Page 102 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

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.

Chapter 39

Camela

The door bangs open and I jump up in bed, disoriented as panic takes over. “Wh..what?” I fumble for the light beside me, a shady figure standing at the doorway. The dim light comes on and my vision is blurry. I struggle to focus on the figure that stands before me, wondering if I’m in a nightmare.

Disoriented and vulnerable, I pull the sheets closer to myself, trying to regain some semblance of control. And then, he reaches my side and I can see his face. I take a deep breath, feeling calmer.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

"Camela!" Vincenzo’s eyes are wide with panic. "You need to see this! I found this, in my brother’s office."

Before I can even process what's happening, he thrusts a photo in front of my eyes. My mind races to keep up with the whirlwind of events.

"Who are they?" Vincenzo demands, his voice trembling. "Do you know who these people are?"

“Wait, wait Vincenzo,” I tell him. “You have to let me see. Your fingers, they’re covering most of it.”

He quickly removes his fingers, shoving the picture closer. I blink, struggling to clear the sleepy haze from my mind and focus on the picture.

"Vincenzo," I begin, my voice thick with sleep and confusion, "I... I don't know."

“Look closer!” he tells me, desperately. “This child, Camela. Do you know her… Is she…?” his voice trails off as I take the black and white image from his hand and peer into it.

Suddenly, my blood turns cold. I gasp, clutching at the sheets, my eyes straining against the onslaught of memories that can’t possibly be mine, yet threaten to consume me.

The woman and child in the picture gaze back at me with a haunting familiarity. My breath catches in my throat as I begin to understand the significance of what I am holding.

"Camela, what do you see?" Vincenzo asks again, his fingers gripping my arm tight, almost painfully so, as if he's desperate for me to remember.

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