Page 27 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

With it still dangling in my fingers, I put back my chair in place and watch the mouse rotate between my thumb and forefinger, its small screeches like music to my ears.

As the seconds tick away, the mouse's screeching sound grows louder. He was free just moments ago and now hangs by his tail. How quickly life can change and how fragile it truly is. Camela has never kept me waiting before.

The pressure in the room amplifies. A part of me wishes this meeting didn't have to take place. Yesterday, she was my best operative, today I have to question her loyalty.

But that is how things are in our line of work. Trust is slowly earned and easily shattered. Nothing is thicker than the mission.

I’m getting bored with the mouse. It’s tiring out; the fight is leaving its body. I drop it to the ground, giving it just a second to try to run before bringing my foot down on top of it. The crunch of its fragile bones reverberates through the warehouse.

Ruthlessness is what has kept me alive all these years. Sometimes, I need a little reminder.

"Your patience seems to be running thin," a cold voice says. Camela emerges from the shadows, stepping deliberately towards me.

Her gait is too calculated. She usually likes to play with me, letting her gaze wander in feigned boredom, walking at leisure, wasting my time, knowing exactly how much it bothers me. And she loves every moment of it.

But today, she walks right over, not in the mood for games.

I can't help but notice the subtle change since our last encounter. Her demeanor is too composed. She is hiding something.

"Camela," I reply, forcing a smile.

"Handler." Her eyes meet mine, unwavering.

I give her a moment, but she remains standing. “Sit,” I motion at the chair. I’ve never had to invite her to take a seat at the table. She’s always grabbed it.

Is she hoping not to stay for too long? The secrets she wants to keep have me curious now.

I lean back in my chair, studying her face. "Tell me, how was Vincenzo's gala?"

“The wine was good,” she scoffs. “The food could be better. When was the last time you attended a party, Handler? You do look like you could use some cheering up,” she gives me a coy smile.

Oh. So now she’s back to playing games. I see right through her. She’s buying time.

But I’m not willing to waste any of mine.

"Enough with the pleasantries," I say abruptly. "Tell me what happened at the gala."

Her eyes lock onto mine, and I see a flicker of uncertainty pass over her face – another unusual occurrence for someone as disciplined as Camela. But she quickly regains her composure and begins to recount the events of the night.

"Everything went according to plan, up until I managed to get Vincenzo out in the gardens alone.” For a second, her gaze flickers to the right, but not all the way, before she regains control and looks back at me.

"Go on," I urge, observing her carefully. I look to my left, and notice the exit. I smile inwardly at my smart, smart girl. She covered her intentions well. "It was plain sailing until I encountered a hiccup with security," she explains.

"They had hired additional security to pose as civilians and mingle with the guests. Vincenzo didn’t seem to be aware of this change, but it made it difficult to complete my mission without arousing suspicion."

"And?" I urge, stroking my chin.

"I had noticed several individuals at the gala earlier who seemed out of place – their demeanor, their attire. Upon closer inspection of the couples scattered across the lawns, it became apparent that they were not simply guests; rather, they were armed and positioned strategically around the grounds."

"You didn’t think to engage them?" She shifts her weight slightly.

"No," she replies firmly. "I didn’t want to jeopardize the mission. The brief was clear: swift and discreet. But there's something else bothering me about her responses, something I can't quite put my finger on yet. Something I need to test.

"Now," I say, leaning forward, my voice low. "Tell me, did you perchance retrieve anything from the historian's house?"

"No" she responds quickly.

Now I’m certain something is off. My Camela would interrupt, wanting to know what the one has to do with the other. Always curious, always trying to goad me.

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