The Don’s Deadly Assassin

19. Camela

Camela

Chapter 19

I glance over at Vincenzo, his warm smile telling me he’s saying what he’s saying.

“What I’m saying is,” he tells me in clear terms. “That I love to travel and I was wondering… would you like to go on a vacation with me? Someplace we can explore together and maybe even lay the foundation for a solid travel-related fight?” I smile at his light heartedness.

The thought of a vacation with Vincenzo is both appealing and terrifying. Given my past with and my training under the Handler, being away from it all seems like a dream come true.

But a guilt gnaws at me. I can’t help but shake off the feeling that he’s extending this offer to me from an affection born of a lie. I am an orphan, yes. But, I was never truly alone the way I have been portraying it. I had the Handler - watching over me, raising me.

To lie to Vincenzo about my state of loneliness pains me. My conscience would have me turn down his offer. And yet, from somewhere deep within, a small voice I believed to have been trained out of me forever, yearns to fight for a life of my own.

My life. A life I’ve never been given the choice to live. It was always at the Handler’s mercy. Field trips, extra murals, it was always part of our training. His training.

Even the friendships amongst us protégés lacked affection and emotional connection. We were surrounded by cold relationships, devoid of all things that make a life human.

"Where would you want to go?" Vincenzo’s voice pulls me back from these unfamiliar and dark thoughts, his eyes gentle as he notices my silence and tries to encourage me further. "Somewhere warm and sunny, or perhaps somewhere snowy?"

I ponder the options for a moment, recalling how the Handler always preferred the heat, the sun turning his skin leathery. I want something different, something that represents my life now, with Vincenzo.

"What about a snowy Christmas getaway," I suggest, feeling a tingle of excitement run through me. "A little cabin in the mountains, just the two of us. I’ve never built a snowman before,” I clap excitedly at the thought.

Vincenzo's eyes widen with delight, and he squeezes my hand. "That sounds perfect, cara mia. A chance to begin our own traditions, away from the demands of the world."

“When?” His excitement is contagious, and my smile is as broad as his.

“This winter? We’ll have the very best Christmas. Three months from now. What do you say?”

“I’m in! Oh, I’m in Vincenzo! And can we go someplace with lots of snow?”

“Oh darling,” he murmurs, bringing my hand up to his lips and giving it a soft kiss. “I’ll make sure there’s so much snow that you’re going to freeze if you aren’t in my arms.”

“You really are the devil,” I scoff playfully, pulling my hand away and whacking him gently on the back of his.

He laughs and sits back, staring at me like a man utterly captivated by my beauty. As he reaches for the bottle of wine on our table, he notices my eyes follow his movements.

"Would you like some more wine?" he asks, holding the bottle above my glass.

"Please," I reply with a smile. “The night is young.”

And so are we,” he murmurs. Our eyes lock, and I’m drawn in by his soulful gaze. The love I see reflected there both thrills and calms me, like a balm for my soul.

Leaning in across the table, we close the distance between us, our lips meeting in a tender, passionate kiss. At this moment, I know that no matter what happens, our love is strong enough to conquer any obstacle we may face.

As I loosen my lips from Vincenzo’s and sit back, the clink of silverware and soft murmurs of conversation around us filter back into my awareness.

It's then that a waiter approaches our table. "Can I interest you in some dessert?" he asks, eyes darting between Vincenzo and me.

Something about him immediately alerts me. First, it’s his unfamiliar voice. I look up and see a man with dark hair, a thin jaw, and slim cheeks. He isn’t the waiter we had earlier. I frown.

“Where is the server who was here just before?” I ask curtly.

“Busy,” the new waiter says. I see a flicker of something behind his eyes. Annoyance. My question annoyed him.

"Dessert," Vincenzo says, unaware of my growing concern. "What do you recommend?"

"Ah, the tiramisu is our house specialty," the waiter answers, his voice betraying an odd mix of eagerness and restraint. “It truly is the best, and I suggest you have just that. I’ll tell you something,” he whispers secretively, bending lower. “They make a fresh one every few days, and today is that day.”

His accent. It sounds different. There’s a harshness to his Italian, he can’t hide the way he rolls his letters. There’s a hint of something foreign. Middle Eastern?

“Well, thank you, Tiramisu, it is!” Vincenzo says with delight.

But I am still unsettled. The server is keen on selling tiramisu to us.

I quickly glance him over, putting down the facts. He’s a new face, his accent seems out of place, his uniform’s slightly too small, and his choice of footwear is unusual. He’s wearing boots when others wear oxfords.

“What about you, Cara Mia?” Vincenzo asks me.

I noticed the server looking between us with sudden interest. He’s analyzing our relationship, taking in details.

“I’ll have the same,” I tell him with a sweet smile, forcing my body to seem relaxed.

"Good choice," the waiter says with a slight nod, scribbling down our order. As he does, I notice the way his hands tremble ever so slightly – another red flag. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then, it comes to me.

His accent - the way he pronounces the words ‘shortly’ and ‘tiramisu’. The way he rolls his ‘R’, at the back of his throat, it’s guttural.

It’s the way they say it in Israel.

My world stills. The moment of truth came sooner than expected. All my efforts to keep Vincenzo by my side have boiled down to this. Our first assassin has found us.

There’s only one whom the Handler would deem worthy from that region. The Ghost.

"Everything okay, Camela?" Vincenzo frowns slightly.

"Of course, just excited for dessert," I reply, offering him a reassuring smile. “And maybe a little drunk,” I giggle foolishly. But my mind is racing, connecting the dots and trying to discern whether this waiter poses a threat or if I'm simply being paranoid.

“Oh dear,” Vincenzo looks worried. “Would you like to go home?”

“No,” I shake my head. “It’s nice to be a little drunk, a little tired, a little full, is it not?”

“It’s the perfect recipe for happiness,” Vincenzo agrees.

Truth is, I don’t have a tired bone in my body. All I have are my senses, focused on the waiter as he returns with our desserts, placing them carefully before us.

"Enjoy," he says, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before he turns to leave.

And in that instant, I know. The game is on.

To keep Vincenzo safe, I play it cool. Danger is lurking closer than he must ever know, and from this moment on, I am his Huntress. I’ll do everything in my power to keep Vincenzo alive.

I glance down at the Tiramisu on our plates and then at a tub of chocolate ice cream passing by. A sudden idea takes hold, and I turn to him with a playful grin.

“Vincenzo, would you hate me very much if I made an impossible suggestion?”

“What is it, cara mia?” he asks, concerned.

“It’s just,” I push away my plate. “I’m suddenly craving ice cream. And I know the tiramisu looks good, but as a child, I loved ice cream and always imagined going to such fancy restaurants and having ice cream to round off a fairy-tale dinner.”

Vincenzo raises an eyebrow but chuckles nonetheless. "All right, if it'll make you happy," he agrees, motioning at a different waiter passing by. By switching out the dessert – likely poisoned – I’m at least buying us some time.

Within a minute, our tiramisu is gone and replaced with two sealed tubs of dainty-looking ice cream.

"Thank you," I say, digging in with a spoon as I rack my brain for a way to deal with the potential threat lurking among the restaurant staff. “I do apologize for changing my mind on a whim. I do hope you won’t have to pay for it.”

“Oh, I just told the staff to charge me for the same. It’s quite alright, and besides, we asked for it.”

“You truly are generous,” I say sweetly, taking another bite of the ice cream.

“When we go on vacation,” Vincenzo begins. “I’m going to make sure I find you the best gelato in the world.”

“Oh, but the best gelato in the world is right here,” I sing. “In Italia…”

“You’d be surprised, sweetheart,” and he begins to tell me about a time when he found a small little gelato parlor in the Isle of Man.

While he talks, I’m strategizing. The Ghost’s attempt to poison Vincenzo and me might have been thwarted, but that only means he’s going to return.

He won’t kill Vincenzo openly in a crowded restaurant. Perhaps I have a chance of luring the Ghost to me. He will follow, wanting to eliminate any obstruction in taking Vincenzo alone and outside. Or at his home.

I swallow hard at a lump of cold ice cream, still I laugh and add comments into our conversation, waiting at the table for exactly one minute after finishing our ice cream.

"Excuse me for a moment," I tell Vincenzo, pushing back my chair and standing up. "I just need to use the restroom."

"Of course, take your time," he replies, still enjoying the last few sips of his wine.

I walk away slowly, humming a romantic melody, making sure no one, including the Ghost, suspects a thing. Still humming, I check that all the cubicles are empty. I take off my bolero and fold it neatly next to one of the sinks.

Then, I search for something that might help me create a distraction. Spotting a bottle of soap, I smile and slowly pour a generous amount onto the floor right by the entrance, making sure to spread it around evenly.

With the stage set, I stand back behind the door and wait. This isn't my first encounter with another assassin, but This time, the stakes are more personal.

Vincenzo. My Vincenzo.

All I can do is hope that Vincenzo remains safe and unsuspecting, enjoying the wine without a care in the world.

Hidden behind the door, I close my eyes and steady my breathing, calming my senses and listening for the Ghost's approach. My muscles flood with adrenaline, preparing me for the fight that we both know is coming.

The restroom door creaks open, and I tense up, ready to strike. I hear footsteps - confident, calculated, slow but not overly cautious. Definitely not a civilian. This has to be him.

"Quite a mess you've made in here," a raspy voice remarks, followed by a sinister chuckle. "You really should watch where you're pouring that soap."

Thanks for the advice," I retort sharply, springing from my hiding spot, catching him off guard. In one swift motion, I raise my leg high in an outside arch and bring the heel down in a chopping motion, striking the Ghost on his neck with all the force in my hip.

A perfect Kakato Otoshi Geri. I can’t help giving myself a mental high-five. I live for the hunt, after all.

"Wha–" he stammers and tries to dodge my kick just before I slam into him. The soap-slicked floor works to my advantage, causing him to lose his footing and crash to the ground. His eyes widen in surprise and pain as he realizes he's been outmaneuvered.

"Didn't expect that, did you?" I taunt, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pounding in my chest. As much as I want to savor this small victory, I can't afford to let my guard down - not even for a second.

"Huntress…" The Ghost wheezes, struggling to regain his composure. "You’ve got some pretty tricks up your sleeve."

"They’re prettier when you look deeper," I reply, forcing a smile.

"Pretty won’t get you far," he snarls, and in a single second, he’s extending his hands above his head, bringing his knees up to his chest for momentum and kicks up. Now, he stands right before me.

I watch without moving, prepared to move before his next action. I know I don’t have time to attack.

For now, I must defend.

The glint of silver catches my eye as The Ghost hurls a fork in my direction. He must have reached into his boot and retrieved it while kicking back onto his feet.

I instinctively dodge sideways while the tines graze my arm and lunge for the weapon, which embeds itself into the rattan door of the supply cabinet behind me.

"Is that all you've got?" I taunt, gripping the fork tightly in my hand. The Ghost's eyes widen in surprise as I leap towards him. My blood is pumping steadily, my heart pounding in my chest, and I refuse to let him escape.

"Any last words?" I growl, and before he can react. My dress stretches as I jump on his shoulders and clutch him between my thighs, slamming one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and jamming the fork into his eye.

The blood splatters everywhere: down his face, his clothes and my boots. He screams in muffled agony and staggers backward, clutching at the fork but in too much pain to remove it from where it’s lodged in his eye.

The sight is grotesque, but the adrenaline surging through me tells me I enjoy this.

So, I still have a thrill for the kill. But this time, I kill for the right reasons.

I leap off and kick him behind his foot on his Achilles tendon, bringing him to his knees.

I pull the bolero from the washstand and wrap it around the Ghost's throat, pulling it tight. His hands claw at the fabric, desperate to break free from my grasp. "I trusted you once on that remote mission," I hiss, tightening my grip. "That was a mistake I won't make again."

"Please..." he manages to choke out, his good eye pleading for mercy. But there's no room for mercy in our world. It's kill or be killed, and I won't let him hurt Vincenzo or anyone innocent ever again.

As the Ghost's body goes limp in my arms, I lower him to the ground, ensuring he's incapacitated. My chest heaves with labored breaths, mixed emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I did what I had to do, didn't I?

"The Handler would be proud of my technique," I whisper to myself, thinking of my former mentor. A pang of guilt hits me, and I wonder what he would think of me now.

"Focus, Camela," I scold myself internally, shaking off the memories and doubts. There's no time for looking back. I’ve got a romantic evening to get back to.

I glance at the lifeless body, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. Quickly, I gather myself and hoist him up, dragging him into a nearby stall. Time is of the essence; I can't leave Vincenzo alone for too long.

"Ugh," I grunt as I shove the body inside the cramped space, trying not to make too much noise. My eyes settle on the fork protruding from his eye, the weapon that had been meant for me.

Taking a deep breath, I yank it out as quickly as possible, ignoring the gruesome sound it makes as it's freed from its fleshy prison. I wrap it in a paper towel and slip it into my purse.

Rule number One: The murder weapon goes with the murderer.

I lock the main door to the bathroom area and wipe any visible blood off the floor with paper towels and soap, disposing of them in the trash bin, and do my best to clean my fingerprints from every surface my hands have touched. The Handler's training kicks in, reminding me of the importance of leaving no trace behind.

The garment around his neck catches my attention. I stare at it for a moment before hesitantly reaching for it, remembering how it had felt wrapped around my shoulders earlier in the evening – a symbol of my need to impress Vincenzo.

With a sigh, I remove it from his neck and fold it carefully to hide any blood stains, placing it over my arm.

"Alright, time to rejoin the ball, Cinderella," I say to myself, taking one last look at the crime scene I've left behind. I close the cubicle with The Ghost in it and lock it from outside. I pull out my lipstick and write “Out of Order” in large capitals in handwriting that’s not mine.

With another deep breath, I wash my hands, step out of the restroom and make my way back to our table.

"Sorry for the wait," I say as I slide into my seat across from Vincenzo, a forced smile painted on my lips. "I just needed a moment to collect myself. The wine got to my head.”

"Of course, my love," he replies, concern in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine," I reassure him and reach out to touch his hand.

Just then, his gaze wanders to my arm, where the fork got me. It looks like four small scratches. “Whatever happened?” he asks, concerned and reaches over to touch the graze.

I laugh out loud. “A woman at the doorway. She grazed me with her fingernails. It was an accident.” I wave it off like it’s nothing.

He raises his eyebrow and shakes his head, clearly amused at the thought of such small nails. "Ah, well, let's not dwell on it then," Vincenzo says, raising his wine glass in a toast. "To the rest of our lovely evening."

I clink my glass against him, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that we're not truly safe. Not tonight, not any night.

When Vincenzo finishes his wine and suggests we go home, I smile gently. On the way out, I cling my arm through his. He looks down at me and smiles, giving my forehead a gentle kiss.

“The night is young,” I whisper, looking up at him. “How about we keep it going when we reach back?”

“You’re the woman of my dreams, I swear it,” he tells me, well-pleased with my suggestion.