Page 64 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Wow, you look stunning," he says, his gaze lingering on the swirling colors of my skirt and the way my corset hugs my curves. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Of course." We climb into the car, and the driver starts the engine.

The night market is a maze of narrow lanes overflowing with vendors hawking everything from handmade macramé artwork, to crocheted sweaters, pirated watches to antique swords.

The night seems alive before us, a cacophony of sights and sounds that sets my heart ablaze. Strings of colorful lights crisscross overhead, casting a warm glow on the bustling scene around.

The air is filled with music, laughter, and the aroma of street food. Youngsters mill around, drinking cocktails in takeaway glasses. Couples sit on benches, sipping wine and eating cheese and ham platters.

Vincenzo takes my hand, his eyes shining. "Isn't it wonderful? I haven't been here in years."

I force another smile. "It's lovely." My gaze sweeps the crowd, alert for any sign of trouble. When we’re outdoors, it’s a fight for survival. Someone could be lurking in the shadows. Anyone could be a threat.

Vincenzo squeezes my hand, drawing my attention. "You seem distracted. What's wrong?"

I shake my head. "Just taking in the sights and sounds. It's a bit overwhelming." It's not entirely a lie, though not the whole truth either. I can't tell him a killer might be stalking us.

Three little girls, barely six years old, dressed in colorful dresses, clap with delight at the sight of my skirt, their joy infectious. I give them a smile and a wave. They giggle and turn away, embarrassed at having been noticed by the woman in the clothes they like. For a moment, I let myself get pulled in by the joyous atmosphere, pretending I'm just a normal girl on a date with the man she loves.

Vincenzo laughs, the sound is rich and warm. "I think you have some new fans." His arm slides around my waist, and he kisses my hair. "You look radiant tonight."

Radiant and lethal. I'm acutely aware of the knife strapped to my thigh.

"Look at that!" Vincenzo brings me out of my thoughts, pointing to a man juggling flaming torches while balancing on a unicycle. "How does he do it?"

"Practice, I suppose," I muse, my eyes never leaving the performer. "But let's not get too close. I don't want us getting singed."

"Always watching out for others," he teases, but my heart aches at the irony. If only he knew what I was watching out for and how I’m the reason he even needs someone to watch his back in the first place.

Maybe if I’d never taken a token for my kill, left that wretched arrow where it belonged, Vincenzo could go about living a life free of danger.

But for tonight, I must play the part that all’s well. In my heart, I long for a time when it will be. When it can be just Vincenzo and Camela, two young people in love, with not a care in the world.

I reach over and take his hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. He looks over and smiles at me, the affection warm and true in his eyes. “Come,” he nudges me forward. “Let’s go have the best night.”

For just a little while, I convince myself that it’s alright to live a little when I’m by his side. I smile and nod, prepared to be on the lookout for danger, but also willing to let myself be swept away in the moment.

We continue walking. A single flickering lantern casts a warm glow on a stall draped with an array of waistcoats, the rich fabrics shimmering like jewels in the night. They’re beautiful, eccentric, unique. Vincenzo notices my lingering gaze and nudges me gently.

"Would you like one?" he asks, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.

"Really?" I reply, trying to hide the surprise in my voice. No one has ever offered to buy me something so frivolous before, and it feels both thrilling and unsettling.

"Absolutely," he insists. "Choose whichever one you like."

I run my fingers over the delicate embroidery and smooth silk, weighing each choice. Finally, I settle on a midnight blue waistcoat adorned with silver thread that glimmers like stars under the lantern light.

"Ah, a fine choice," the seller remarks, eyeing me appreciatively. "For you, my dear, I will offer a special discount. It would be an honor to have a girl as pretty as you wearing my clothes."

"Thank you," I say quietly, hoping my gratitude doesn't betray the unease I feel at this unexpected compliment.

Vincenzo hands over the coins, then slips the waistcoat into a paper bag before presenting it to me with a flourish.

"Here you are, my lady" he says, grinning. "Another addition to your ever-changing wardrobe."

I laugh, remembering what happened to a certain red dress as I accept the gift. I hold the bag in my hands and pull out the waistcoat. A warmth spreads through me, not from the heat of the crowd, but from a feeling I've never experienced before – the thrill of receiving a gift bought out of love.

"Vincenzo," I say, my voice barely audible over the cacophony of laughter and haggling. "Thank you."

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