25. Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-five
C amille
The doctor arrives just after eleven, discreet and calm.
She’s in her early forties, dressed simply in charcoal scrubs and worn Nikes, carrying a small leather case like it holds something precious, something sacred.
She introduces herself quietly as Dr. Morales, her voice gentle, practiced, reassuring.
Javi escorts her into the room, silent as a ghost, and vanishes just as quickly, leaving us suspended in uncertain silence.
Kane doesn’t move from his spot by the wall. Arms crossed tightly, shoulders tense beneath the stretch of his black shirt, eyes fixed steadily on me. He doesn’t look away, not to greet her, not to watch her set up, just me. Like he’s holding himself in place by sheer force of will.
Dr. Morales is calm, efficient, her motions careful but confident, as though she’s done this in stranger places, under darker circumstances.
She carefully unfolds a compact Doppler monitor, a tablet, sterile gloves, and a pale blue drape from her bag.
Each movement feels deliberate, every object a quiet, reverent preparation for something I’m still struggling to grasp as real.
“Is this your first pregnancy?” she asks softly, kindly.
My throat tightens painfully. I nod, the motion jerky, uncertain.
She smiles gently, sensing my hesitation. “We’ll keep it simple today. No bloodwork unless you’d like it. Just a quick scan. We’ll find a heartbeat, confirm viability, and then we’ll go from there.”
Another silent nod, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest.
I lean back slowly, heart thrumming too hard, my shirt lifting just enough to expose my lower stomach.
My skin feels suddenly fragile, impossibly delicate beneath the weight of the doctor’s gaze and Kane’s.
Especially Kane’s. Even with him here, protective, solid, fierce, I still feel exposed in a way I’ve never experienced before.
The gel is shockingly cold, a jolt against my sensitive skin. I flinch, and Dr. Morales murmurs something soft and soothing, though the words slip right past me.
She places the wand carefully, gliding slowly over my abdomen. The monitor crackles softly static, uneven, uncertain.
My heartbeat speeds up in silent panic. But then, abruptly, it’s there…
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
Everything stops.
The sound is faint but impossibly clear, a rapid rhythm dancing urgently through the air. Stronger and faster than I imagined possible, like tiny, determined footsteps marking territory inside me.
Our child’s heartbeat.
My hand flies to my mouth, a sharp breath escaping, eyes wide and filling dangerously fast. Emotion slams through my chest, fierce and sudden.
Dr. Morales nods gently, reassuringly. “That’s a healthy fetal heartbeat. About six weeks, give or take. It’s early, but very strong.”
I nod again, blinking back tears, holding tight to the edge of control.
“Do you want to hear it for a moment longer?” she asks softly.
I can’t speak, can only nod again.
She turns the volume up slightly, and now the heartbeat fills every inch of the room, powerful despite its tiny, fragile source. It’s raw. Beautiful. Terrifyingly real.
My gaze flicks immediately to Kane.
He hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken. He remains stone-still, still leaning heavily against the wall, expression unreadable. But his eyes…his eyes are wrecked. Not wet, not tearful, but shattered, frayed at the edges, barely holding back a storm of unspoken feeling.
I reach toward him instinctively.
“Come here,” I whisper, voice trembling.
He hesitates for just a heartbeat, then moves toward me, steps measured, careful, until he’s standing at my side. He looks down at the monitor, then at me, then at the small, impossible sound still echoing quietly in the air between us.
“That’s the baby,” I say, voice catching. “That’s ours.”
He says nothing, jaw tightening like he’s afraid to let go, afraid he’ll unravel completely if he tries.
I reach for his hand, taking it gently, guiding it slowly until his palm rests flat over my stomach, just as I’d done last night. Just as I will keep doing, until this moment finally sinks in for both of us.
“This is really happening,” I whisper softly.
Kane nods once, a small, tight motion, then again more fiercely, as if convincing himself.
Still no words.
When the heartbeat fades, and Dr. Morales quietly packs away her tools, softly excusing herself to give us a moment, Kane leans down without hesitation. His lips press against my stomach, reverent, almost tentative. One kiss, slow, lingering, impossibly tender.
Another to my hand, gentle, grateful.
Finally, he moves to my mouth. His kiss is fierce yet careful, deep and searching. A silent promise pressed desperately against my lips.
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
Because etched clearly in the fierce, careful silence he’s wrapped around us, I can hear every word:
I’ll keep you both safe.
With my life.
With my death.
With everything I am.
Kane
The moment Dr. Morales leaves the room, I follow.
I don’t say anything to Camille.
She’s still lying on the bed, eyes distant, hands resting protectively over her belly. That heartbeat, it’s burned into my skull. Fast. Fragile. Mine.
Ours.
And now everything changes.
Not later.
Now.
I find Javi near the courtyard, overseeing a weapons check with two of our men.
“Up security at the gate. New rotation. Triple coverage on Camille’s floor,” I say quietly. “I want two people inside the house with her at all times. Armed. One visible. One shadow.”
Javi straightens. “What changed?”
“She’s pregnant.”
He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes sharpen. “That why you look like you’re two seconds from gutting someone?”
“No,” I say calmly. “That’s because someone tried to take my family and failed.”
He nods once. “What else?”
“Everyone who was ever on the inside. Anyone who’s been within five feet of her since New York I want them vetted again. Strip everything down. Re-run loyalty logs, transfer histories, background checks. Family members. Side accounts. I want it clean.”
“On it.”
I step closer. Lower my voice. “If there’s even a whisper of betrayal... you bring them to me first.”
Javi’s jaw tics. “And if I don’t?”
“Then clean them up.”
No hesitation.
Because the rules have changed.
This isn’t about Camille anymore.
This is about bloodline.
Legacy.
My fucking line in the sand.
Javi moves fast, already calling out orders as I turn back toward the house, my steps slower now, more deliberate.
She’s not just my weakness anymore.
She’s carrying my warpath.
Camille
The call connects before it even fully rings once.
Lena’s face explodes onto my screen in a whirlwind of motion-blurred chaos typical. She’s clearly mid-routine, towel wrapped precariously around her body, one hand waving a mascara wand dangerously close to her eye, the other trying and failing to angle the camera correctly.
“Camille Sinclair, I swear on my Brazilian wax if you’re FaceTiming me to casually gloat from your mafia-sugar-daddy’s yacht again…”
“It was one time,” I interrupt with a laugh, shifting against the plush leather couch cushions and pulling my bare legs beneath me. “And he’s not mafia.”
“Oh, excuse me,” she snarks, rolling her eyes. “Cartel. How dare I mix up my criminal enterprises. So careless of me.”
She leans closer to the screen, squinting suspiciously. “You look suspiciously happy. Like, suspiciously fucked-up-and-down happy. What’s happening?”
“Why are you always so vulgar?”
“Because it’s a personality trait, babe. Now spill the tea.”
I smile softly. “I want you to come down to Miami.”
She freezes, mascara wand held mid-air like a weapon. “Wait. You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
She stares at me like I’ve grown another head. “Camille, are you okay? Blink twice if Kane Rivera’s holding you hostage and forcing you to lure me into some kind of fabulous human trafficking operation.”
“No trafficking.” I laugh. “Promise.”
She arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Then explain.”
“I just miss you. I want you here.”
“You want me there, in your super-secure druglord fortress, with your infamously ruthless, emotionally constipated billionaire overlord lover?” She blinks slowly, considering. “Honestly? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late, bestie.” Lena’s lips twist into a wicked smirk. “So, does Kane know you’re importing chaos directly to his doorstep? Because this feels like it might ruin his whole scary-daddy-kingpin aesthetic.”
“He knows,” I reply softly, biting my lip to suppress a smile. “He agreed. He’s even sending the jet.”
Lena’s mouth drops open dramatically. “Shut the actual fuck up. You mean he’s willing to unleash my loudmouth and flawless tits onto his fortress of solitude via private jet?
” She fans herself dramatically. “You’re right…
this is true love. You better be pregnant or getting married or something equally soap-opera-worthy. ”
My heart jolts in my chest, but I keep my face neutral. “Just pack a bag, Lena.”
“Already mentally doing it, babe. Tell your man I need the jet stocked with tequila, an iPhone charger, and some of those little pillow mints. Also, I’d appreciate a hot bodyguard named something like Javier. No…Javi. He should have tattoos and questionable morals.”
I smile slyly. “Funnily enough, Javi’s already down here.”
She gasps theatrically. “Shut your face. You’re living my fanfiction right now, Camille. Unfair.”
“Just hurry up. Kane’s jet will pick you up whenever you’re ready. No delays.”
“Wow,” she drawls, eyes wide. “Your sugar daddy’s so organized. Does he have spreadsheets to schedule his daily violence too?”
“Lena,” I sigh dramatically, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I swear…”
“Don’t even try to act exasperated. You love my chaos. But fine. I’ll pack tonight. My vibrator, pepper spray, questionable lingerie…all the essentials.”
“I can’t wait,” I say softly, truthfully.