Page 48 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

“I’ve seen plenty,” I remind her of my station in life.

She smiles.

"Camela," I begin, my voice now soft yet earnest, "I was thinking...if you’re done reading, would you allow me to take you out for dinner tonight?"

She looks right at me, her eyes bright with curiosity and warmth. "I'd love to, Vincenzo. That sounds wonderful."

"Excellent," I reply, my chest swelling with pride and anticipation. "I thought it might be nice to treat you to a special evening– just the two of us.”

Camela tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm looking forward to it."

Chapter 17

Camela

My fingers trace the fabrics as I stand in front of my wardrobe and search for the perfect outfit for tonight's dinner. My heart races with anticipation, like it has since the moment he invited me.

I’ve been taught the art of dressing to blend into a crowd, to make a quiet kill and exit as a traumatized bystander. I’m also well versed with the art of dressing to enchant a man and bring him to his knees with one look alone.

However, the art of dressing to impress the man, one who sets my heart ablaze, the first name I think of when I wake, and the only face I see in my dreams each night, is one I’m not familiar with.

Vincenzo has done so much for me. He’s not simply my host, he’s become my protector, my guide. There’s nothing I want more than to show him I’m worthy of his attention and care.

The room I’ve been allotted is a rapid mess. Clothes lay about, strewn everywhere. Trousers seem too informal. A short dress seems too loose.

I want him to be proud of having me on his arm.

I finally settle on an exquisite crushed velvet dress, its deep burgundy shade complementing my olive skin. I slip it on, feeling the silky fabric embrace my body like a second skin.

It accentuates my curves, making me feel both elegant and alluring. It’s a halter neck, tight across my figure. Yet, the fabric skims the floor as I walk. The slit is just perfect, more than halfway up my right thigh.

As I sit down at my vanity to apply makeup, I carefully enhance my features, adding a touch of blush to my cheeks and darkening my eyes with kohl. I'm no stranger to using my appearance to my advantage, but tonight I want to look my best for Vincenzo.

He deserves to see me at my most beautiful, to know I put in effort for him.

While applying lipstick, my mind drifts to the Handler's silence since last night. The relief it brings is tainted with unease. Could this mean that I'm finally free from his control?

That’s just wishful thinking. Perhaps falling in love is making me susceptible to daydreams and what-ifs. I’m becoming weak from love, hoping for a peaceful, quiet outcome.

The truth is that it’s a sign of something more sinister lurking in the shadows. The Handler doesn’t grant freedom. Once you’re him, you die in his clutches.

I’ve seen this scenario play out too many times in the past in the wake of optimistic fools who tried to ask for or steal freedom for themselves. After years of training me to be his prized weapon, it's difficult to believe that he would simply let me go.

There will be consequences to pay. The question is – how soon?

I should feel afraid, nervous, scared. But all I feel is numb. It’s like knowing I’m going to ace an exam. In this moment, I remember I am a trained killer.

And because of that very training, tonight, I can be prepared. I take the small gun and hide it in the inner pocket of my knee-high, black leather boots with six-inch heels.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The thought of spending time with Vincenzo makes me feel truly alive, a sensation that I haven't experienced in what feels like an eternity. The last time I felt it was when I went in for the professor’s kill.

I brush away the numbness that lingers from thoughts of the Handler and focus on the man who has captured my heart.

While I am looking forward to tonight just to spend some time alone with Vincenzo, I’m also extremely relieved he invited me because it gives me one more night to keep an eye out for danger over both of our shoulders.

I just pray that when trouble comes, it finds me first before Vincenzo realizes just who I am. For a final touch, I slip on a black satin bolero, and with a deep breath, I step out of the room.

The soft rustle of my dress accompanies me as I finally reach the foyer, its grandeur momentarily stealing my breath. My eyes immediately find Vincenzo, who stands there in a coat and tie, unable to take his gaze off me.

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