Page 60 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

I toss and turn, the sheets tangling around my legs as I struggle to find peace. My heart races, and I wonder if this sense of danger I feel is connected to Antonio's assassination or still the lingering threat to Vincenzo.

"Was it really just a coincidence that I thought I knew him?" I mutter to myself, staring at the ceiling, hoping for answers to materialize before me. "A simple chance of déja vu? Or is there more to this than I realize?"

More consuming questions arise, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness. None of this was in Vincenzo’s file.

The room seems to close in on me with each passing moment, the walls inching closer together, suffocating me under the weight of my own anxiety. I sit up, taking deep breaths, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

But the images of Antonio refuse to fade away, his laughter echoing in my ears like a sinister soundtrack to my own unease.

"Camela," I whisper to myself, "you need to stop this. You're letting your imagination run wild."

My eyes squeeze shut, attempting to block out the world and the treacherous thoughts that cloud my mind. The clock on the wall ticks incessantly, its hands inching forward in a slow dance that finally puts me into a restless sleep.

My sleep is fitful, plagued by dreams of Antonio and the mysterious dining table. In my dreams, Antonio's laughter turns into a mocking taunt, echoing through the cavernous space until it feels as though it will swallow me whole.

I wake up with a gasp, choking for air.

"Stop it," I whisper to myself, forcing my eyes open once more. "You're just scared, Camela. That's all. It was only just a dream."

Yet, I can’t find myself going back to sleep.

Chapter 22

Vincenzo

The shrill sound of my phone ringing rips me from a deep sleep. I wake with a gasp, like I’ve been plunged into ice-water. I look at the time. Eight a.m.!

I overslept.

Groggily, I fumble for the device on my nightstand, bringing it to my ear.

"Hello?" I mutter, voice heavy with sleep.

"Mr. Consolini?" The voice on the other line is unfamiliar, yet formal. "My name is Guido. I'm the late Professor Julian Castellano's lawyer."

"Ah," I say, instantly awake. "What can I do for you, Guido?"

"Sir, I need to request a personal meeting with you this afternoon. There’s an important matter I need to discuss with you in private. Unfortunately I cannot say more over the telephone." His tone is urgent and rubs off on me.

"Alright," I agree, curiosity piqued. "What time would you like to meet?”

“Does three o'clock suit you? I can come over to yours?"

“It works. I will send you my address.”

"Thank you, Mr. Consolini, I‘m familiar with your address. I'll see you then."

The call ends and I toss my phone aside, sinking back into the plush pillows, now wide awake. What could the lawyer want? Can he provide answers to the questions surrounding my dear friend's death?

I roll onto my side, staring at the wall, and try to quiet my racing thoughts. But they only grow louder, feeding off the silence. Obsessively, I imagine various scenarios – the enemies Julian might have, clues that might lead to his killer, or maybe even some secret research he never had the chance to share with me.

As the minutes tick by, my anticipation builds. Time seems to crawl slower than ever, making every second feel like an eternity.

Needing a distraction from my restless thoughts, I decide to spend the day with Camela. I won’t be able to focus on my work today, not with this pending meeting.

All I can think of is Julian. If not Julian, then Camela. Camela’s the better bet, since thoughts of Julian are circular, obsessive, and driving me mad.

I will have my answers this afternoon. Until then, I need a distraction.

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