Page 94 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

My fingers deftly work to loosen the connections, ensuring that a simple nudge at the right moment will release them. Then, I curve the small detonator wire around the cables and step back, standing at full height.

From my new vantage point, I maintain a discreet line of sight on Vincenzo while scanning the room for any signs of our pursuer. The tension is palpable, and I struggle to suppress the urge to leap into action upon spotting the hidden threat.

Vincenzo stands by the bar, and a man, the only all-black in tow, takes place in the bartender’s position. My heart lurches into my throat when he asks Vincenzo something. Vincenzo gives a command, not turning around to see the bartender.

It takes everything in me to not scream at Vincenzo to run. I watch the assassin make Vincenzo a drink, putting a small pill into it.

The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning - the assassin is one step ahead. Panic begins to rise inside me like a turbulent storm threatening to break free. I have to act fast. I won’t be able to reach Vincenzo in time, but I need to do something.

I quickly grab my phone, just about to press the button to call him, when the waiter places the drink on the bar. Vincenzo turns his head just a little, to thank him, and I watch as his eyes fall on the bartender’s glove. Black.

Slowly, Vincenzo turns, facing the man serving him. The rapid beating of my heart subsides, and Vincenzo notices his clothes, his mask, his shirt. The assassin posing as a bartender stands still until another bartender turns to him.

“Who are you?” the bartender in uniform mouths at the assassin. Vincenzo’s eyes widen, and I think he’s afraid, but to my surprise, he parts his lips into a small, taunting grin. He walks backward into the crowd, eyes still locked on the assassins, challenging him to a hunt.

By now, the assassin must have realized Vincenzo knows he’s a threat. In one swift leap, he crouches to the ground and comes somersaulting from the opening beneath the bar hatch to let bartenders in and out.

In that moment, I know who the assassin is. The Shadow. He’s quick, deft, and almost a magician.

Without hesitating, I grip the railing tightly and watch as Vincenzo whirls around on his feet, heading toward the dance floor. My breath catches in my throat as I see the Shadow, his dark presence like a vengeful raven.

Vincenzo reaches the dance floor and circles it, the Shadow opposite him in diameter, following his every step. Vincenzo’s eyes are glued to his opponent as he leads the assassin through a dance-like chase, turning heels, changing directions, playing and toying to anger him.

The music swells around them, and Vincenzo bows at the assassin through the crowd. The assassin’s shoulders freeze before he stands taller.

He’s furious at the insult Vincenzo imparts to him by not being afraid. Vincenzo straightens his spine after he takes the bow and turns on his heels. The Shadow follows through the crowd, towards the stairs, towards the tables I planted the trigger under.

I watch with bated breath as the Shadow, hot on Vincenzo’s heels, closes the gap between them.

Vincenzo, walk faster, I think, getting scared that the Shadow will catch up. Yet, Vincenzo maintains his pace, the Shadow inching closer and closer.

Why isn’t he walking faster?

But then, I understand. Vincenzo, leaner in shape, walks straight through the narrow space between the two tables I set. The Assassin, following his lead in a hurry, takes the exact same route.

It’ll happen now.

I pull away from the railing, running towards the stairs. I stand there at the top, looking down the staircase as the Shadow falls into the perfectly laid trap. His hips hit into both the tables, and the tables jerk.

He turns sideways to finish walking through but the detonator is already in action. I hear a bang and smoke erupts from the chandelier. The wire I attached to the base short-circuited, just as I hoped.

At the bottom of the stairs, Vincenzo pauses and turns to face the assassin. He gestures upward, drawing the assassin's gaze.

There's a creak and a groan as the chandelier begins to sway. The assassin's head jerks back down, eyes going wide behind their mask as they register the trap—but too late. The chandelier plummets, a deadly pendulum swinging down on the end of its chain.

The Shadow tries to dive aside, but the chandelier falls left and right. The Shadow assesses the fall wrong. His agonized shriek cuts off abruptly as the weight of the chandelier crushes his chest with a sickening crack of bone.

A large crystal shard sticks out from his throat. There’s no doubt he’s dead.

Silence falls over the ballroom. All eyes turn towards the fallen chandelier and the man trapped beneath, lifeless limbs sprawled at unnatural angles.

And then, pandemonium erupts. Screams and shouts fill the ballroom as guests flee from the accident, tripping over each other in their haste.

Some rush towards the man, others out the door as the fire begins to blaze across the roof. I rush down the stairs, and Vincenzo steps out from against the wall, taking my hand.

He pulls me into the tide of fleeing partygoers, and I turn to take one last look at the Shadow’s body. No one seems to have noticed the concealed lever or my tampering with the chandelier's supports.

There would be no proof, the fire would take it all. As far as any of these revelers know, this was a tragic mishap. An ill-fated accident that claimed an innocent life.

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