Page 77 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

“Don Consolini?” he picks up, sounding like he was asleep.

“I don’t know what incompetent guide you sent us!” I bellow into the phone. “There was a fire, and she disappeared, leaving us there. Call the emergency services. The Forum is burning up!”

“What?” he screams, suddenly awake. “Are you alright, Sir?”

“I’m with my men. We’re safe. Your guide, though. Fire her! And call for reinforcements,” I end the call without waiting for more questions from his end.

That settled, I turn to Camela, my voice still shaky. Despite everything that happened, I don’t want respite. I want answers. "Was that...was that because of your ex? Is he behind this?"

Camela avoids my gaze, staring down at her clenched fists. "No. This wasn't his doing." She pauses, struggling to find the words. "I don't even know where to begin explaining everything to you, Vincenzo."

My heart pounds, and for the first time tonight I feel fear. Fear that this might tear us apart. I want to press her for answers, but the rawness in her voice gives me pause.

I reach out and take her hand, an attempt at comfort that feels woefully inadequate. She grips my hand tightly as if I’m her only lifeline, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

I pull her close, stroking her hair while sirens wail outside, heading in the direction we just came from.

Chapter 27

Camela

Vincenzo pushes the door open to the house, letting me pass through. He’s pushed this very door open for me a few dozen times before, in the exact same manner, but this time I notice the creak it makes.

There’s a finality to it. This could very well be the last time this door remains open for me.

I step in, sorrow underlining my every step. I think back to all the things I could have done differently. There are a million regrets. Maybe I could have told him the truth earlier.

Perhaps I could have killed the Temptress in a different manner, one where I wouldn’t have been caught. The one thing I don’t regret? Pricking myself on that arrow and falling in love with Vincenzo Consolini.

He puts his hand on the small of my back, a gesture of kindness I know I don’t deserve and leads me up the stairs. I walk slowly, savoring his touch, holding back the sob that’s choking the air out of me. This could be the last time he touches me with such tenderness.

I close my eyes and inhale the air he breathes out when he opens the door to my room. He is my lifeline, and he doesn’t even know it.

“After you,” he says, his voice wrapping around me.

I open my eyes, and I find myself drowning in his beautiful, striking blue eyes. It takes courage, the kind that makes a soldier throw himself in front of a bullet to save a friend, to make me walk into that room.

By the time he closes the door behind himself, I’m thinking I have no idea what state I’ll leave this room in. Lover? Foe? Dead?

An eerie silence wraps around us and my knees shake so hard, they almost buckle, so I take a few fragile steps and sit in a chair by the window.

Never, not once, did a kill affect me physically like my fear of losing him is doing now. The thought of his reaction to my confession starts my teeth chattering, but I cannot keep this from him any longer.

The lies are eating me from within. I truly love this man, and for that reason, I owe him the truth.

The clink of glass against the wooden table is the only sound in the room as Vincenzo pours two glasses of scotch. His movements are deliberate and steady, speaking volumes of his unwavering strength even in the midst of uncertainty.

He walks over and hands me a glass with an encouraging nod.

I take a sip, savor the burn on my tongue and then comes the dreaded question. “Camela,” he pulls up a chair, sitting right opposite me. “What the hell happened back there?”

I glance at him, my eyes wide with fear. Images of the ruins and the Temptress flash through my mind. I know I have to tell Vincenzo everything, but how do I even begin?

I take a breath, and hear the raspy influx of panicked air.

"Take your time," he says softly. "I'm here to listen, Camela."

Doesn’t he understand that his kindness is only making this conversation harder?

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