Page 41 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

She smiles, nestling closer. "I'd love to."

We move together smoothly as if we've been dancing partners for years. The live orchestra plays a Chopin waltz, the notes swirling around us like stardust.

After a few songs, I steer her toward the banquet hall. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving," she admits.

The long table is laden with delicacies - oysters on ice, truffles, aged prosciutto, wheels of cheese, decadent pastries and chocolates.

Camela's eyes grow wide. "This is incredible!"

"It’s quite something, isn’t it?" I admire the table, filling a plate for her. She savors each bite, closing her eyes in bliss. Watching her enjoy the feast gives me more pleasure than eating it myself.

"From the two I’ve attended, your parties are like living inside a dream," she says softly. "One I never want to wake from."

I brush a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth. "Then don't. We can throw one every night."

She catches my hand, her gaze meeting mine. “I never knew you’ve found access to a real money tree.”

I burst out laughing, not expecting such wit. “How about I show you where it grows?” I jest, enjoying the spark in her eyes.

Camela chuckles, a sound like music to my ears. “Lead the way.”

With a playful twirl, I guide her out of the ballroom and through the mansion's chandelier-lit corridors. Finally, we arrive at a set of intricately carved double doors that lead to my private art gallery.

Paintings from the Renaissance masters line the walls - Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Botticelli.

She wanders slowly through the gallery, gazing at each work with awe. "This collection is priceless."

"Not as priceless as that money tree I told you about," I say, coming up behind her.

“True,” she accedes. “Better you keep it a secret before someone steals it from right under your nose.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” I pretend to wipe off some sweat. “I was worried you might actually wish to see it.”

Her peals of laughter are enchanting. I wrap my arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck. The scent of her skin and hair drives me mad with want.

She leans back against me with a sigh. "We seem to be quite alone here."

"We are." My lips graze the curve of her shoulder, tasting salt and perfume. "No one will disturb us."

She turns in my embrace, eyes dark with a desire that mirrors my own. "Then what are you waiting for?"

I need no further invitation. This is her telling me she’s okay with me proceeding towards what I want.

I savor this moment—our first real kiss. My eyes wander down her full-apple cheeks towards her beautifully bowed lips, which are so serious yet so delicate. They shine at me, beckoning me in.

Slowly, I lean in and take her lips in mine, ever-so-gently. A soft heat begins to burn where I kiss her, and the next thing I know, she parts her lips, and I’m hungry for more. I place my arms at her waist to bring her closer, sealing her mouth with mine.

I kiss her with a hunger that consumes us both, our passion as timeless as the masterpieces surrounding us.

Our kisses grow softer, deeper, and then violent again. It’s a pattern, a dance neither one of us wants to end. I hold her close, stroking her hair and back as we exchange whispered secrets between lingering kisses in the dimly lit gallery.

"Ever since we met, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," I confess. "Your smile, your eyes, the sound of your laughter...you have bewitched me, Camela."

"And you have captivated me," she murmurs. "I never believed I could feel this way about anyone." She sighs, nestling closer against me. "With you, I can be with hope. You make me feel...cherished."

"Because you are cherished." I tilt her chin up, gazing into her eyes. "You’re a fine woman, and many a man would fight to have you.”

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