The Don’s Deadly Assassin

33. Camela

Camela

Chapter 33

I slide my arms into the sheer beaded sleeves of the ball gown, feeling the material crush into my skin. The dress, silver and skin tight for most of the part, loosens from my knee to ankle.

It’s a beautiful dress, and I wish I had better cause to wear it. Tonight, there could be another assassin lurking beneath one of those jewel-encrusted masks. But Vincenzo's friends would surround us in the grand palazzo, the party being hosted by one of his close allies. No one can get hurt.

Vincenzo can’t lose another. It’s a heavy burden to carry, after the pain I caused him by killing the professor. Vincenzo might have moved past it. I am yet to forgive myself.

The soft rustle of fabric fills the air from the gown swaying gently with each step as I make my way downstairs where Vincenzo waits.

I descend the grand staircase, searching the foyer for Vincenzo. There—leaning against the wall beneath an ornate mirror, his eyes lock onto mine from behind his gold mask. Nerves twist in my stomach at his gaze. I dressed up more for him, than the party.

Vincenzo strolls over to meet me, taking my hands in his. "You look ravishing, mia cara." His voice is low, meant for my ears alone.

A blush creeps up my neck at his compliment. "And you look quite dashing yourself,” I tell him, taking in the three piece suit he has on, almost stitched to his skin.

Vincenzo chuckles, squeezing my hands. "Shall we?" He nods toward the front entrance where our convoy awaits.

The grand palazzo looms before us, its majestic hand-carved stone fa?ade illuminated by the flickering glow of torchlight. There are rows of cars ahead of us, party-goers streaming out in hoards. We wait for our turn to reach the porch, where white-gloved servants open our doors on both sides.

I exit, and Vincenzo walks around to join me. We stand, side by side, and stare up at the beautiful building. The air whispers around us, as though sharing in the secrets of the night.

We make our way up the steps and through the grand entrance, where we are immediately swept up in the whirlwind of high society. The entrance is ablaze with light and teeming with revelers in elaborate costumes and masks. I'm instantly enveloped in the sounds of laughter and music drifting from the open doors to the main ballroom.

Vincenzo offers his arm. "Shall we?"

I loop my arm through his, pulse racing for what might befall us tonight. "We shall."

We stride through the archway, and for a moment I'm stunned into stillness. The grand hall is filled with color and movement, a whirl of dancers and chatting aristocrats dressed in silks and velvets and jewels. An orchestra plays from a dais on the second level, the notes seeming to pluck at my heartstrings.

"Stay alert," Vincenzo murmurs to me as we step into the crowded ballroom. His eyes scan the sea of guests, searching for any potential threats.

"Of course," I reply, my gaze darting from one masked figure to another.

Vincenzo leads me into the crowd, shaking hands and kissing the cheeks of powerful men and beautiful women. He introduces me to all, being the perfect gentleman he is. Some women eye me with envy, some men with curiosity.

Everyone wants to know who the girl on the arm of Don Vincenzo Consolini might be.

Once he says his hellos, he pulls away from the conversation and leads me near the windows, where a waiter passes by, offering champagne. Vincenzo takes two glasses and hands me one. We stand facing the crowd, away from hearing ears.

"We should dance, center stage," Vincenzo suggests, his voice low and cautious. "It'll be easier to keep an eye on things if we're moving."

"Good idea," I agree, discarding my glass near his on the sill, taking his outstretched hand.

We join the throng of dancers, weaving our way effortlessly through the crowd. We reach the center of the floor, and Vincenzo places his hand on the small of my back, fiercely pulling me closer to himself. The room quiets around me just as my body blazes with heat, my eyes locked to his.

“Let’s give them a show they’ll remember,” he tells me, as he leads me into the dance.

He helps me glide across the floor, almost in a dream-like state. Vincenzo, tall and debonair, holds me close with a gentle strength. “You look radiant,” he whispers in my ear, before pulling away to adjust his steps and leading me in a subtle shift in the music, bringing our foxtrot to a feather step, creating a light, airy effect as we move across the floor.

He then does a triple-turn and spins me around. The colors of our outfits blur together in a mesmerizing dance across the polished floor, and the crowd begins to part around us. A circle forms as onlookers step back in awe of our performance. Gasps and whispers follow us as we execute intricate steps like we born to dance.

Just then, he dips me over and whispers, “See anything?”

“Spin me again,” I say. He does as I ask.

As he spins me across the dance floor, creating a wider circle around us, I catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. A shadow flits through the crowd, always at the edge of my peripheral vision, vanishing whenever I try to focus on it.

"Vincenzo," I whisper urgently, "I think we're being followed."

"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice low and steady despite the concern flickering in his eyes.

"Almost," I reply, biting my lip as I scan the room once more, searching for any sign of the elusive figure. "There's something...someone lurking around."

“Alright,” he tells me. He then flashes me a quick wink before executing an elaborate spin that sends me careening away from him and into the crowd.

My eyes have a better vantage point from here. I spin, focusing on the room.

There! A flicker of movement from the corner of my eye - a figure dressed all in black, lurking near one of the ballroom's towering marble columns, watching the floor with intense focus.

I can't see his face behind the mask, but I glimpse the hilt of a dagger peeking from their sleeve, glinting when it catches the light. He’s gone by the time I finish my next twirl.

Got you.

Vincenzo trots over, grabs me from my spin, and pulls me back into his arms. My lips are parted, and my pulse races as he takes one hand in his and extends it out for the final step.

Vincenzo leans close, his breath warm against my ear. "You've spotted our quarry, haven't you?"

“I think I did. He’s been watching us.”

"As expected." His eyes gleam behind his mask, bright with purpose. "Shall we put our plan into motion?"

The plan. Separate and draw the assassin out, then spring the trap. I swallow hard, steeling my nerves.

I nod, and Vincenzo presses a swift kiss on my cheek. “Let’s get off the floor,” he tells me. We stop as the song ends and take a bow. Slowly, we walk off the stage, eyes looking in the direction of people cheering us from both ends but focusing on the peripheries of the room.

“So, what did he look like?” Vincenzo asks.

“Let’s go to the bar,” I tell him. We stand there, side by side, watching the crowd. “He’s tall,” I tell Vincenzo. “Wearing all black, including the shirt, socks, suit and mask.”

Vincenzo nods, turning away from the crowd to face me. “Plant the lever and disappear,” he whispers. “And I’ll draw him to the cocktail table you pick.”

I nod and walk through the room, occasionally turning to see if Vincenzo is alright. Often, I find a shadow over the floor next to me, but when I try to find the party responsible, I see none.

This assassin has a way of hiding, masking away in the crowd.

I walk in the direction of the stairway leading up, careful to find a table that’s not near a crowd. I scan carefully, high cocktail-standing tables all around and find two very close to each other, just near the staircase, away from where people can see and be seen.

The assassin would want a quiet, unassuming place away from the thick of things. I gently lean over at one, slowly pushing it forward, closer to the other, making the section between them small.

I turn to see if Vincenzo watches, and he gives me a small nod. Then, I hold my purse beneath the tablecloth and pull out the magnetic trigger point, its detonator still in my purse. I put a heavy coin on the table and place a coaster over it, sticking the magnet right beneath the table, below the coin, to keep it in place.

One jerk, and whatever the detonator is attached to will burn away within a microsecond, burning the small detonator wire with it.

Then, I scan the room, noticing no shadow, and quietly rush up the stairs to the gallery overhead. I bend low and walk across the length of the railing, just until I reach where a massive, glittering chandelier hangs like a promise.

Right above the tables, I adjusted. I carefully lean over the edge and assess the chandelier's support system. It's held up by a series of cables and pulleys, and I know that loosening just one of them will send the entire thing crashing down.

My fingers deftly work to loosen the connections, ensuring that a simple nudge at the right moment will release them. Then, I curve the small detonator wire around the cables and step back, standing at full height.

From my new vantage point, I maintain a discreet line of sight on Vincenzo while scanning the room for any signs of our pursuer. The tension is palpable, and I struggle to suppress the urge to leap into action upon spotting the hidden threat.

Vincenzo stands by the bar, and a man, the only all-black in tow, takes place in the bartender’s position. My heart lurches into my throat when he asks Vincenzo something. Vincenzo gives a command, not turning around to see the bartender.

It takes everything in me to not scream at Vincenzo to run. I watch the assassin make Vincenzo a drink, putting a small pill into it.

The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning - the assassin is one step ahead. Panic begins to rise inside me like a turbulent storm threatening to break free. I have to act fast. I won’t be able to reach Vincenzo in time, but I need to do something.

I quickly grab my phone, just about to press the button to call him, when the waiter places the drink on the bar. Vincenzo turns his head just a little, to thank him, and I watch as his eyes fall on the bartender’s glove. Black.

Slowly, Vincenzo turns, facing the man serving him. The rapid beating of my heart subsides, and Vincenzo notices his clothes, his mask, his shirt. The assassin posing as a bartender stands still until another bartender turns to him.

“Who are you?” the bartender in uniform mouths at the assassin. Vincenzo’s eyes widen, and I think he’s afraid, but to my surprise, he parts his lips into a small, taunting grin. He walks backward into the crowd, eyes still locked on the assassins, challenging him to a hunt.

By now, the assassin must have realized Vincenzo knows he’s a threat. In one swift leap, he crouches to the ground and comes somersaulting from the opening beneath the bar hatch to let bartenders in and out.

In that moment, I know who the assassin is. The Shadow. He’s quick, deft, and almost a magician.

Without hesitating, I grip the railing tightly and watch as Vincenzo whirls around on his feet, heading toward the dance floor. My breath catches in my throat as I see the Shadow, his dark presence like a vengeful raven.

Vincenzo reaches the dance floor and circles it, the Shadow opposite him in diameter, following his every step. Vincenzo’s eyes are glued to his opponent as he leads the assassin through a dance-like chase, turning heels, changing directions, playing and toying to anger him.

The music swells around them, and Vincenzo bows at the assassin through the crowd. The assassin’s shoulders freeze before he stands taller.

He’s furious at the insult Vincenzo imparts to him by not being afraid. Vincenzo straightens his spine after he takes the bow and turns on his heels. The Shadow follows through the crowd, towards the stairs, towards the tables I planted the trigger under.

I watch with bated breath as the Shadow, hot on Vincenzo’s heels, closes the gap between them.

Vincenzo, walk faster, I think, getting scared that the Shadow will catch up. Yet, Vincenzo maintains his pace, the Shadow inching closer and closer.

Why isn’t he walking faster?

But then, I understand. Vincenzo, leaner in shape, walks straight through the narrow space between the two tables I set. The Assassin, following his lead in a hurry, takes the exact same route.

It’ll happen now.

I pull away from the railing, running towards the stairs. I stand there at the top, looking down the staircase as the Shadow falls into the perfectly laid trap. His hips hit into both the tables, and the tables jerk.

He turns sideways to finish walking through but the detonator is already in action. I hear a bang and smoke erupts from the chandelier. The wire I attached to the base short-circuited, just as I hoped.

At the bottom of the stairs, Vincenzo pauses and turns to face the assassin. He gestures upward, drawing the assassin's gaze.

There's a creak and a groan as the chandelier begins to sway. The assassin's head jerks back down, eyes going wide behind their mask as they register the trap—but too late. The chandelier plummets, a deadly pendulum swinging down on the end of its chain.

The Shadow tries to dive aside, but the chandelier falls left and right. The Shadow assesses the fall wrong. His agonized shriek cuts off abruptly as the weight of the chandelier crushes his chest with a sickening crack of bone.

A large crystal shard sticks out from his throat. There’s no doubt he’s dead.

Silence falls over the ballroom. All eyes turn towards the fallen chandelier and the man trapped beneath, lifeless limbs sprawled at unnatural angles.

And then, pandemonium erupts. Screams and shouts fill the ballroom as guests flee from the accident, tripping over each other in their haste.

Some rush towards the man, others out the door as the fire begins to blaze across the roof. I rush down the stairs, and Vincenzo steps out from against the wall, taking my hand.

He pulls me into the tide of fleeing partygoers, and I turn to take one last look at the Shadow’s body. No one seems to have noticed the concealed lever or my tampering with the chandelier's supports.

There would be no proof, the fire would take it all. As far as any of these revelers know, this was a tragic mishap. An ill-fated accident that claimed an innocent life.

If they only knew the truth. But they never will.