Page 54 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Any last words?" I growl, and before he can react. My dress stretches as I jump on his shoulders and clutch him between my thighs, slamming one hand over his mouth to keep him quiet and jamming the fork into his eye.

The blood splatters everywhere: down his face, his clothes and my boots. He screams in muffled agony and staggers backward, clutching at the fork but in too much pain to remove it from where it’s lodged in his eye.

The sight is grotesque, but the adrenaline surging through me tells me I enjoy this.

So, I still have a thrill for the kill. But this time, I kill for the right reasons.

I leap off and kick him behind his foot on his Achilles tendon, bringing him to his knees.

I pull the bolero from the washstand and wrap it around the Ghost's throat, pulling it tight. His hands claw at the fabric, desperate to break free from my grasp. "I trusted you once on that remote mission," I hiss, tightening my grip. "That was a mistake I won't make again."

"Please..." he manages to choke out, his good eye pleading for mercy. But there's no room for mercy in our world. It's kill or be killed, and I won't let him hurt Vincenzo or anyone innocent ever again.

As the Ghost's body goes limp in my arms, I lower him to the ground, ensuring he's incapacitated. My chest heaves with labored breaths, mixed emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I did what I had to do, didn't I?

"The Handler would be proud of my technique," I whisper to myself, thinking of my former mentor. A pang of guilt hits me, and I wonder what he would think of me now.

"Focus, Camela," I scold myself internally, shaking off the memories and doubts. There's no time for looking back. I’ve got a romantic evening to get back to.

I glance at the lifeless body, my heart still racing from the adrenaline. Quickly, I gather myself and hoist him up, dragging him into a nearby stall. Time is of the essence; I can't leave Vincenzo alone for too long.

"Ugh," I grunt as I shove the body inside the cramped space, trying not to make too much noise. My eyes settle on the fork protruding from his eye, the weapon that had been meant for me.

Taking a deep breath, I yank it out as quickly as possible, ignoring the gruesome sound it makes as it's freed from its fleshy prison. I wrap it in a paper towel and slip it into my purse.

Rule number One: The murder weapon goes with the murderer.

I lock the main door to the bathroom area and wipe any visible blood off the floor with paper towels and soap, disposing of them in the trash bin, and do my best to clean my fingerprints from every surface my hands have touched. The Handler's training kicks in, reminding me of the importance of leaving no trace behind.

The garment around his neck catches my attention. I stare at it for a moment before hesitantly reaching for it, remembering how it had felt wrapped around my shoulders earlier in the evening – a symbol of my need to impress Vincenzo.

With a sigh, I remove it from his neck and fold it carefully to hide any blood stains, placing it over my arm.

"Alright, time to rejoin the ball, Cinderella," I say to myself, taking one last look at the crime scene I've left behind. I close the cubicle with The Ghost in it and lock it from outside. I pull out my lipstick and write “Out of Order” in large capitals in handwriting that’s not mine.

With another deep breath, I wash my hands, step out of the restroom and make my way back to our table.

"Sorry for the wait," I say as I slide into my seat across from Vincenzo, a forced smile painted on my lips. "I just needed a moment to collect myself. The wine got to my head.”

"Of course, my love," he replies, concern in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine," I reassure him and reach out to touch his hand.

Just then, his gaze wanders to my arm, where the fork got me. It looks like four small scratches. “Whatever happened?” he asks, concerned and reaches over to touch the graze.

I laugh out loud. “A woman at the doorway. She grazed me with her fingernails. It was an accident.” I wave it off like it’s nothing.

He raises his eyebrow and shakes his head, clearly amused at the thought of such small nails. "Ah, well, let's not dwell on it then," Vincenzo says, raising his wine glass in a toast. "To the rest of our lovely evening."

I clink my glass against him, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that we're not truly safe. Not tonight, not any night.

When Vincenzo finishes his wine and suggests we go home, I smile gently. On the way out, I cling my arm through his. He looks down at me and smiles, giving my forehead a gentle kiss.

“The night is young,” I whisper, looking up at him. “How about we keep it going when we reach back?”

“You’re the woman of my dreams, I swear it,” he tells me, well-pleased with my suggestion.

Chapter 20

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