His to Guard, Mine to Claim (Book 4)

POV: DANTE

I stopped believing in second chances the day she died.

Loving her had shattered me beyond repair. I’d been a fool to ask for a divorce, an even bigger fool to send her away.

Then came the image. A brutal confirmation of what I’d done. My wife. Executed. A single bullet to the head.

Every dream I had for the future died with her.

I remember how Maria screamed when she saw the photo, her grief tearing through the thick walls of the house.

Felix begged me to check the tracker, as if hope still had a place in that room.

I knew better. I saw her in that alley. Bruised, blood spreading beneath her across the concrete.

That image burned itself into my mind.

I never deleted it. I locked it away behind firewalls I built myself.

It’s my ghost. My punishment. Proof that she was real and that I failed her.

I go back to the garden sometimes. It’s the only place that still feels untouched by rot.

Out here in the Pacific Northwest, where cedar needles carpet the ground and moss softens every edge, I carved out a place for her, a headstone beneath the biggest cedar next to my parents. Her name etched into stone.

I kneel there some nights, longer than others, my knees sinking into the earth as my hands trace the cool stone.

I whisper the things I never dared to say out loud. I ask for forgiveness I know I’ll never deserve.

I wait for her to come back anyway. For her body to rise from the dirt even though I know it never will. But she never comes.

Not in the earth. Not in the wind. Just a headstone beneath the cedar and the hollow where her laughter used to live.

Every time I leave, I promise it’s the last. That I’ll let her go.

But I never can.

Because her body was never found.

And I still can’t stop looking.

In her place, something colder crawled to the surface, ruthless enough to survive her loss.

I was smoke and ruin held together by rage. Power was the only thing that kept me breathing.

Yet even that wasn’t enough to move me.

I sprawled across the mattress, still dressed from the night before. My shirt clung to me, wrinkled and reeking of whiskey.

Empty bottles littered the floor, a quiet graveyard of my only escape.

The curtains smothered the light, but the ache stayed. Another wasted day settled over me, heavy enough to make getting out of bed feel impossible. I drifted in and out of sleep, chasing the next blackout. Her memory lingered in my chest, bitter enough to make every breath feel raw. Marisol. Always her. Even now.

Most people kept their distance now. Even the ones who once called me a friend.

Business partners, allies, even the staff. I saw it in their eyes. Fear. They looked at me as if I might snap without warning.

They were right. The smallest things could set me off lately. A dropped glass, a forgotten message, a voice that sounded too much like hers.

Only Felix and Maria still tried.

Maria brought meals that I never touched.

Felix kept the business running and dragged me into meetings when he could, but even they had learned to tread carefully.

Maria tried to hide it, but her eyes always gave her away. Every time she looked at me, I saw the grief she carried.

Not just for Marisol, but for me. For the man I used to be.

She never said it out loud, but I could feel her praying that, maybe somehow, I’d come back.

Even Mr. Buttons felt her absence. The little dog sat outside Marisol’s music room, like he was waiting for her to reappear.

That door had stayed closed since the day she was taken from me. No one was allowed to clean it. No one even dared to go inside.

Sometimes, I broke my own rule.

I’d open the door and stand there, breathing in the stillness.

Her perfume still lived in my head, so vivid I could almost smell it when I stepped inside.

The piano sat untouched, bathed in morning light that streamed through the window.

I used to watch her sit there, her fingers moving over the keys while morning light framed her in gold. She looked like an angel when she played.

Untouchable, and still somehow mine.

She’d tried so hard just to survive.

The world we were born into devoured her anyway.

And I hadn’t stopped it.

I hadn’t been able to protect her.

Just like I hadn’t protected my mother.

What kind of man fails the only woman who ever truly loved him?

The worst kind of man.

I don’t know how long I lay there, lost in the dark, trapped in the ache I’d made into my home.

The door slammed open, shattering the silence and the spiral I’d been drowning in.

A blast of light sliced through the dark as the curtains were yanked open.

Pain punched through my skull, and I buried my face deeper into the pillow.

“Get the fuck up.”

Felix’s voice cut through the haze.

“Fuck off,” I muttered, my voice hoarse and thick with exhaustion.

Felix didn’t budge.

“It’s past noon. For years, all you’ve done is drink, sleep, and pretend to care about your own damn company. That ends today.”

I didn’t move.

“You’ve been handling things just fine without me,” I retorted.

Felix crossed his arms.

“Not this time. High-profile client. Urgent request. They asked for you.”

“Then tell them I’m dead.”

Felix sighed.

“Get your ass up, or I’m coming back with an air horn and trust me, I’ll use it.”

I dragged a hand over my face.

Another job. I reached for the whiskey bottle before remembering it was empty.

Grief pressed down hard enough to make staying in bed feel easier than pretending to care about another meaningless task.

Let him handle it. Let the world keep spinning without me.

But Felix never made empty threats.

Groaning, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

My head throbbed with every movement, each pulse dragging the hangover closer to the surface.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But you owe me.”

Felix smirked, already halfway to the door.

“Collect later. One hour. We’re going to LA.”

The door slammed hard enough to make pain lance through my skull.

That bastard did it on purpose.

I glared at the closed door for a long moment before dragging myself upright.

I already hated the idea of going.