s waiting—waiting for answers I can’t give her, waiting for a truth that might destroy her.

But I know one thing for sure: No matter what happens, I won’t let them touch her. Even if I have to use my own body as a shield.