The Don’s Deadly Assassin

10. Camela

Camela

Chapter 10

I don’t believe in god or fate, but this coincidence is too uncanny to ignore.

Eliminating Vincenzo is one step closer to getting that arrow. The Handler’s words play on repeat in my head, almost driving me crazy.

On the one hand my relationship with the Handler is straight forward, black-and-white. My reason for existing is him. Without him, I would accomplish nothing, be nothing.

I’ve never lied to him.

On the other hand, our dynamic is complex. He’s not my father figure, but my loyalty to him is the same as if to a father, had I had one. I’ve never kept secrets from him; partly because he was the one who taught me to conceal lies, rendering them futile in his presence.

I live to serve him. So how the hell did I find myself in this situation? In what universe can things get so out of control that the first time I decide to pick a ‘souvenir’ for my kill, that god-damn stolen piece becomes exactly what the handler is looking for?

I try to withstand the Handler’s scrutiny with a steady gaze while my mind spins with everything he just revealed to me.

I believe I’ve fallen victim to the arrow’s powers. My target, Vincenzo, has become my greatest weakness. If the Handler finds out, he might just slit my throat.

It’s too late to come clean with him now. He had already laid his trap when he asked if I took something.

I lied, straight to his face.

If the Handler finds that out, the consequences are just as unimaginable. Asking for his help to break the arrow’s spell is out of the question.

My only option is to continue his little game of hide and seek. I must pretend, even if he suspects because maybe he will let slip some piece of information that could be my salvation.

“What does this arrow look like?” trying to act my curious self.

He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “It is slim,” he marks the narrow girth of the arrow between his fingers. “Made of the most ancient gold in the world. The tip bears a ruby, an inverted heart that catches the light like drops of blood. If cast far and strong at the hands of a scorned lover, it can kill. But a gentle prick can make one putty at the hands of another. Long, but a paradox, it can turn minuscule, enough to slide into a glass of wine, to prick a tongue into love.”

“You’ve seen it before?” I drawl, pretending to wipe off some dust from a chair. “Can’t you simply replicate it? With whatever poison or drug it’s laced with?”

This is the question I’ve been leading up to. I just need to know what compound it could be made of and then learn if I can reverse it. Simple.

He laughs, throwing his neck back. “Perhaps I taught you to be too cold, too calculative, too na?ve,” he murmurs. “Not everything is as simple as causation and effect, Camela.”

I say nothing, realizing he’s trying to remind me of my place. I’m still a fool, still a child, still at his mercy to learn more only when he deems me worthy.

“Thousands of years ago, Neptune, the god of the sea, made love to a mortal woman and sired a son with her. Pelagios, like hundreds of other demigod children simply played their role in the battles of the gods. The mothers were of no further use to the gods, so when Pelagios’ mother lay dying, none of the gods showed up to save her. He sought revenge and plotted to steal one of Cupid’s arrows. He aimed to prick the favorite daughters of the divine beings who wronged him, casting them under the spell of the arrow. But, along the way, he met a mortal woman named Calliope.”

Get to the point already. I need to know how to reverse this.

I try not to swallow the gulp forming in the back of my throat, for he’ll notice my nerves. Instead, I lean forward, grab his bottle of water and then sit back against my chair as I drink, letting the coolness trickle down my throat.

As he speaks, my mind begins to wander. I hear his voice drone on about how their love was so powerful that it shook heaven and earth and their romance so tragic that it cost her her life. He speaks of ancient records and of those who believe the legend to be true.

I come to when the Handler clears his throat. "The arrow was lost to history until news surfaced of the discovery of an ancient shipwreck off the coast of Italy.

I’m certain that foolhardy professor Julian Castellano claimed the arrow for himself, keeping it a secret from the world. Now, I believe, he gave it to Consolini for safeguarding.”

As he speaks, I no longer doubt the existence of the golden arrow, for I’ve seen it, held it, and fallen in love with it. I also no longer think it’s a poisoned tip with a cure in tow.

I do know that the arrow has weakened me with emotions, causing me to care for Vincenzo when I should have been focused on fulfilling my mission.

But now is not the time for doubt or introspection. The Handler is watching, and I must maintain my facade at all costs.

The flickering single bulb hanging overhead casts eerie shadows across the Handler's face, accentuating the cruelty in his eyes, the scar on his chin, the gash on his cheek as he watches me closely.

I hold back a swallow, keep my trembling hands in the pockets of my coat, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck as I try to accept my new reality – there is no escape from Cupid’s divine will.

"Now, Huntress," the Handler says, leaning forward and placing his hands on the table between us. "I have received word that another party will be hosted by Vincenzo tomorrow night. It is crucial that you attend, complete your original mission, and gather any intel you can on the arrow." His voice leaves no room for argument.

I now swallow before I speak, forcing my voice to come out strong. "Of course," I reply steadily, even though my heart’s being crushed in my chest. I thought I’d ignore the invitation, stay as far away from Vincenzo as possible, loving him from a distance. I thought I could protect him that way. But it seems I have no choice but to go.

"When and where?" I lie again, remembering very well the details of the invitation I received this morning.

"Tomorrow night at seven sharp, at his estate in Catania. You must go, find out what he knows, kill him, and if you get the chance, retrieve the arrow once and for all." The Handler's gaze bores into me.

“Retrieve the arrow?” I tilt my head, frowning.

I can’t be tasked with that responsibility. I’m the one who has that god-damned arrow. Instead, I cock my head and shake it. “I’m a trained killer, Handler. Not a common thief,” I spit out.

The Handler breaks out into a smile, like he’s proud of me. “I was wondering where that fire went earlier today,” he mumbles. “That’s fine. The kill’s all I need, and I’ll take it from there.”

I roll my eyes at the first statement and nod at the second, but my heart hammers in my chest. So, I couldn’t completely fool him. He has suspicions.

And now he wants me to kill the man I love.

A strange sensation fills my sight. My vision, it blurs, it stings. It reminds me of something in my childhood, but the memories aren’t complete.

Could it be tears?

I hold them back by thinking of things that calm me. The curve of a sharpened steel knife, the edge of a cliff, a man falling, blood dripping. The tears disappear, my heart steadies its beats per minute.

"By tomorrow, I expect you to have your prey, Huntress." The Handler warns, his voice cold and piercing like a dagger. That’s my cue to leave, and I stand. He suddenly reaches out and grabs my hand. I look down at him, wanting to be free of his touch but forcing myself not to flinch or jerk back.

He has his neck craned up at me, and he slowly speaks out a threat, one word at a time. "I’ve always demanded complete honesty. Lying to me is unforgivable. Pray that you’ll never see what my vengeance looks like.."

His words send a shiver down my spine, and I focus on breathing, letting the spit rest in my mouth, postponing the gulp.

He’s messing with my head. He keeps suggesting I’m keeping secrets, and yet he is sending me back to complete a failed mission. I’ve known the Handler long enough to know he likes toying with those that anger him.

And those that fail him.

And those that disappoint him.

The only problem is that I don’t know what he thinks I did. Am I a traitor, a failure, a weakling?

To protect myself, I have to carry on as always. In one quick go, I pull away my arm and meet his gaze with a look that could turn rain into ice. I then stare down at his hand, showing him I despise that he grabbed me.

I turn on my heels and then pause, with my back to him. I crane my neck to the right, just till I can see his outline from the corner of my eye. "I understand," I say. The weight of his warning bears down on me, making it harder to breathe.

I stand there, waiting for dismissal.

"Good." I feel his gaze burn into my back. "You may go."

The door to the warehouse creaks as I push it open and step out into the cool night air. The scent of saltwater fills my nostrils, and I take deep breaths to try to steady my racing heart.

I want to get the hell out of here. But not yet.

I inch myself up against the wall and stand there. He forgets that I know him well.

Then, I hear it. Within the warehouse, a steel door creeks open and then a man’s voice I don’t recognize."Is she gone?"

The Handler’s tone is venomous. "Make sure she doesn't get too far. I want to know every move she makes and who she speaks to. Do not let her out of your sight."

"Understood," the man responds.

My heart hammers in my chest, each beat pounding in my ears as I try to process what I've just heard. It seems my fears were justified – the Handler doesn't trust me, and he has sent an unknown face to spy on me.

This means there’s danger all around, from anyone, anywhere.

I quickly slide off my shoes and slip away from my hiding spot, running silently towards my car. The night is dark and still, the only sound is the distant crashing of waves against the shore.

My mind races with thoughts of Vincenzo, the golden arrow, and the consequences of deception, each one sending another wave of dread washing over me.

The moment I slide into the driver's seat, panic fully sets in. My thoughts swirl chaotically, each one punctuated by the knowledge that every move I make will be monitored.

I grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as I try to force some semblance of calm into my frantic mind.

"Stay focused, Camela," I whisper to myself, taking a shaky breath. "You can do this. You've faced worse."

But even as I try to reassure myself, doubt gnaws at the edges of my conviction. What if I fail? What if I bring harm to Vincenzo simply by being there?

"Stay in control," I mutter, forcing my trembling hands to start the engine. As the car roars to life, I steel myself for what lies ahead. There's no turning back now – I must face whatever comes at the event and pray that I can navigate this dangerous game without losing everything that has suddenly become important to me.

"Damn it!" I slam my hand against the steering wheel, my anger spilling over. "Why did I have to get involved with that stupid arrow?"

I feel responsible for ensnaring Vincenzo in the crosshairs of danger simply because I took something on impulse.

It's the first time I’ve felt this strange responsibility. It’s unnerving and uncomfortable. I believe most people would call it ‘guilt.’

As I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles white with tension, a memory surfaces – one that I've buried deep within the darkest corners of my mind.

"Try again," the Handler orders, his voice cold and unforgiving.

I'm just a child, barely 10, shaking as I hold the knife in my trembling hands. The mother deer stands before me, her eyes and nostrils wide with fear. Her fawn, barely a few weeks old, huddles behind her, instinctively aware of the danger that looms.

"Please... I don't want to do this," I beg, tears streaming down my face.

"You have to learn. She is a weak mother. Weakness is dangerous. Especially in the ones close to us." He shakes his finger in anger, pointing at the doe. "She brought her baby to the house looking to us to feed her. When winter comes, she won’t be able to survive because she took the easy way. Imagine the fawn then, not knowing how to find food because its mother didn’t care to teach it the hard way."

My hands are shaking terribly. Whether from fear of what I have to do or from fear of the consequences if I don’t, I’m not sure.

Regardless, the Handler snarls and grabs my hand in his, forcing the knife to steady. "Do it. Now."

My protests fall on deaf ears. With a final, determined shove, he drives the blade into the animal's heart. Blood stains my hands and the ground around us, turning the once-lush grass into a crimson nightmare.

"Good girl," he says with satisfaction. "Killing is a big responsibility, and now you’ll be ready for it. Together, we will teach the little one to be strong, stronger than its mother."

As I sit in my car, the memory fades, but the emotion remains - guilt. How many innocents have I killed since that fateful day? Vincenzo’s image comes to my mind, but this time, blood flows down his face because I shoot him.

The guilt at that thought makes me feel sick to my stomach, a strange concoction of physical symptoms I can’t hold back. My chest aches, and I feel like I might die. Suddenly, I’m filled with rage – at myself, at the world, at being human. Tears come to my eyes.

I can’t go on living like this. I won’t survive feeling all this.

No wonder the Handler said emotions are a weakness.

Fuck it. I have to think back to who I am and all the kills I’ve reveled in.

I’m going to kill Vincenzo Consolini and be rid of this love-induced angst. Once he’s gone, I’ll be free again. I’ll be back in the Handler’s circle of trust. Life will go back to normal, whatever the hell that means.