Page 52 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Ah, the tiramisu is our house specialty," the waiter answers, his voice betraying an odd mix of eagerness and restraint. “It truly is the best, and I suggest you have just that. I’ll tell you something,” he whispers secretively, bending lower. “They make a fresh one every few days, and today is that day.”

His accent. It sounds different. There’s a harshness to his Italian, he can’t hide the way he rolls his letters. There’s a hint of something foreign. Middle Eastern?

“Well, thank you, Tiramisu, it is!” Vincenzo says with delight.

But I am still unsettled. The server is keen on selling tiramisu to us.

I quickly glance him over, putting down the facts. He’s a new face, his accent seems out of place, his uniform’s slightly too small, and his choice of footwear is unusual. He’s wearing boots when others wear oxfords.

“What about you, Cara Mia?” Vincenzo asks me.

I noticed the server looking between us with sudden interest. He’s analyzing our relationship, taking in details.

“I’ll have the same,” I tell him with a sweet smile, forcing my body to seem relaxed.

"Good choice," the waiter says with a slight nod, scribbling down our order. As he does, I notice the way his hands tremble ever so slightly – another red flag. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then, it comes to me.

His accent - the way he pronounces the words ‘shortly’ and ‘tiramisu’. The way he rolls his ‘R’, at the back of his throat, it’s guttural.

It’s the way they say it in Israel.

My world stills. The moment of truth came sooner than expected. All my efforts to keep Vincenzo by my side have boiled down to this. Our first assassin has found us.

There’s only one whom the Handler would deem worthy from that region. The Ghost.

"Everything okay, Camela?" Vincenzo frowns slightly.

"Of course, just excited for dessert," I reply, offering him a reassuring smile. “And maybe a little drunk,” I giggle foolishly. But my mind is racing, connecting the dots and trying to discern whether this waiter poses a threat or if I'm simply being paranoid.

“Oh dear,” Vincenzo looks worried. “Would you like to go home?”

“No,” I shake my head. “It’s nice to be a little drunk, a little tired, a little full, is it not?”

“It’s the perfect recipe for happiness,” Vincenzo agrees.

Truth is, I don’t have a tired bone in my body. All I have are my senses, focused on the waiter as he returns with our desserts, placing them carefully before us.

"Enjoy," he says, his eyes lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary before he turns to leave.

And in that instant, I know. The game is on.

To keep Vincenzo safe, I play it cool. Danger is lurking closer than he must ever know, and from this moment on, I am his Huntress. I’ll do everything in my power to keep Vincenzo alive.

I glance down at the Tiramisu on our plates and then at a tub of chocolate ice cream passing by. A sudden idea takes hold, and I turn to him with a playful grin.

“Vincenzo, would you hate me very much if I made an impossible suggestion?”

“What is it, cara mia?” he asks, concerned.

“It’s just,” I push away my plate. “I’m suddenly craving ice cream. And I know the tiramisu looks good, but as a child, I loved ice cream and always imagined going to such fancy restaurants and having ice cream to round off a fairy-tale dinner.”

Vincenzo raises an eyebrow but chuckles nonetheless. "All right, if it'll make you happy," he agrees, motioning at a different waiter passing by. By switching out the dessert – likely poisoned – I’m at least buying us some time.

Within a minute, our tiramisu is gone and replaced with two sealed tubs of dainty-looking ice cream.

"Thank you," I say, digging in with a spoon as I rack my brain for a way to deal with the potential threat lurking among the restaurant staff. “I do apologize for changing my mind on a whim. I do hope you won’t have to pay for it.”

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