The Don’s Deadly Assassin

38. Vincenzo

Vincenzo

Chapter 38

We drive back in silence. Camela stares out of the window, breathing evenly. I know what she asked of me, for some more time to help Matthiera be free, the way she is.

And I know what I said. That I’d stand by her.

But, my thoughts are flowing through me like a poisonous river, making me question my own words. It’s rare for me to go back on what I say, but all I can think of is Antonio. So much happened tonight, that I got overwhelmed and let Camela think I could get past the Snake’s assassination of my brother, just to get out of that god forsaken place.

But, it feels like Antonio’s with me right now, his soul raging for vengeance. Had someone killed me, my brother would have him by the throat. Why then, should I let this go?

Besides, Camela's whispered pleas felt like a knife twisting in my gut. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, my chest heaving with barely contained rage.

After everything we've been through, everything I’ve forgiven, she still couldn't understand that I too might need something to know she loves me too. I’ve forgiven her acts of treachery and her lies, because I love her.

But has she done anything to show me the same?

Love means justice. It means protecting what is yours, no matter the cost.

Does she not consider me hers?

Matthiera has taken my brother from me. He deserves to suffer, and I would like to be the one to deliver that punishment.

I can't contain my anger any longer and without thinking, I speak, in a tone so even and eerie, it takes me a moment to realize it’s I who speaks. "So you chose him over me. Over us."

My voice echoes in the car, drawing me back to reality. Everything comes back into focus. The road ahead, Camela’s shock as she jerks her head towards me, the fact that my anger is justified.

“I…I thought you understood,” she whispers, trying to reach over and touch my arm.

I pull away with a jerk. “I thought I did, but the truth is, I feel betrayed, Camela. Not by Mathhiera so much as by you. He killed my brother. That's not something I can just let go and the fact that you even asked…" my voice falls flat

"Vincenzo," she pleads, her voice trembling, "I understand your pain, but Matthiera—"

"Do you truly love me? If you did, how can you stand in the way of justice? You don't understand love if you're willing to let his killer walk free!” I raise my voice.

She flinches at my words, and I feel a pang of guilt for my harshness. But the anger still roils within. I speed up the car to reach the compound faster. I want to be away from her, to have some space and time to think.

By the time we step out of the car in my familiar environment, I feel calmer. The weight of her disappointment is evident in the way she stands, her shoulders stooped, her eyes avoiding mine. I want her to understand where I’m coming from, but not like this.

“Camela,” I say, now calmer, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation, "It's not just about belief. It's about doing what's right, what's necessary."

Camela sighs and leans against the car, looking away from me. I notice a tear fall down her cheek and it takes everything in me to not reach out and wipe those tears away, to take away her pain, as I’ve grown to do. But this time, I need her to do that for me, to show me we’re equals in every way, and so, I hold back, hoping she’ll give me a sign that she understands.

But, she gasps for air, and forms her words. "Vincenzo," she murmurs, looking at me now with a trembling lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Matthiera and I have just been through so much together. He told me things when we were younger that makes me believe there’s hope for him. I never thought I was capable of loving another, except you. But once I tasted love, experienced it, I realized I always had love in my heart - for Matthiera, as the brother I subconsciously believed he was to me. Matthiera is the only person apart from you that I could someday love with all my might. Can’t you see?”

I stare at her, my heart warring with itself. Part of me wants to comfort her, to take her in my arms and tell her everything will be all right. But another part, fueled by rage and the need for vengeance, refuses to back down. "No," I say, my voice cold and resolute. "I can't accept that. Not when he took someone so dear to me. Not when I know you’re being blinded by a lifetime of manipulation. What you don’t see, Camela, is that he’s nothing like you. He’s venomous, unforgivable, unlovable."

"Vincenzo..." she whispers, her voice cracking. And in that moment, I see our love teetering on the edge of a precipice, threatening to plunge into darkness if we don't find a way to reconcile our differences. But for now, all I can do is stand there, torn between love and revenge.

“Look,” I tell her, putting a stop to this futile conversation that’s sending off alarm bells in my head, telling me to stop this madness and face the fact that there’s no middle ground between our opinions. “We don’t see eye-to-eye on this. We’re both tired, exhausted. It’s been a harrowing day. Let’s just go to bed and see what to do next tomorrow. Okay?”

“Sure,” she nods reluctantly. She extends out her hand, giving it to me. I stare at it for a brief second, then repent for even thinking about it. I love her, and there’s no reason to forget that. I take her hand and together, we go back up to bed.

That night, I lie awake tossing and turning in the cold night. Camela's soft breaths beside me are the only sign of life in this silent room.

I can't shake the image of Camela's tear-filled eyes or her desperate plea for me to understand her connection with Matthiera. I need to prove that my perspective is the right one – that Matthiera deserves retribution for his actions. But how?

I think back to all we learned. Matthiera killed Antonio. He said it’s the same forces at play that now control him, Camela and I. There’s only one force I can think of.

The Handler. But why would the Handler want Antonio killed? And did Matthiera know the reason? If he did, and still went ahead and if I could prove to Camela that Matthiera, the Snake has no regard in his soul for an innocent, I might be able to convince her to help me bring him, and the Handler down.

The only way is to uncover the true extent of Matthiera's motives and the Handler's involvement. Then, she’ll see I’m right. I need to do this for her and I need answers to how my brother got involved in this mess.

I glance at Camela, her face softened by sleep, and find no solace in her peaceful expression. My mind is restless, plagued by unanswered questions. Unable to bear the suffocating silence any longer, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and rise.

As I make my way down the darkened hallway, a shiver runs through me. The air feels thick with tension, as if the house itself is holding its breath. My brother's office door looms ahead, untouched since his death. Pushing it open, I'm greeted by the familiar scent of leather and old books that used to bring me comfort. Dust swivels in the air, disturbed after a long, long time.

It still feels like Antonio was just here, all his things lying around. After I lost him, I never had the heart to enter this room. After three hard, long years, I step into it, my heart racing and clenching in pain and sadness.

“Brother…” I whisper out into the emptiness. Maybe his soul can hear me. A lump forms in my throat as I think back to the weeks after his death. My men had searched through his things, trying to find answers, but came up with nothing.

They’d begged me to look through, but I could never enter his office or his bedroom. It was all too much to bear. I told them to put back everything in its place, as they’d found it.

But tonight, I muster up the courage to walk in here because I finally know who had him killed. Now, it’s about getting justice so Antonio can rest in peace and Camela and I can find a future together.

I might find something my men missed that could provide a clue as to what transpired before Antonio’s death.

"Alright," I mutter to myself, steeling my nerves. "Let's see what you were hiding, brother."

I begin to sift through the piles of papers, folders and other things cluttering his desk, searching for any clue that would shed light on the Handler's motives and Matthiera's actions. Time seems to slip away as I delve deeper into my brother's world.

I find lots of bits of information I wasn’t privy to in my younger years. Wars with other mafioso families, business deals gone wrong, friendships old and new. My brother carried a heavy burden on his shoulders, making more enemies than friends. But the few he had were good and strong, extending me a helping hand to date.

Sitting here in his office made me realize there was always another side to Antonio. A darker, stronger, fiercer side I never knew. To me, he was just my warm, congenial older brother who spoiled me rotten.

But it’s not the nature of his business dealings I’m interested in. I need something more… something more damning. But all I find is unimportant - old receipts, scribbled notes about bills to pay and chores to complete, a letter from our aunt complaining about her aching hip. Nothing of consequence.

It isn't until I reach a dusty old box hidden at the bottom of a locked drawer I have to break open that my heart skips a beat.

"Hello, what's this?" I murmur, pulling the box free from its hiding place. It’s wooden and painted in distressed white with flowers. My brother chose it as a strange and whimsical gift.

I open it with trembling hands. My intuition is already screaming at me, trying to tell me not to take this lightly. In moments like these, I know there’s a higher power.

The box parts to reveal a collection of photographs featuring my brother in the prime of his youth with a woman by his side. In one, he plays the piano while she sits beside him, staring down at him. In another, they’re arm-in-arm, smiling straight at the camera. In a third, they have their backs to the camera, looking out at a lake together. Who is this woman from the past?

I stare at her features. Unfortunately, the images are black and white. But I can make out that she has full lips and high cheekbones. Her hair is wavy and often left open.

I move on to the last image, and the wind gets knocked right out of my lungs. I lean forward, bringing the photograph beneath the lamplight. In it sits the woman with a child on her lap, and my brother laughs with the child, trying to entertain her as he stares down at her dotingly.

My eyes widen in shock as I study the child's features. She’s got big eyes, full lips, a dainty chin and a straight nose. She looks small and innocent. But more than that, she has a striking resemblance to…Camela.

Impossible. How could my brother have known Camela as a child? I read something about doppelgangers once. Perhaps this is just that, a doppelganger I’ve come across.

But there’s only one way to know. I grab the photo and leave the mess as is, slamming the door shut behind me. On trembling legs, I find my way back to our bedroom and slam the door open, waking her up with a start.