Page 39 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

When he sees the bounty notice on Camela, he stills. The Huntress...she had been like a sister to him once, trained by the Handler alongside him.

But that was before she had gone rogue, refusing to complete her last job. “Camela, my dear. You should have known better than to cross the Handler.”

Now, there is a massive price on her head that many will seek to collect.

Part of him wonders if he should let this one go. Camela…the one by his side.

Yet, if he doesn’t go after her, someone else will. Why lose both her and the bounty?

She severed their bond the moment she betrayed the Handler, turning herself into nothing but a target to be run down and eliminated, a loose end to be neatly tied off.

He is the Handler's most skilled assassin, after all. But the larger part knows it does not matter who brings her in, only that the job gets done. Sentiment has no place in this job.

As the last of the young woman's remains disappear, the Snake puts aside any lingering doubts. He is a weapon wielded by the Handler. And he will fulfill his purpose, no matter the name of the mark.

Chapter 14

Vincenzo

The cool night air does nothing to soothe the heat in my veins. What a fool I was.

Of course she ran. I had gone too far, moved too fast. My hunger for her had made me lose sight of what it was she might have wanted.

The party drags on indoors but I stand outside, contemplating my actions. I should not have kissed her. Not here, not now. She wasn't ready. I knew better, damn it. But one look into those eyes, one touch of her soft skin, and all reason fled.

I pace the length of my garden, my footsteps soft on the grass. The party continues behind me, the revelry grating on my fraying nerves. How can I make this right? I have to find her. Apologize. Beg her forgiveness if need be.

Guilt twists my gut as I remember the panic that had flashed across her face. I never want to see that look in her eyes again. Not because of me.

Camela, where are you? I need you to know that I'm sorry. That I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. That you are everything to me.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. I should have protected her, not scared her away. What kind of man am I?

I must get my men on her heels, to find her and request an audience. I don’t want to lose this thing we share, but more importantly, I don’t want her living in fear of me.

I must apologize and right whatever wrong I did that made her flee in the manner she did.

Just then, the sound of an approaching car breaks through the silence. I freeze in my tracks, pulse quickening. The party’s almost winding down. I’m not expecting any guests.

Could it be…?

Headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating the winding path. The car emerges into view, sleek and black, gliding to a stop near the front entrance.

My breath catches in my throat as the driver's side door opens. A figure emerges, tall and slim in that gorgeous georgette sequined silver gown that clings to every curve.

Her hair tumbles over her shoulders in waves as she turns to glance over her shoulder at the mansion, eyes hooded.

It is her. Camela has returned.

I release a shaky breath, nearly sagging in relief. She’s come back to me.

“Camela,” I scream out her name, without second thought, watching with hope and apprehension as she turns to me. Her lips are pressed in a firm line, but there is a vulnerability in her eyes that tells me she’s afraid.

What is she thinking? What brought her back? Why is she still afraid?

She pauses in my line of sight, her eyes widening in surprise at noticing me standing in the gardens she left me at, her expression softening.

I open my mouth, but no words come out. What could I possibly say that could make up for my rushing things?

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