Page 97 of The Don's Deadly Assassin

He could help us shut down the Handler and buy off the other assassins on our trail. If I could get a list of the assassins looking for us, I could handle it in one go without being blindsided at every turn.

We settle into the shadows near an old, abandoned warehouse, watching the boats lazily sway with the rhythm of the waves. The eerie creaking of their moorings punctuates the silence, setting my nerves on edge.

"Camela," Vincenzo says softly, reaching for my hand, "whatever happens tonight, I want you to know we’ll be okay.”

"We will," I murmur, squeezing his hand in return. His presence calms me.

As we continue to wait, I can't help but wonder how Matthiera will react to our proposition. Will he be able to see past his allegiance to the organization, or has he become too entrenched in their twisted ideology?

The cool night air causes me to shiver as Vincenzo, and I stand side by side, waiting for Matthiera. Our breaths form little puffs of fog in front of our faces, the only sound accompanying them being the distant lapping of waves against the docks.

"Camela, you're trembling," Vincenzo whispers, concern etched upon his face as he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

"I can't help it," I admit, leaning into his warmth. "I don't know what to expect from Matthiera."

But before he can respond, a sudden whooshing sound pierces the air, followed by a sharp thud. My heart hammers in my chest as I turn towards the source of the noise – an arrow lodged in the wall mere inches from where we stand.

“Camela, get down!” Vincenzo screams, pulling me to the ground. And then, I feel a heat on my cheek. The adrenaline wears off, and the sting on my cheek snaps me back into focus, the smallest of graze on my skin. I touch the wound gently and feel a few small drops– evidence of the arrow's graze.

It was on purpose, and there’s only one person with an aim this good.

Chapter 36

Vincenzo

The wind whips around us and I’m terrified we’re about to be ambushed. I look back at the arrow, and then turn to Camela. “We must run. Someone’s found us here!” I take her hand to help her up, but she doesn’t move, unresponsive to my touch.

“Camela?” I ask again, now focusing entirely on her. Why isn’t she moving? We’re sitting ducks out here in plain sight and without a plan.

Camela suddenly gasps and raises a trembling finger to where she’s crouched down on all fours, sending a far-reaching chill down my bones. She's pale, her eyes wide as she stares towards the docks. "Vincenzo...look," she whispers, her voice trembling.

I turn my head, following her gaze, and a man walks towards us through the ocean mist, his figure becoming clearer with each step. He’s a bony, tall, slippery-looking man with a thin-lipped smile, I can best describe as sinister, plastered upon his face.

He slinks toward us, each step oozing such disrespect, like he’s happy to find us crouched on our haunches. I can feel my heart race as I size him up.

From how Camela’s not moving, this must be Matthiera, the man they call "The Snake." Beside me, I hear Camela’s clothes rustle, as she prepares to stand. I give her my hand, and we rise, together.

I watch as he comes towards us with slow, lazy steps. Dressed in loose black joggers and white sneakers, a simple black T-shirt with a buzz cut in tow, he looks more like a rebellious teenager than a grown man.

"Matthiera!" Camela exclaims, her voice brighter than I like, given the circumstances. There’s no ambush. That arrow was from our guest for the evening and she ought to be angrier.

She laughs as he draws closer, as if she’s genuinely happy to see him. His face is clearer now. He’s got such thin hair on his eyebrows that one might think he doesn’t have any.

"Camela, it's been too long," Matthiera purrs, eyeing her with a predatory glint in his eyes. He doesn't seem fooled by her charade, but he plays along anyway.

"Indeed, it has! How have you been?” she asks, stepping forward like she’s about to hug him. But, she doesn’t. She stops there, confused, her arms dangling awkwardly around herself. I can see her questioning what the hell she was thinking.

"Really?" Matthiera replies. “How have I been, Camela?”

Camela says nothing.

“Tell me, did you like my…surprise?” he asks, smiling wryly as his gaze flicks to the arrow lodged at the wall behind us.

“We thought we were being ambushed,” Camela says, revealing too much of our fear for my taste.

Matthiera shrugs. “You could have been killed.”

“I know you wouldn’t do that,” Camela comes to his defense, even though he’s shown no evidence to gain such support. I frown and Matthiera’s eyes flick over to me.

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