The helicopter blades cut through the sky like a steady heartbeat, vibrating through Camille's bones as she stared out the window. Clouds rolled beneath them, soft and endless, making the world below look distant and unreal—like a nightmare she had finally outrun.
But of course, nightmares didn't stay behind just because you flew away.
She hugged her arms tightly, watching the morning sun paint the horizon gold. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine that none of it existed—the vengeance, the betrayal, the danger, the contract that wasn't supposed to become anything real.
Just air.
Just peace.
Just… quiet.
Then she felt Dante's gaze.
He sat across from her, legs apart, elbows resting loosely on his knees, eyes fixed on her with a focus that made her pulse skip. His hair was pushed back from the wind, his shirt rolled at the sleeves, revealing scars she had never seen before—subtle, faint, but real.
Proof that he had survived things long before she entered his world.
Proof he had learned to fight alone.
Camille looked away quickly.
He didn't.
"Seatbelt," Dante said quietly.
She glanced down. It was already buckled.
"I know," she muttered.
"Then stop twisting in your seat like you're planning to jump."
Her eyes snapped up. "I'm not going anywhere."
His jaw flexed. "Good."
Because he didn't say it out loud—but she could hear the rest anyway:
I can't lose you.
She had no idea when the shift happened—when his voice stopped sounding like iron and started sounding like something warmer. Something dangerous in a different way.
The helicopter began to descend, smooth and controlled. Camille leaned forward, eyes widening as the view opened beneath them:
A private island.
The kind you only saw in movies.
White sand.
Glass villas.
Palm trees swaying like they belonged in a dream.
Camille pressed her hand to the window. "Dante… this place looks—"
"Safe," he finished.
She wasn't going to say that. She was going to say unbelievably beautiful. But she didn't push it.
The helicopter landed on a private helipad, and warm, salty air rushed in as Dante opened the door. He stepped down first, then turned and held out his hand.
Not controlling.
Not demanding.
Just waiting.
A gesture she could take or refuse.
Camille hesitated—only for a heartbeat—before placing her hand in his. His palm was calloused and warm, grounding her in a way nothing else did lately.
The instant her feet touched the polished wood pathway, a wave of calm washed over her. There was no screaming. No threats. No shadows lurking in corners. Just the ocean whispering and the smell of coconut trees in the sun.
"This is yours?" she asked, breath catching.
"Temporarily," Dante answered. "I borrow it whenever I need to disappear."
Her brows furrowed. "How often do you disappear?"
"Not often enough," he said quietly.
They walked along the path toward a villa with open glass walls and a private pool that shimmered like sapphire. The place felt too big and too serene to belong to someone like Dante—someone carved by danger and shadows.
Inside, the villa was warm and bright. Sunlight poured through the windows, lighting up the wooden floors and white curtains. A breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of salt and flowers.
Camille hovered near the entrance, unsure what to do, unsure how to exist in a place that wasn't built on tension.
"You're stiff," Dante observed from behind her.
"I'm… processing," she admitted.
His voice dropped, calm but firm. "No one is coming for you here. Not Victor. Not Elena. Not anyone."
"Are you sure?" Her voice trembled more than she liked.
Dante stepped closer—not touching her, but close enough she felt anchored.
"Yes," he said. "I'm sure."
She looked up at him. The sunlight caught his eyes, turning them a warm shade she rarely saw. Softening him. Reminding her that beneath all the armor, there was a man who felt too deeply even when he pretended otherwise.
"You need rest," Dante continued. "A real break. No fear. No running."
"And you?" she asked softly.
"I'll stay close," he said. "But not in your way."
Something warm tugged at her chest—confusion mixed with gratitude.
Camille walked toward the balcony, letting the view swallow her. The water sparkled like diamonds, stretching endlessly into the horizon.
For the first time in a long time, she breathed fully.
The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn. Dante leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her with that unreadable intensity.
"You're thinking too much," he said.
"How do you know?"
"You always chew your lip when you're overwhelmed."
Her breath caught. She didn't even realize she was doing it.
"Dante…" She hesitated. "Why are you really doing this? Taking me here? Protecting me this much?"
He studied her for a long moment.
"You overheard something I didn't want you hearing," he finally said. "And now you know too much. Not just about the danger—about me."
"Knowing you isn't a crime," she whispered.
"It's a weakness," he corrected, voice low.
She stared at him, stunned. "You think I'm your weakness?"
"Yes."
The word hung between them. Heavy. Sharp.
Shock. Heat. Confusion. All tangled inside her.
"Then why keep me close?" she whispered.
"Because losing you would be worse," he said, the honesty hitting like impact.
Silence swelled.
Dante exhaled slowly—as if he had revealed something he had been holding in far too long.
"You don't need to answer," he said gently. "Just take the time. Rest. Heal. I'll handle the rest."
He turned to leave, giving her space.
But Camille's voice stopped him at the door.
"Dante?"
He paused.
"…thank you," she said softly.
He didn't look back, but she saw the way his shoulders eased—just slightly.
And Camille realized something she wasn't ready to admit out loud:
This island was supposed to save her from danger.
But maybe what she really needed saving from…
was the way Dante made her feel.