Page 66 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

"Alright, take your time," he replies nonchalantly, now browsing the drinks menu on the board up ahead.

As I walk away, I scan the surroundings. My eyes land on a quiet exit alley not too far from us. It's dimly lit and secluded, a perfect spot for an ambush. And if someone is indeed following me, I'd rather confront them there than risk Vincenzo or other innocents getting hurt in the crossfire.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter under my breath, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

As I approach the alley, I notice an ice bucket at a nearby drink vendor. Inspiration strikes. Without hesitation, I grab the waistcoat that Vincenzo bought me earlier, submerging it in the freezing water.

The fabric of the waistcoat grows heavy as it absorbs the icy liquid, transforming into a makeshift weapon should I need it.

Clutching the soaked waistcoat tightly in one hand, I slip into the shadows of the alley, my senses on high alert. Every footstep echoes ominously around me as I tread carefully, trying to stay as silent as possible.

My mind races with thoughts of what might happen if I'm discovered - or worse, if Vincenzo finds out about my past.

Keep it together, Camela, I think to myself. You've faced worse situations before.

The darkness of the alley is both comforting and unnerving. As I venture further in, the clamor of the night market fades into a distant hum. My pulse quickens, ears alert for the sound of someone behind me.

If my pursuer follows me here, I'll have no choice but to face them head-on. Sudden excitement pumps through my legs and arms as I remember taking down the Ghost.

"Come on," I murmur, urging my unseen stalker to make their move. "Show yourself."

But there’s no sound of footsteps.

The alley narrows, and my heart pounds in my ears. I strain to listen for any sign of pursuit, but all I hear is the distant cacophony of the night market.

Just as I begin to think I've taken this detour for nothing, a sudden gush of wind, like something heavy falling, catches my attention. Before I can react, I hear a thud behind me and feel a cold finger press against my neck.

The assassin must have been sitting on the boundary wall and jumped down to get me.

My grip tightens around the soaked waistcoat, and without a moment’s hesitation, I do a forceful underarm, flying backward, slamming the full weight of my makeshift weapon into the attacker's crotch.

The impact reverberates through my arm, but I don't pause to relish the success when he stumbles backward, groaning. Instead, I grab the finger that was pressed against my neck and twist it violently.

My attacker's gasp gives me the opening I need to turn and face him.

"Scorpion," I hiss, recognition dawning. We worked together once on an assignment in Egypt, and I'd recognize his scaly tattoos, thin, bony face and deep-set wrinkles anywhere. "What are you doing here?"

"Business, Camela," he grunts, nostrils flaring as he struggles to regain his composure. "Something you’ve been failing at, I imagine.”

“Let me show you what success looks like.” I twist his finger upward, bringing him to his knees.

Scorpion's eyes narrow, and I know I must act fast. In one fluid motion, I launch myself at him, feet first, landing with my one knee next to each of his ears as I take him to the ground with me.

I grip his neck between my thighs and position my fingers at the base of his skull, applying pressure in the hollows between the two large neck muscles. Using my tai-chi skills, I render him temporarily paralyzed, the shock registering in his eyes.

"What are you …?" he croaks and then is unable to move.

"Sorry, Scorpion, but you came for mine," I whisper. I lean over to grab the waistcoat, wrapping it around his throat and pulling tight. His eyes bulge as he struggles for breath, clawing weakly at the fabric. But my grip remains firm, and within moments, his body goes limp.

I release the waistcoat, gasping for air as I stare down at Scorpion's lifeless form. A wave of sadness washes over me. I hate using the gift Vincenzo gave me with such love for something so ugly.

But what other choice did I have?

"Goodbye, old friend," I murmur, wiping away a stray tear from his face before turning on my heel and hurrying back towards the night market. On the way out, I throw the waistcoat into a garbage bag. Vincenzo would have questions if he sees the state of it.

Then, I hurry back to his side. For now, I've bought us some more time and rendered another opponent worthless.

Overall, making this a successful night.

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