Page 92 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Tell me," I urge gently. I'll give her anything she desires.

Camela meets my eyes, desire and shyness warring in her expression. "I want to explore other aspects. If you're interested."

A thrill shoots through me at her words. She never ceases to surprise me.

"I'm very interested," I say, brushing a thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. "We can explore whatever you like."

A slow, wicked smile spreads across Camela's face. "Excellent."

Chapter 33

Camela

I slide my arms into the sheer beaded sleeves of the ball gown, feeling the material crush into my skin. The dress, silver and skin tight for most of the part, loosens from my knee to ankle.

It’s a beautiful dress, and I wish I had better cause to wear it. Tonight, there could be another assassin lurking beneath one of those jewel-encrusted masks. But Vincenzo's friends would surround us in the grand palazzo, the party being hosted by one of his close allies. No one can get hurt.

Vincenzo can’t lose another. It’s a heavy burden to carry, after the pain I caused him by killing the professor. Vincenzo might have moved past it. I am yet to forgive myself.

The soft rustle of fabric fills the air from the gown swaying gently with each step as I make my way downstairs where Vincenzo waits.

I descend the grand staircase, searching the foyer for Vincenzo. There—leaning against the wall beneath an ornate mirror, his eyes lock onto mine from behind his gold mask. Nerves twist in my stomach at his gaze. I dressed up more for him, than the party.

Vincenzo strolls over to meet me, taking my hands in his. "You look ravishing, mia cara." His voice is low, meant for my ears alone.

A blush creeps up my neck at his compliment. "And you look quite dashing yourself,” I tell him, taking in the three piece suit he has on, almost stitched to his skin.

Vincenzo chuckles, squeezing my hands. "Shall we?" He nods toward the front entrance where our convoy awaits.

The grand palazzo looms before us, its majestic hand-carved stone façade illuminated by the flickering glow of torchlight. There are rows of cars ahead of us, party-goers streaming out in hoards. We wait for our turn to reach the porch, where white-gloved servants open our doors on both sides.

I exit, and Vincenzo walks around to join me. We stand, side by side, and stare up at the beautiful building. The air whispers around us, as though sharing in the secrets of the night.

We make our way up the steps and through the grand entrance, where we are immediately swept up in the whirlwind of high society. The entrance is ablaze with light and teeming with revelers in elaborate costumes and masks. I'm instantly enveloped in the sounds of laughter and music drifting from the open doors to the main ballroom.

Vincenzo offers his arm. "Shall we?"

I loop my arm through his, pulse racing for what might befall us tonight. "We shall."

We stride through the archway, and for a moment I'm stunned into stillness. The grand hall is filled with color and movement, a whirl of dancers and chatting aristocrats dressed in silks and velvets and jewels. An orchestra plays from a dais on the second level, the notes seeming to pluck at my heartstrings.

"Stay alert," Vincenzo murmurs to me as we step into the crowded ballroom. His eyes scan the sea of guests, searching for any potential threats.

"Of course," I reply, my gaze darting from one masked figure to another.

Vincenzo leads me into the crowd, shaking hands and kissing the cheeks of powerful men and beautiful women. He introduces me to all, being the perfect gentleman he is. Some women eye me with envy, some men with curiosity.

Everyone wants to know who the girl on the arm of Don Vincenzo Consolini might be.

Once he says his hellos, he pulls away from the conversation and leads me near the windows, where a waiter passes by, offering champagne. Vincenzo takes two glasses and hands me one. We stand facing the crowd, away from hearing ears.

"We should dance, center stage," Vincenzo suggests, his voice low and cautious. "It'll be easier to keep an eye on things if we're moving."

"Good idea," I agree, discarding my glass near his on the sill, taking his outstretched hand.

We join the throng of dancers, weaving our way effortlessly through the crowd. We reach the center of the floor, and Vincenzo places his hand on the small of my back, fiercely pulling me closer to himself. The room quiets around me just as my body blazes with heat, my eyes locked to his.

“Let’s give them a show they’ll remember,” he tells me, as he leads me into the dance.

---