It's been two weeks since the call with my sister, and Kendall is still haunted by nightmares, her sleep haunted by the lingering shadows of fear. Tonight, though, felt different-her nightmare was worse, as if it had sunk its claws in deeper. We'd both drifted off on the couch, tangled up in the shared warmth and the gentle rise and fall of each other's breaths, but she woke gasping, her eyes wide, struggling for air as though drowning in invisible waters.
"Principessa?" I murmur, my voice low, trying not to startle her. Her gaze locks onto mine, her brown eyes deep and desperate, glistening with a wild panic that claws at my chest. "Breathe, baby." I keep my voice steady, soft, and deliberate, hoping she'll mirror me as I draw a slow breath in through my nose, then let it out. It takes a beat, but she catches on, her breaths finally syncing with mine. Her fingers dig into my arms as if I'm the only anchor keeping her from slipping away. "It's okay, just breathe."
She leans forward, collapsing against me, burying her face into my shoulder, her body curled into mine as if she's searching for protection against some unseen darkness. Her arms wrap around my neck, her grip fierce, and she straddles my lap, seeking closeness, warmth, safety. I wrap my arms around her, gently stroking her long hair, its softness a soothing rhythm against the tense silence.
"It's okay," I whisper, pressing my lips against her hair, trying to let her know she's safe. "It's all going to be okay."
She finally relaxes, her breathing slowing. When she pulls back, her face is tear-streaked, her brown eyes red-rimmed, her lower lip trembling with exhaustion. She sniffs and wipes at her face, her voice small, almost ashamed. "Sorry," she mumbles.
"No reason for apologies," I tell her, my voice low and reassuring, but there's an ache in my chest, a tightening that I don't want to admit to. I want to ask her about the nightmare, to understand what haunts her sleep so relentlessly, but I hold back, unwilling to dredge up her pain again.
"I just haven't been sleeping well," she whispers, brushing tangled strands of hair back from her flushed face. Her vulnerability stirs something fierce and protective inside me.
I nod slowly, watching her. She doesn't know it, but sleeping beside her-feeling her warmth and heartbeat close to me-has given me a peace that terrifies me. It's unfamiliar, dangerous. I'm not sure how long I can hold on before something shatters. So, when she excuses herself to shower, I slip onto the terrace, leaning against the cold railing as I look out over the city lights, their glow muted under a dark sky heavy with clouds.
The quiet hum of the city thrums beneath me, a constant reminder of how life goes on, unfazed by our private struggles. I pull out a cigarette, unlit, and toy with it between my fingers. The habit used to calm me, but standing here now, it feels hollow. It's been a while since I even needed it.
Dante answers after a few rings, his voice thick with the irritation of being woken so early.
"Camden, must you always call me at dawn?"
I chuckle, but there's a heaviness in my tone. "Sorry, capo. I needed to ask you something."
He yawns, his voice warming with curiosity. "Ask away. I'm up now."
"I thought about what you said. About how I could bring Kendall there, have you take care of her and Elora."
"Yeah? Is your little sister's best friend driving you nuts?"
"Something like that," I mutter, staring out at the hazy glow of the horizon, the city sprawling in darkness. "What do you think?"
Dante sighs, the familiar sound of his own cigarette lighting in the background. "I think the drop-off might be hairy. Especially given that car chase. He's probably already on your scent."
I grimace, the memory fresh-Marco's car tailing us, his dark silhouette always too close. "I'm in a different car now."
Dante snorts, unimpressed. "You think that will stop him? He's good at finding people; my father hired him for that exact skill a few times."
"Shit," I mutter, the tension prickling down my spine as Dante's words sink in. "You're probably right, but… we might try it anyway. She's starting to feel trapped here. And honestly…" I trail off, unwilling to admit that staying close to her is unraveling my own walls. That her warmth and laughter, her little quirks, are starting to seep into my life in a way I never anticipated.
"You can give it a try, but be ready to hunker down for a while longer," Dante advises.
"Gotcha. Thanks, capo."
I hang up, and when I turn, I find Kendall standing in the doorway, her hair damp from the shower, wearing one of my T-shirts, her expression wary.
"What was that all about?" she asks, her voice low, as if afraid of the answer. "Did they… find him?"
There's a flicker of something in her eyes, a mixture of dread and a strange, reluctant hope. Her brows knit together, her fingers tugging at the hem of the shirt she's wearing.
"No, not yet," I reply quickly, seeing her shoulders relax just a fraction. "I was just talking to him about taking you to his mansion, so you can stay there with Elora." I pause as her frown deepens, uncertainty flashing across her face. "Then I could join the hunt for Marco, make myself useful."
She looks up at me, her voice trembling slightly. "You said you'd protect me. You said you would, not Dante."
"He's plenty capable of watching out for you," I insist, though I feel the weight of her words settle uneasily in my chest.
"It's not about his capability," she argues, her gaze steady, unyielding. "That wasn't the deal." Her arms cross over her chest, and there's a fire in her eyes that wasn't there before-a fierce defiance that both frustrates and captivates me.
I chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "Don't be a brat, principessa. I want to get rid of Marco as soon as possible."
"So you can get rid of me, too?" she demands, tilting her chin up, her expression challenging, her jaw set.
I frown, caught off guard by the sting of her words. "I didn't say that," I murmur, but deep down, I know that's exactly what I'd meant when I called Dante. I told myself I needed space from her, that I was getting too close.
"You might as well have," she huffs, her face clouding as she turns, storming back into the warmth of the house, leaving me alone on the terrace, the chill of her absence lingering in the cool night air.