26. Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-six
C amille
I don’t say anything as I gently take Kane’s hand and lead him away, past Lena’s careful silence, past Rosa’s grateful eyes, past Lucia’s quiet strength. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t hesitate; he follows like a shadow, silent, hollowed out, broken but trusting.
Our bedroom feels different, heavier, quieter. Every surface seems to absorb Kane’s pain, his grief settling into the walls around us like a confession whispered in the dark. I pull him slowly toward our bathroom, closing the door behind us with a soft click that sounds final and sacred.
Turning on the shower, I watch steam curl slowly upward, fogging mirrors, filling the space with warmth and intimacy. Kane stands motionless, staring blankly at nothing, the blood on his clothes a violent reminder of what he’s done, what he’s lost, what he’s carried home.
Wordlessly, I step close and begin stripping him bare. His eyes close briefly, surrendering completely, trusting me with the wreckage of himself.
Slowly, carefully, I peel away his blood-soaked clothes.
Each button undone, each layer removed feels like stripping away a piece of the armor he’s always worn.
The black shirt falls to the floor, heavy and stained, revealing skin marked by tattoos, blood and violence.
My breath catches painfully, but I don’t flinch away.
He stays silent, chest rising and falling unevenly as I reach for his belt, carefully sliding it free, easing his pants down until they pool at his feet. He steps out of them, eyes shut tight, jaw locked, as though trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.
Steam billows around us, softening every edge. He stands in front of me utterly vulnerable, powerful yet broken, terrifying yet heartbreakingly human. I slide out of my dress, stepping forward to press myself against him, skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat.
“Come,” I whisper, taking his hand and guiding him gently into the shower.
The water cascades over us, hot and cleansing, running clear, then red, then pink, then clear again as it rinses away his pain.
I pick up the soap, working it tenderly over his skin.
My hands slide slowly, reverently along his shoulders, down the hard muscles of his back, carefully scrubbing away the darkness clinging to him.
I kiss every bruise, every scar, lips brushing softly, whispering forgiveness against his broken skin. My fingers thread through his wet hair, cleaning away ash and blood, smoothing away the violence and regret. I lean up on tiptoes, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw, his throat, his collarbone.
And then I take his hands.
I cradle them carefully, washing away blood, scrubbing softly around bruised knuckles. I kiss each finger tenderly, reverently, whispering silent prayers for the violence he’s endured, for the sacrifices he’s made. Kane shudders under my touch, breathing harsh, raw, desperate.
Slowly, I sink to my knees before him.
He watches me silently, eyes wide, shattered, disbelieving as I gently lift his foot into my hands, carefully washing away the remnants of the night, the dust, the blood, the death.
My thumbs trace every arch, every muscle, every scar that carried him home.
I lean forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his skin, heart aching with the depth of my love.
I do the same with his other foot, tears sliding silently down my cheeks, blending with the water, washing away a grief that feels endless, a love that feels bottomless.
I look up at him through the steam, through the pain, through the grief we both carry. “I love you,” I whisper fiercely, unshakably. “I love every broken piece of you, Kane Rivera. Every shadow. Every scar.”
He stares down at me, eyes glassy, the hard edges softening at last. He reaches down, fingers trembling as they brush away my tears, lifting me gently to my feet, holding me close enough to feel his heartbeat beneath my own.
He presses his forehead against mine, breathing harshly. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers brokenly. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve everything,” I say quietly, fiercely. “Every good thing. Every piece of love. You deserve a home to come back to. You deserve us.”
He kisses me then, slow, deep, devastatingly raw. A kiss that tastes of grief and hope, regret and redemption, each breath pulled from somewhere so deep inside us that I tremble. It’s a kiss meant to bind broken pieces, to mend the cracks in our souls, to promise forever, even when forever hurts.
My arms tighten around him, my fingers threading gently through his hair, my whispers soft against his mouth, grounding him. “You’re home now.”
And that’s when it happens…he breaks.
His walls shatter completely, the carefully built fortress around his heart collapsing in slow, aching waves. Kane sinks into me, shoulders trembling, body shaking, and I hold him fiercely, desperately, refusing to let him sink beneath the weight of everything he’s carried alone.
“Let it go,” I whisper gently, firmly. “I’ve got you.”
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, hands gripping me like I’m the only thing left to hold onto. And I hold him right back with every ounce of strength I’ve ever possessed.
Because he’s home now.
And I won’t ever let him drown as long as there’s breath in me…and even then I’d fight death just to be with him.
***
The morning of the funeral is gray, the sky bruised and heavy, as if even Miami can’t bear to let this day happen. No sunlight. No warmth. Just clouds hanging low, pressing down on us like grief itself.
Rosa insisted on Cartagena. The place Diego took his first breath, and where now he’ll take his last rest. Where memories linger in shadowed alleyways and sun-baked cobblestone streets.
Where family ghosts whisper through open plazas and hidden doorways.
Where Kane first learned what it meant to bleed and survive and fight.
We flew out in one of Kane’s private jets at dawn, silent except for the steady hum of engines.
Kane sat beside me the whole way, gripping my hand tightly, his thumb sliding restlessly over my knuckles.
We didn’t speak. We didn’t have to. His silence told me everything: pain he couldn’t voice, violence he couldn’t erase, guilt he’d never outrun.
Now we stand in the mausoleum, pale stone, wrought iron, white gardenias filling the air with sweet, suffocating sorrow. Only family is allowed inside.
Camille Rivera.
They said my name at the gate, giving me a title I haven’t yet worn openly, haven’t yet claimed fully.
It echoes through me, achingly profound. Terrifyingly real.
Lucia sits in the front, curled tightly against Rosa’s side, a black ribbon tied carefully in her wild curls. Her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. She’s different now. Still fierce, still strong, but older, colder. Grief ages you faster than anything.
Lena hovers close by, a shadow keeping vigil, protective but silent.
Kane hasn’t moved from his brother’s casket. He stands rigid, like marble, head lowered, fists clenched tight at his sides, knuckles white. He wears a black suit, immaculate.
Joaquin murmurs quietly with the priest, arranging final details, while Javi guards the back like a sentinel, eyes sweeping restlessly, wary even now.
I move quietly, coming to Kane’s side. Our shoulders brush. He doesn’t startle, doesn’t react.
“He would’ve wanted this,” I whisper softly. “His family together. His daughters safe.”
Kane’s jaw flexes sharply, muscle ticking violently beneath his skin. “He deserved more.”
I touch his arm gently. “He had more. He had you. He had all of you.”
Kane takes a ragged breath and then slowly steps forward, reaching inside his suit jacket. He pulls out something small and silver, gleaming softly under pale, dim lights, a heavy silver cross on a worn chain.
He lays it reverently atop Diego’s casket, fingers shaking slightly. When he finally speaks, his voice is broken glass, ragged and raw.
“You carried me when I couldn’t stand. You held me up when I was drowning in my own rage. You never asked anything from me, hermano. You never needed me to say the words.”
His throat tightens visibly, pain bleeding into every syllable. Silence presses around him like a vice.
“So I’ll say them now.”
A heavy pause hangs in the air, unbearable, endless.
“I loved you.”
His voice cracks on the last word, soft and shattered, breaking something open inside my chest. Rosa gasps softly, a fragile sound that cuts to the bone. Lucia’s quiet sob rips softly through the mausoleum, the quiet, painful cry of a girl who’s lost too much too soon.
But Kane doesn’t move. He remains there, fists still clenched, jaw still locked, as the priest begins the blessing, Latin murmured low and reverent.
The final prayer fades away. The casket lid is closed with a quiet, devastating click.
And Diego Garcia, brother, father, protector, is laid to rest in earth that has already claimed too many men like him.
***
Later that night, back at the compound, the silence is thick enough to drown in.
Lucia’s finally asleep, curled against Rosa, exhausted from tears she didn’t deserve to shed.
Rosa lies awake beside her, dry- eyed now, hollowed out, yet still fiercely protective.
Lena is the quiet strength in the background, making sure the world keeps turning even though it feels like it should have stopped hours ago.
Marisol and Reina cling to each other, whispers broken, raw with grief, holding onto the fragile thread that still binds our family together.
Javi and Joaquin patrol outside, their eyes sharp and restless, refusing to allow another tragedy tonight. The guards rotate positions with ruthless precision, their quiet footsteps a heartbeat that echoes protection and vigilance.
But Kane?
I know exactly where I’ll find him.
On the balcony. Always there, alone, silent, standing watch over a world he’s never truly trusted.
I step outside, the cool ocean breeze lifting my hair, moonlight gentle and pale, washing over him like forgiveness he won’t yet grant himself.
He stands facing the ocean, shirt half-unbuttoned, a drink hanging forgotten in one hand.
His wedding band glimmers faintly, gold catching the silvered light.
We married quietly, no fanfare, no ceremony.
Just signed papers and whispered vows. No one else needed to see it. It was for us, permanent and private.
I walk up behind him, sliding my arms slowly around his waist, pressing my cheek to the warm, tense muscles of his back. He stiffens briefly, then exhales, the tension in his body loosening bit by bit.
“Come inside,” I whisper softly, fingertips tracing slow circles against his chest.
He shakes his head slightly, gaze still fixed on the horizon. “Not yet.”
“Why?” My voice breaks a little. “You don’t have to punish yourself anymore, Kane.”
He’s silent for a long moment, the weight of everything he’s carried heavy between us. “I haven’t let go of him.”
My heart aches, sharp and fierce. “You never will,” I say gently. “You loved him. You don’t ever really let go of the people you love.”
He turns slowly, facing me fully now, his dark eyes searching mine. They’re tired, shadowed, haunted, but they’re his again, no longer hollow. No longer lost.
“I’m done chasing revenge,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion and finality. “But I’m not done building.”
Tears sting hot behind my eyes, but I hold his gaze, reaching up to cup his face. “Then let’s build, Kane. Together.”
He leans his forehead down, pressing gently against mine, our breaths mingling softly, noses brushing. His hands come up to hold my face, fingers brushing tenderly over my skin, thumbs tracing my cheeks.
“How do I deserve you?” he whispers, voice cracking open, raw and unguarded.
“Because you fight,” I tell him fiercely, tears spilling over now, running warm down my face. “Because you love so damn hard, even when it hurts. Because you keep getting up, no matter how many times the world knocks you down.”
He kisses me then, slowly, achingly, as if the world around us might shatter if we move too quickly. I taste his grief, his pain, his love and I kiss him back, pouring every ounce of devotion and forgiveness and hope I have left inside me into him.
When he finally pulls back, our foreheads still touching, his breath is shaky and uneven. His eyes close, a tear slipping silently down his cheek, catching me completely off guard.
“I’m scared,” he admits quietly, voice stripped bare. “I don’t know how to do this. How to build something good when all I’ve ever known is how to burn.”
I wrap my arms tightly around his neck, pulling him close, whispering softly against his ear. “You start by letting me hold you. You start by breathing, by letting yourself feel this loss. You start by believing that we deserve something good.”
He nods slowly, carefully, finally surrendering fully, letting me pull him into the safety and shelter of my arms. I hold him there, his head tucked against my shoulder, my fingers threading gently through his hair as I listen to the slow, steadying rhythm of his heartbeat.
The moonlight bathes us gently, forgivingly, as if promising us something beautiful still exists beyond the violence and grief we’ve known.
Slowly, he lifts his head, eyes meeting mine again, vulnerable yet steady.
“Come inside,” I whisper once more.
This time, he nods.
We walk hand in hand through the quiet halls of the compound, toward our bedroom, toward our future. The world outside these walls is still dangerous, still unpredictable, but we’re here, together, alive.
Tonight, we don’t just bury the past. Tonight, we finally choose a future.
And maybe, for the first time, we’re brave enough to let ourselves believe we can have it.