23. Camela
Camela
Chapter 23
My hands tremble as I tighten the loops from the lace of my colorful blue and green corset blouse. Today has changed everything. I thought I could hide the arrow and its power from Vincenzo.
I believed he’d never be aware of its existence, but the message Professor Castellano’s lawyer brought forward today makes that impossible.
If Vincenzo ever discovers what I've done, if he uncovers my involvement as the Professor’s assassin and the theft of the arrow, I'll lose him forever.
The thought of Vincenzo cutting me off nearly breaks my heart, but it's the idea of the Handler getting to him that terrifies me most. He could have Vincenzo killed with just the flick of his finger if I’m not around to protect him.
I hear a knock on the door. “Yeah?” I bellow quickly.
"Camela, are you ready?" Vincenzo calls from outside.
"Almost," I reply, trying to sound calm. I can't let him see my anxiety. If he goes to the night market, I have to go with him - it's the only way to keep him safe. And so, despite the storm raging inside me, I finish dressing.
I hurriedly slip into the large flowy skirt with a bird and flora pattern, the vibrant colors clashing with each dark thought. This is who I want to be for Vincenzo – someone bright and full of life.
Not an assassin with blood on her hands. But I can't change the past; all I can do is pray that I can protect the man I love, and our relationship that has just begun to sprout.
"I’m ready!" I force a smile onto my face and rush out of the room, making my way down the stairs. As soon as I step outside, I see him waiting in the car. His eyes light up when he sees me, and for a moment, I forget the weight of my secrets.
"Wow, you look stunning," he says, his gaze lingering on the swirling colors of my skirt and the way my corset hugs my curves. "Let's get going, shall we?"
"Of course." We climb into the car, and the driver starts the engine.
The night market is a maze of narrow lanes overflowing with vendors hawking everything from handmade macramé artwork, to crocheted sweaters, pirated watches to antique swords.
The night seems alive before us, a cacophony of sights and sounds that sets my heart ablaze. Strings of colorful lights crisscross overhead, casting a warm glow on the bustling scene around.
The air is filled with music, laughter, and the aroma of street food. Youngsters mill around, drinking cocktails in takeaway glasses. Couples sit on benches, sipping wine and eating cheese and ham platters.
Vincenzo takes my hand, his eyes shining. "Isn't it wonderful? I haven't been here in years."
I force another smile. "It's lovely." My gaze sweeps the crowd, alert for any sign of trouble. When we’re outdoors, it’s a fight for survival. Someone could be lurking in the shadows. Anyone could be a threat.
Vincenzo squeezes my hand, drawing my attention. "You seem distracted. What's wrong?"
I shake my head. "Just taking in the sights and sounds. It's a bit overwhelming." It's not entirely a lie, though not the whole truth either. I can't tell him a killer might be stalking us.
Three little girls, barely six years old, dressed in colorful dresses, clap with delight at the sight of my skirt, their joy infectious. I give them a smile and a wave. They giggle and turn away, embarrassed at having been noticed by the woman in the clothes they like. For a moment, I let myself get pulled in by the joyous atmosphere, pretending I'm just a normal girl on a date with the man she loves.
Vincenzo laughs, the sound is rich and warm. "I think you have some new fans." His arm slides around my waist, and he kisses my hair. "You look radiant tonight."
Radiant and lethal. I'm acutely aware of the knife strapped to my thigh.
"Look at that!" Vincenzo brings me out of my thoughts, pointing to a man juggling flaming torches while balancing on a unicycle. "How does he do it?"
"Practice, I suppose," I muse, my eyes never leaving the performer. "But let's not get too close. I don't want us getting singed."
"Always watching out for others," he teases, but my heart aches at the irony. If only he knew what I was watching out for and how I’m the reason he even needs someone to watch his back in the first place.
Maybe if I’d never taken a token for my kill, left that wretched arrow where it belonged, Vincenzo could go about living a life free of danger.
But for tonight, I must play the part that all’s well. In my heart, I long for a time when it will be. When it can be just Vincenzo and Camela, two young people in love, with not a care in the world.
I reach over and take his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. He looks over and smiles at me, the affection warm and true in his eyes. “Come,” he nudges me forward. “Let’s go have the best night.”
For just a little while, I convince myself that it’s alright to live a little when I’m by his side. I smile and nod, prepared to be on the lookout for danger, but also willing to let myself be swept away in the moment.
We continue walking. A single flickering lantern casts a warm glow on a stall draped with an array of waistcoats, the rich fabrics shimmering like jewels in the night. They’re beautiful, eccentric, unique. Vincenzo notices my lingering gaze and nudges me gently.
"Would you like one?" he asks, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.
"Really?" I reply, trying to hide the surprise in my voice. No one has ever offered to buy me something so frivolous before, and it feels both thrilling and unsettling.
"Absolutely," he insists. "Choose whichever one you like."
I run my fingers over the delicate embroidery and smooth silk, weighing each choice. Finally, I settle on a midnight blue waistcoat adorned with silver thread that glimmers like stars under the lantern light.
"Ah, a fine choice," the seller remarks, eyeing me appreciatively. "For you, my dear, I will offer a special discount. It would be an honor to have a girl as pretty as you wearing my clothes."
"Thank you," I say quietly, hoping my gratitude doesn't betray the unease I feel at this unexpected compliment.
Vincenzo hands over the coins, then slips the waistcoat into a paper bag before presenting it to me with a flourish.
"Here you are, my lady" he says, grinning. "Another addition to your ever-changing wardrobe."
I laugh, remembering what happened to a certain red dress as I accept the gift. I hold the bag in my hands and pull out the waistcoat. A warmth spreads through me, not from the heat of the crowd, but from a feeling I've never experienced before – the thrill of receiving a gift bought out of love.
"Vincenzo," I say, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of laughter and haggling. "Thank you."
“Anything for you, my little chameleon.”
“Chameleon?”
“You have an incredible knack for blending in, Camela. From being the epitome of poise at parties to now becoming an inspiration to little girls and sellers of colorful wares, I hope you know what a gift you have."
I frown gently, confused by his words. His eyes twinkle as he inches closer and whispers. "That's part of your charm, Camela."
The word chameleon stings as if it were a barbed arrow aimed straight at my heart. If only he knew my true colors.
"Is that a good thing?" I ask, attempting to keep my voice steady.
"Of course," Vincenzo replies, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's one of the many things I admire about you."
"Thank you." I force a smile onto my lips, trying to maintain the fa?ade a little longer. But as I stand there, I wonder how much longer I can keep up this act. I wonder if the woman Vincenzo has fallen for can ever really be who he thinks she is.
How much longer until the truth comes crashing down around me, and Vincenzo sees me for who I truly am?
"Come on," he says, wrapping an arm around my waist. "Let's go explore some more."
As we walk deeper into the bustling market, I cling to the waistcoat, my heart racing with a mixture of love and fear. It's a symbol of the life I could have – if only I were brave enough to embrace it.
But with each step, the line between truth and lies becomes even more blurred, and I find myself questioning who I truly am beneath the ever-changing colors of the chameleon.
"Camela, have you tried these candied nuts before? They're amazing!" Vincenzo exclaims, pulling me out of my thoughts, holding out a small paper cone filled with glistening almonds coated in a sugary glaze.
"Um, no, I haven't." I take a nut and pop it into my mouth. The sweetness is almost too much, but then there's a hidden depth of flavor that makes it impossible not to enjoy.
The taste grounds me. I’ll have all the time for my thoughts later, but for now, I must focus on where we are and keep my ears and eyes open, mind empty to observe our surroundings and keep Vincenzo safe.
“Come,” I tell him. “Let’s go check out some more food stalls.”
We continue walking down the aisles to where the food is. But more than halfway there, a sudden chill curls up my spine. I sense eyes on me, and it’s not just the curious gaze of bystanders.
Vincenzo continues to take in the sights and sounds of the night market, as I scan the crowd to spot any sign of danger.
"Camela, look at these!" Vincenzo exclaims, pointing at a stall selling necklaces. But my attention is elsewhere.
I feign interest in the handmade wares, all while keeping my senses sharp and attuned to any shifts in the crowd. There’s no change.
When we begin walking, I notice a pattern of footsteps. It’s heavy-footed and well-paced. I count mine, then the others. The person is at the same pace as us. I slow down and stop, pretending to adjust the waistcoat on my arm.
The footsteps that had been following us slow, then stop altogether. They’re following us.
"Vincenzo," I say, trying to keep my voice light and unconcerned, "I'm getting hungry. Could we order some food?”
“Of course,” he grins. He takes my arm, and I lead him to the busiest stall. He’s too much of a gentleman to tell me that the line’s way too long, with over a dozen people in queue.
I read the menu and noticed a special rosti with sausages and a side-marked note stating it takes twenty minutes to prepare.
“That rosti looks good, doesn’t it?” I gush at someone holding it in their hand.
“Oh, it looks insane,” he nods. “Let’s get two of those?”
“Done and done,” I grin.
We stand in line for a few minutes when I decide it’s time for me to step away and see if the assailant follows. Vincenzo would be safe here, in this crowd. I can use this time to draw away whoever might be following us.
"Vincenzo, I need to use the bathroom," I say, my voice strained but casual. "I'll be right back."
"Alright, take your time," he replies nonchalantly, now browsing the drinks menu on the board up ahead.
As I walk away, I scan the surroundings. My eyes land on a quiet exit alley not too far from us. It's dimly lit and secluded, a perfect spot for an ambush. And if someone is indeed following me, I'd rather confront them there than risk Vincenzo or other innocents getting hurt in the crossfire.
"Here goes nothing," I mutter under my breath, my heart pounding against my ribcage.
As I approach the alley, I notice an ice bucket at a nearby drink vendor. Inspiration strikes. Without hesitation, I grab the waistcoat that Vincenzo bought me earlier, submerging it in the freezing water.
The fabric of the waistcoat grows heavy as it absorbs the icy liquid, transforming into a makeshift weapon should I need it.
Clutching the soaked waistcoat tightly in one hand, I slip into the shadows of the alley, my senses on high alert. Every footstep echoes ominously around me as I tread carefully, trying to stay as silent as possible.
My mind races with thoughts of what might happen if I'm discovered - or worse, if Vincenzo finds out about my past.
Keep it together, Camela, I think to myself. You've faced worse situations before.
The darkness of the alley is both comforting and unnerving. As I venture further in, the clamor of the night market fades into a distant hum. My pulse quickens, ears alert for the sound of someone behind me.
If my pursuer follows me here, I'll have no choice but to face them head-on. Sudden excitement pumps through my legs and arms as I remember taking down the Ghost.
"Come on," I murmur, urging my unseen stalker to make their move. "Show yourself."
But there’s no sound of footsteps.
The alley narrows, and my heart pounds in my ears. I strain to listen for any sign of pursuit, but all I hear is the distant cacophony of the night market.
Just as I begin to think I've taken this detour for nothing, a sudden gush of wind, like something heavy falling, catches my attention. Before I can react, I hear a thud behind me and feel a cold finger press against my neck.
The assassin must have been sitting on the boundary wall and jumped down to get me.
My grip tightens around the soaked waistcoat, and without a moment’s hesitation, I do a forceful underarm, flying backward, slamming the full weight of my makeshift weapon into the attacker's crotch.
The impact reverberates through my arm, but I don't pause to relish the success when he stumbles backward, groaning. Instead, I grab the finger that was pressed against my neck and twist it violently.
My attacker's gasp gives me the opening I need to turn and face him.
"Scorpion," I hiss, recognition dawning. We worked together once on an assignment in Egypt, and I'd recognize his scaly tattoos, thin, bony face and deep-set wrinkles anywhere. "What are you doing here?"
"Business, Camela," he grunts, nostrils flaring as he struggles to regain his composure. "Something you’ve been failing at, I imagine.”
“Let me show you what success looks like.” I twist his finger upward, bringing him to his knees.
Scorpion's eyes narrow, and I know I must act fast. In one fluid motion, I launch myself at him, feet first, landing with my one knee next to each of his ears as I take him to the ground with me.
I grip his neck between my thighs and position my fingers at the base of his skull, applying pressure in the hollows between the two large neck muscles. Using my tai-chi skills, I render him temporarily paralyzed, the shock registering in his eyes.
"What are you …?" he croaks and then is unable to move.
"Sorry, Scorpion, but you came for mine," I whisper. I lean over to grab the waistcoat, wrapping it around his throat and pulling tight. His eyes bulge as he struggles for breath, clawing weakly at the fabric. But my grip remains firm, and within moments, his body goes limp.
I release the waistcoat, gasping for air as I stare down at Scorpion's lifeless form. A wave of sadness washes over me. I hate using the gift Vincenzo gave me with such love for something so ugly.
But what other choice did I have?
"Goodbye, old friend," I murmur, wiping away a stray tear from his face before turning on my heel and hurrying back towards the night market. On the way out, I throw the waistcoat into a garbage bag. Vincenzo would have questions if he sees the state of it.
Then, I hurry back to his side. For now, I've bought us some more time and rendered another opponent worthless.
Overall, making this a successful night.