Page 21 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Perfect," I agree, my heart pounding in my chest as we make our way towards the bench. Vincenzo is the perfect gentleman. Perhaps, in another life, we could have been friends.

But the moment to act is drawing near, and I can't afford to let my guard down now.

"Oh, it seems the bench is still wet," I feign disappointment as I notice a sheen on its surface from the earlier rain.

"Camela, I apologize. Let me take care of that for you." He swiftly removes his handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab the moisture from the seat.

While he's occupied, I seize the opportunity to delve into my purse, pretending to look for something. With my hand hidden from view, I engage the trigger on the special bracelet, springing the poisoned needle into place.

I slow my breathing as I focus on Vincenzo, anticipating his next move.

I let the calming knowledge wash over me - this is who I am – an assassin trained by the best. The Hunter's stern voice resurfaces in my mind, its cadence pushing me through my paces.

My skin grazes against the familiar cold metal of the small gun.

It seems like I won’t need a backup weapon after all.

"Almost done here," Vincenzo says, finishing his task. I force a grateful smile as he looks back at me.

My fingers brush against something sharp and cold within my bag, and I gasp as a searing pain shoots through my fingertip.

"Camela, are you alright?" Vincenzo's voice wavers.

"Of course," I assure him, not wanting him to get suspicious, "just feeling a bit warm, that's all." I glance down at my finger, and a tiny droplet of blood wells up from the wound, threatening to stain the satin lining of my purse. My heart nearly stops. Did I cut myself on the bracelet?

“Come, sit. You look pale.” Vincenzo takes me by the shoulders and gently guides me to take a seat on the bench.

I keep staring at my wrists, hands and fingers. I know I’m seeing something significant, but it is as if my brain has stalled. And then, two thoughts hit me at the same time: The antidote is in the bracelet, and it is the wrong finger.

Air rushes back into my lungs. I didn’t poison myself. The finger is on the same hand as the poison bracelet. With slightly trembling hands, I discreetly fold the pin back into place.

"Camela, you are worrying me." Vincenzo's eyes widen in alarm.

"It's nothing," I lie, trying to sound casual despite the throbbing pain. "I just... pricked my finger on something in my purse." I close my eyes as realization dawns on me.

I pricked myself on the god-damn arrow.

"Show me," he insists, gently taking my hand in his to examine the injury. A jolt goes through my entire being. I raise my eyes to meet Vincenzo's gaze. His warm and kind eyes seem to pierce into my very cold soul.

His concern is like a gentle caress, and the world around me brightens as if someone has lit a fire within the very air we breathe.

Does he sense this, too? I look at him in wonderment.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

A tidal wave of emotions crashes over me. Insecurity and irritation with myself, and against all odds, a surge of affection for the man who was meant to be dead by now. I struggle to breathe through this insane moment.

Then, I experience an unexpected pang of guilt. I wonder - is it even possible for someone like me to find redemption in the arms of someone like him – so sincere, so attentive?

The mere thought strikes fear into my heart, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

Where the hell is all this coming from?

"Vincenzo, I..." My voice falters as words elude me. Everything I was so sure of until mere seconds ago seems to be slipping away from me, like sand through my fingers.

Why do I have to kill him? What wrong did he do? Imagining him dead… No. I can’t pull out the gun. Not on him. But I’m a cold assassin!

"What is the matter, Camela? Please, you can tell me."

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