POSSESSED: MISS CIA AND THE MAFIA DON

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fear cuts sharpers than any sword.

CAMERON

When Earl closes the door behind him, it barely makes a sound but it still feels like he has just locked me away in the deepest darkest dungeon and tossed the key.

A prisoner.

That is what I am.

I sigh, stepping fully into the room that is to be my holding cell and a small gasp escapes me despite my fear.

“Dear god” I whisper softly to myself as my feet sink into the soft muted gray rug. It feels like milk squishing in between my toes and for the first time that evening, I realize just how truly tired I am.

In the center of the room sits a giant king size bed that looks more like a football field than a place for sleeping.

I roll my eyes when I discover the larger than life mirror on the ceiling above it. Who besides a narcissist would want to watch themselves sleep?

The bed is covered by silk sheets that probably cost more than my health insurance policy and a duvet that is the same soft gray color as the center rug.

The walls are decorated with ornate moldings and the dark wooden paneling of the walls is painted a dark blue.

It is single handedly one of the most beautiful bedrooms I have ever seen. And one of the biggest too.

Every single surface is buffed and shined to perfection. Even the mirrors and their silver frames appear to have been thoroughly cleaned.

Yet despite its very apparent beauty, the room still appears oddly impersonal, almost soulless in fact.

There are no pictures on the walls, no little keepsakes or anything to indicate that it belongs to anyone. Just cold, clinical order.

I see my small single suitcase with its nicks and fraying edges sitting at the foot of the bed, alone and out of place in the midst of all this elegance.

Almost exactly like how I feel.

As I cross the room, I make my way towards the floor to ceiling windows on the left where I pull apart the dark brown curtains to reveal a spectacular view; the bright orange sun setting behind a tapestry of emerald green fields and undulating vineyards dotted with small stone buildings.

Even through the glass I can feel the warmth of the last of the sun’s rays wash over my face.

Extending out from the window is a balcony, its white balustrade wrapped in the soft greens and purples of a creeping flower that I do not recognize.

There’s a set of wicker chairs and a round white table off to the side on the balcony. A bottle of something cold and wet with perspiration sits on it, left there for whoever will sit and enjoy the view.

It’s so beautiful that for a second I forget the blood and drugs and crime that bought this place.

I turn away as if stung and close my eyes tightly, my back pressed against the glass as shame like molten magma rushes through my veins.

Remember Cameron.

Remember why you’re here.

Remember who the enemy is.

Still I can’t help but cast one last look of longing at the drink. I haven’t had anything to eat in nearly twenty four hours. If I dared drink anything right now, nobody would be able to hold me.

I step away from the window just as I hear a quiet knock on the door.

My heart skips a beat.

Earl.

Or Nikolas come to wave his gun in my face again.

Or maybe it is Salvatore Mallore himself.

Maybe he already knows the truth about who I am, about my mission and why I am in his house and with his son and has decided to finish me off for daring to spy on him.

I’m twisting my fingers so hard they are starting to hurt.

What I wouldn’t give to have my laptop with me right now so I can talk to my handler.

The knock comes again, more incessant this time.

Best get it over with.

Besides, something tells me no Salvatore would ever know to knock. That would indicate some form of decency. A trait they are all severely deficient in.

I take a deep breath. “Come in.”

The door opens and a tiny woman dressed in a housekeeper’s frock and her hair pulled in a bun, loose strands framing a gentle face lined with age waltz in.

“Hello ma’am.” She says with a slight bow of her head.

She has a heavy italian-new york accent that somehow makes her voice more pleasant to listen to.

I step towards her, giving a little wave and inclining my head too because it feels weird to have anyone bowing to me. “Hello.”

She had been frowning when she came in but suddenly a tiny smile broke out on her face.

“My, you really are different aren’t you?” She whispers under her breath

“What?” I ask, raising my brow at the muttered sentence but she simply shakes her head and smiles even wider.

She places her hand on her chest. “I am Cara. I am, how you would call it, housekeeper for the Salvatores.”

“Hello Cara,” I say, giving her a small nervous smile. “I’m Cameron.”

Earl’s soon to be wife.

But I cannot bring myself to say that out loud just yet.

Lucky for me Cara with her bright hazel eyes doesn’t seem to care, instead she simply walks up to me, taking my hand in hers and turning my face this way and that with my chin, clucking like a mother hen.

“Oh would you look at the state of you.”

She cannot be more than five feet at most yet the way she holds me in place and looks up at me with genuine concern makes me feel small enough to cry.

It has been a long time since anyone ever looked at me like that. Like they could actually see me.

Suddenly I become aware of the cuts and bruises that must still be on my face from the accident and the fact that I am still dressed in Rosa’s black gown.

I rub the toe of my right foot against the left one nervously as she looks me over,

Then just as suddenly as she had appeared, Cara smacks her lips together, tapping my cheek gently. “It’s okay darling, we’ll have you right as rain in just a moment.”

I step away from her before I do something utterly stupid like cry and shock the poor woman.

“I’m sorry, what’s going on?” I ask politely.

Cara puts her arms around my shoulders, leading me towards the bed. “It’s okay Miss Cameron Miss, you just relax and Cara will take care of you.”

She says something loud and sharp in Italian and the bedroom door opens to reveal a tall woman with light brown hair and blue eyes dressed in a simple shirt and jeans and holding a large case in her hands.

“This is Angelita,” Cara says pointing at the woman as she crosses the room to pull the already open curtains even further apart. “She’s going to take a look at your injuries.”

“Oh no” I say, shaking my head and waving my hands. “I am fine. Honestly. All of this isn’t really necessary. Thank you.”

Cara clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, turning around to face me and clasping her hands in front of her.

There’s a slightly amused yet disapproving look in her gaze when she trains them on me. “I was told you would say that,”

Told by who?

“Look Cara, “ I start as softly as I can, casting a side eye and pulling my arm away from Angelita who keeps trying to look me over. “I’m really, stoked,” I am not “that you want to do all of this but I promise I’m okay. All I need is a quick shower and I’ll be alright.” I push Angelita’s hand gently off my shoulder.

Cara shakes her head. “A shower, no, that won’t do. I’ll run the bath for you…Right after Angelita looks your wounds over.”

Angelita immediately takes my arm in hers again.

“I can…you don’t have to…” I start to splutter but Cara has already disappeared through a door at the far end of the room.

“Look into my light please ma’am.” Angelita says and with a sigh, I slump on the bed and allow her to shine her pen torch into my eye.

She smiles at me as she works, asking questions and trying to determine if I’m hiding any more serious injuries.

I wonder if she’s the resident doctor who cleans Earl’s wounds and takes out the bullets when he comes back from a deal gone wrong.

To my right, Cara lays out a soft looking white robe on the bed, complete with a towel and plush slippers before disappearing through a different door that I can only assume leads to the bathroom, her short legs carrying her briskly and with an efficiency that tells me she not only has been doing this for a long time, but she thoroughly enjoys it too.

She reappears just as Angelita straightens and proclaims me fine.

I can hear water running in the background.

“All good” Angelita says once again for Cara’s benefit, as she returns her stethoscope into her case. “Just a few nicks and scrapes but she’s okay.”

“Oh good.” Cara nods, clasping her hands together. “Now you take that bath of yours miss Cameron and we’ll have a meal ready for you as soon as you’re done.”

By now I am starting to realize that it is pointless to try and argue with Cara so I just nod my head gratefully and mutter thank you.

“Oh it’s nothing” Cara says, tapping my cheek again. “Anything for mi Tesoro’s special guest.”

Mi Tesoro?

Did she mean Earl?

It’s so strange to hear someone refer to the cold hearted man I know in such a fond manner.

I sit on the bed for a full minute after Cara and Angelita leave.

When Ted first took me to the Agency, they ran a bunch of assessment tests on me like they did all the new recruits.

Tests to evaluate my ability to work under pressure, to think logically, to overpower a man three times my size with only a piece of string.

But the one test I hadn’t passed, the one that had almost had the upper heads who ran the program asking Ted to return me, was the Risk assessment test.

I was terrified to pieces of taking risks.

It didn’t matter what the task was, I would be so frightened of all the things that could go wrong that I would end up either failing or not even completing it at all.

If there is a safer route to achieving anything, you could bet your bottom dollar and your last child’s liver that I would take that route.

And for a CIA agent who would have to spend their entire life doing the exact opposite, it was just not acceptable.

One night, after a particularly hard day, Ted had come into my room and she had sat on my bed, watching me cry into my pillow.

Never really one to be affectionate, she didn’t touch me, she didn't even say anything. She just let me cry.

And when I was finished she called my name.

And asked me if I wanted to spend the rest of my life living like a coward, sniveling into my pillow.

“Those people, the ones who killed your parents, your foster father who abused you,” She said, her voice rough and firm “They have taken everything away from you Cameron. What else do you have to lose?”

It was the last time she ever needed to give me a pep talk.

This thing with Earl is going to be the biggest risk of my life.

And I would be damned if I spent my time being afraid. It was time to make them pay.

I swallow hard and start to pull off my clothes.