Page 173 of Corrupting Camille
My language. My curse. My undoing.
Spoken like she’s known it her whole life.
Spoken like she owns it now.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t move.
She kisses me gently, again and again, lips dragging over mine like she’s trying to pour the words into me, like she wants them in my blood, my bones, my soul.
“Te amo,” she whispers again into my mouth, a breath, a confession, a chain.
My grip on her tightens, and I kiss her back like I’ve waited a lifetime. No hunger. No violence. Just mouth to mouth, tongue to tongue, holding her so close I swear we’re the same body, same breath, same heartbeat.
And I know.
This is it.
There’s no going back.
There never was.
Chapter Sixteen
Kane
My phone vibrates violently on the nightstand, ripping me from sleep with brutal efficiency.
Camille shifts against my chest, murmuring softly, lashes fluttering as she drifts deeper into dreams. I tighten my arm around her, inhaling the scent of her hair, warm skin pressed into mine.
The phone vibrates again, insistent, urgent. A harsh intrusion into this fragile peace.
I glance at the screen, jaw tightening.
Javi.
Carefully, quietly, I untangle myself from Camille’s warmth, pulling away gently so she doesn’t wake. Her lips part slightly, fingers twitching on the sheets. She reaches for me instinctively, and something inside my chest clenches at how quickly, how easily she’s learned to reach for me, even in her sleep.
I grab my phone, stepping silently into the living room, pulling the sliding door shut behind me. The skyline is still dark outside, Manhattan sprawled like a glittering threat below, a stark reminder of the life I built, brick by bloodied brick.
But when I answer the call, it’s not New York that speaks. It’s Miami.
And Miami is never kind.
“Javi,” I snap quietly, voice low and rough from sleep, but edged with impatience. “This better be good.”
“It’s not.” His voice comes through tense, clipped. Javi doesn’t get tense. Javi never fucking gets tense. Ice settles in my veins, sharp and familiar. “You need to come home, Jefe.”
My grip tightens on the phone, heart kicking up. “Details.”
“Not over the phone,” he replies swiftly. “But it’s bad. Worse than the shit with the ports. We found something tonight. Someone.”
“Who?”
A pause. Short. Sharp. Javi choosing words like weapons. “A message. Directed at you.”
I turn sharply, eyes narrowing on the bedroom door. Camille sleeps behind it, oblivious, vulnerable, a softness I never deserved but refuse to let go. My heart pounds harder, tension radiating down my spine.
