6. Camela
Camela
Chapter 6
As Vincenzo and I walk through the lush gardens with our arms linked, I start a little game I like to play, testing myself. I inhale the sweet scents around me and try to identify each of them.
The musky undertones would be Jasmine, the light and airy florals would make for the roses, and the subtle citrus and spice would make for the oleanders. Which happens to be highly toxic – all of it.
"Camela, have you ever seen a rose as stunning as this?" Vincenzo stops, gesturing towards a particularly striking bloom. A soft smile graces his lips as he admires the plant, and for a fleeting moment, I find myself captivated by the sight of him.
Right from the start, I mourned the death of such a handsome face. Luckily, the poison only causes slight spasms; his face will still look fine in an open casket.
"Indeed, it is quite lovely," I reply, my voice measured.
"Are you enjoying the party so far?" Vincenzo’s eyes never leave mine as he shakes his head towards the main house. There's a warmth in his gaze that I haven't experienced in a long time, and I don’t know how to respond to it.
Is this what people do? Treat absolute strangers with such familiarity? How can he feel such warmth for me when he doesn’t even know me?
I know basically everything about him, even the brand of socks he prefers. Still, I don’t feel the same level of kinship towards him.
"Very much," I respond, forcing a smile, "though I am glad for the respite from the merriment, especially if it is in such a perfect setting." I twirl, making a wide sweeping gesture with my arms, encompassing the entire outdoors.
"Undoubtedly," he agrees, his own smile growing. "I always find solace when I’m surrounded by the beauty of nature’s blossoms and trees. Perhaps next time, we could throw a party here?"
We? Since when did this become a ‘we’?
The situation is getting out of control. As a huntress, I stalk, I pounce, I kill. That’s how a job like this gets done.
I’ve been studying this compound for the past four days using spy drones. On these three acres, there are twenty-four watchpoints, fifteen gardeners, forty-five guards, a convoy of a dozen security cars, two entry points and four secret exits. I have etched every detail into my memory.
That is how I know that this part of the garden is neither visible from the house nor from the private parking lot at the back of the house, where the valets park all the visitors’ cars.
There’s no reason to engage further with the prey, not when I have him exactly where I need him.
"Perhaps we should find a place to sit while we continue our conversation? I’m finding a sudden ache in my legs… all that dancing, you see?" I giggle and bend over to press a knee.
Vincenzo instantly looks concerned, scanning the area until his eyes settle on a nearby bench nestled between two flowering bushes. "That looks like a good spot, shall we?"
"Perfect," I agree, my heart pounding in my chest as we make our way towards the bench. Vincenzo is the perfect gentleman. Perhaps, in another life, we could have been friends.
But the moment to act is drawing near, and I can't afford to let my guard down now.
"Oh, it seems the bench is still wet," I feign disappointment as I notice a sheen on its surface from the earlier rain.
"Camela, I apologize. Let me take care of that for you." He swiftly removes his handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab the moisture from the seat.
While he's occupied, I seize the opportunity to delve into my purse, pretending to look for something. With my hand hidden from view, I engage the trigger on the special bracelet, springing the poisoned needle into place.
I slow my breathing as I focus on Vincenzo, anticipating his next move.
I let the calming knowledge wash over me - this is who I am – an assassin trained by the best. The Hunter's stern voice resurfaces in my mind, its cadence pushing me through my paces.
My skin grazes against the familiar cold metal of the small gun.
It seems like I won’t need a backup weapon after all.
"Almost done here," Vincenzo says, finishing his task. I force a grateful smile as he looks back at me.
My fingers brush against something sharp and cold within my bag, and I gasp as a searing pain shoots through my fingertip.
"Camela, are you alright?" Vincenzo's voice wavers.
"Of course," I assure him, not wanting him to get suspicious, "just feeling a bit warm, that's all." I glance down at my finger, and a tiny droplet of blood wells up from the wound, threatening to stain the satin lining of my purse. My heart nearly stops. Did I cut myself on the bracelet?
“Come, sit. You look pale.” Vincenzo takes me by the shoulders and gently guides me to take a seat on the bench.
I keep staring at my wrists, hands and fingers. I know I’m seeing something significant, but it is as if my brain has stalled. And then, two thoughts hit me at the same time: The antidote is in the bracelet, and it is the wrong finger.
Air rushes back into my lungs. I didn’t poison myself. The finger is on the same hand as the poison bracelet. With slightly trembling hands, I discreetly fold the pin back into place.
"Camela, you are worrying me." Vincenzo's eyes widen in alarm.
"It's nothing," I lie, trying to sound casual despite the throbbing pain. "I just... pricked my finger on something in my purse." I close my eyes as realization dawns on me.
I pricked myself on the god-damn arrow.
"Show me," he insists, gently taking my hand in his to examine the injury. A jolt goes through my entire being. I raise my eyes to meet Vincenzo's gaze. His warm and kind eyes seem to pierce into my very cold soul.
His concern is like a gentle caress, and the world around me brightens as if someone has lit a fire within the very air we breathe.
Does he sense this, too? I look at him in wonderment.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
A tidal wave of emotions crashes over me. Insecurity and irritation with myself, and against all odds, a surge of affection for the man who was meant to be dead by now. I struggle to breathe through this insane moment.
Then, I experience an unexpected pang of guilt. I wonder - is it even possible for someone like me to find redemption in the arms of someone like him – so sincere, so attentive?
The mere thought strikes fear into my heart, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Where the hell is all this coming from?
"Vincenzo, I..." My voice falters as words elude me. Everything I was so sure of until mere seconds ago seems to be slipping away from me, like sand through my fingers.
Why do I have to kill him? What wrong did he do? Imagining him dead… No. I can’t pull out the gun. Not on him. But I’m a cold assassin!
"What is the matter, Camela? Please, you can tell me."
But I hesitate. The way Vincenzo looks at me makes me hesitate. I come face to face with an impossible choice – am I willing to break rank?
Is there really another path I could take? Is there another possibility here?
Could I really be another person, someone different from whom the Handler trained me to be? At least when I’m with the Don Vincenzo Consolini?
My vision blurs, and the sounds of the night, which I am usually so attuned to, fade into the background, replaced by the pounding of my blood in my ears.
Something is wrong. I gasp for breath, struggling to comprehend the rapidly shifting feelings that threaten to overwhelm me. Panic sets in; I wasn’t trained for this – whatever it is.
"Camela, what is going on?" Vincenzo's voice sounds distant as if he's calling out to me from across a vast expanse.
"V-Vincenzo, I..." What can I say? How can I explain the maelstrom of emotions churning within me, threatening to tear me apart?
An apology forms on my lips, but it feels inadequate, unable to capture the depth of my confusion. "I'm so sorry. I have to go."
"Wait, Camela!" he calls out, reaching for my arm as I wrench myself from his grasp. I can see the bewilderment in his eyes, but I can't let him get any closer.
Not until I’m ready to explain. Not when I’m here to kill him.
With every step I take, retreating towards the mansion, my breathing grows more ragged, and the chaos in my mind swells.
I know I must escape; I must find some way to regain control over my emotions, my mission, and my very self.
I hastily slip away through the bustling crowd. Camela, you just might have made the biggest mistake of your life.