Page 34 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Wow," she breathes, her eyes widening in awe. "Vincenzo, these collections," she walks past the shelves, tracing the titles with her fingers.

"Please, make yourself at home," I encourage her, gesturing towards the plush seats that surround a crackling fireplace. "I've always found this room to be a sanctuary of sorts."

As we settle into the comfortable chairs, our conversation continues to flow effortlessly, touching on everything from our favorite authors to our shared love of art. And with each passing moment, I feel the walls between us crumbling down.

We speak for an hour about everything under the sun – Tolstoy, Tolstein, the moderns and the classics. Afraid of our time alone ending, I stand with gusto, take Camela's hand and lead her through further grand halls of my home.

The scent of flowers wafts in as we step outside, making our way towards a more secluded part of my garden. The city lights sparkle like scattered diamonds against the night sky, casting a magical glow on the world around us.

"Vincenzo, this place is enchanting," she whispers, her eyes reflecting the dazzling display above us.

"Isn’t it?" I say, releasing her hand to gesture at the stunning vista before us. "I thought you’d like it here.”

Camela's gaze shifts back to me, her eyes holding a warmth that sends a shiver down my spine. "Thank you for this. It's... amazing."

“I remembered last time,” I tell her. “How calm you were in the garden. Inside the house, on the dance floor, you’re like a butterfly, flittering around. Out here,” I take one step closer and place a gentle thumb on her chin. “You can be calm, still. Yourself.”

As we stand there, the distance between us seems to shrink as if drawn together by some unseen force.

"Ever since I was a little girl," Camela confesses, "I've always dreamed of traveling the world. But in my travels, I dreamt of forests, and vastness. Stillness and isolation. I always wanted to drown out the noise just enough to hear my own voice,” she admits, a small quiver in her baritone. “But my life took a different path."

"Sometimes paths can change," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. "And it's never too late to pursue your dream."

“It’s not?” she looks so unsure. I step closer. Her lips part as she stares into my eyes. “Even after how we left things last night?”

The blood rushes to my heart at her words. I know exactly what she means to say, and it mirrors my own deepest desire. Her eyes search mine, a vulnerability shining within them, and something inside me snaps. Unable to resist any longer, I cup her face with my hands.

"Camela," I murmur, my heart pounding in my chest. "May I?"

She nods, her breath hitching, and I lean in, capturing her lips in a most tender kiss. My world shifts on its axis. I place my hand on her lower back and pull her closer to myself, hungry for more.

I feel so happy that a hint of sadness comes over me while I’m still locked in a kiss with her because I fear this will be over too soon.

Never has a kiss made me feel just this way. Special. Seen. Desired. Loved. She kisses me like I’m the center of her world. And I?

I want nothing more than to make her mine. I bite her lower lip, releasing the smallest moan.

And suddenly, Camela pulls away, and her expression shifts. Panic floods her eyes as she wrenches away from me, leaving me stunned and confused. "I-I can't," she stammers, her breathing ragged.

"Camela, what's wrong?" I ask, my concern growing with each passing second. "Did I do something to upset you? Please, talk to me."

She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, it's not you, Vincenzo. It's me... I can't explain it right now. I just... I have to go."

I reach out to touch her arm, hoping to offer some comfort, but she recoils as if my touch burns her skin. My heart aches at the sight, but I know I can't force her to stay if she doesn't want to.

"Please don't follow me," she pleads, her voice barely audible.

I watch, helpless, as Camela turns and runs out of the garden and disappears into the night, leaving me standing there, utterly bewildered, again.

I enter the mansion through the kitchen, not wanting to run into any of the guests. The place is bustling with waiting staff. Luckily, they’re all focused on getting food and drinks out as fast as the empty dishes come in, so no one seems to notice me.

I’m about to stop one of my regular staff and ask for a neat double scotch to be brought to the library when I notice a man observing me from across the room.

He isn't dressed in the same black-and-white uniform as the other waiting staff; instead, he sports a simple black suit that looks somewhat worn and out of place among the guests.

He looks directly at me, and I'm struck by the coldness in his gaze. He moves out of the kitchen with the next group of waiters, and I follow with quick strides. But there’s a congestion of staff coming in and wanting to leave, and I’m held up.

I just see him pull out a phone and speak into it with an urgency I find unsettling. Then he makes his way towards the front entrance before disappearing from my line of view.

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