7. Rafael
RAFAEL
Days into Portia’s disappearance, I’m a man that’s been pushed beyond his breaking point. I’m not sleeping. I’m barely eating. All other matters fall by the wayside as I fixate on finding her.
My men conduct round-the-clock searches for her, both DC and Newport.
Little to no new info is uncovered. Every so often we get an eyewitness that emerges claiming to have seen her on the street buying a coffee or being shoved into the back of a car by mystery men, but they all turn out to be false leads. Dead ends that go nowhere.
I’ve settled on Maurizio’s theory. The Tucos are involved somehow. They’ve taken Portia.
It’s their latest move in an ever-escalating war between our families. Though we’ve been dominating this feud, taking over the street with our products like Nectar, the Tucos have refused to go down quietly.
Kidnapping Portia is exactly the kind of revenge they’d take for the things I’ve done to weaken their operation.
In the span of six months, Titus Tuco has been forced to replace three of his capos thanks to me. The latest being Sergio Sacrimoni, who I tortured to death.
Dario Cortese is the latest soldier to be promoted through the ranks to take on the job. He’s in his thirties, a Tuco loyalist from a young age, and a no-nonsense sharpshooter by all accounts.
In other words, he’s exactly the type who would want to make a big statement by hitting me where it hurts.
“What’s the latest?” I ask first thing in the morning. My penthouse apartment is empty except for Mara flitting around to get the coffee made and my overnight security stationed at their designated posts.
Maurizio has just arrived to brief me on any updates. “No sightings. No new leads. We surveilled the Tuco compound on the south side of the city and nothing.”
“Women don’t vanish into thin air. Someone somewhere knows where she is. Someone somewhere saw something and is lying.”
“We can return to DC and comb the area again,” Maurizio suggests.
I take the mug of coffee Mara hands over and give it some thought, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling window opposite the kitchen. It overlooks the financial district of Newport, providing a generous view of some of the tallest skyscrapers in the city.
At this early hour, the morning sun reflects off the glass buildings and creates prisms of light.
“It’s time to address Cortese,” I say finally. “Enough investigating and tearing the city apart. I want to know what cards he has to play. If it reveals our hand too, that’s just collateral damage I’m willing to accept.”
Maurizio nods. “I’ll set up the meeting.”
The front door opens and Adagio appears no more than a few seconds later, his blue eyes ringed red from lack of sleep.
It seems I’m not the only one who hasn’t been getting much rest. But I already know what he has to say before he even approaches us.
“Nothing,” he says, hands on his waist. “She hasn’t heard from her either.”
“And?”
“And she’ll keep quiet a few more days… so long as we promise to find her.”
“Then what?” I press, setting the mug of coffee down.
Adagio shrugs. “She says she has no choice but to tell their parents. Get the police involved.”
“That won’t be happening. We can’t let it get out. We keep it close to the vest and handle it ourselves. Once anybody else gets involved, the chances of getting her back drop.”
It’s true that the last thing I want out of the situation is to get the police and other authorities involved. It would become a huge story that a TV anchorwoman on one of the country’s biggest news channels has gone missing. The media would report on it nonstop.
Both the DC and Newport police departments would turn it into a spectacle.
Any chance of finding Portia would diminish by the second. It would shed a spotlight on the mob war going on between the Bellucci and Tuco families, which would only tie my hands on being able to retaliate in order to get her back.
For the time being, I’ve made Joe Germanotta swear to keep hush-hush on Portia’s absence at ANC and Adagio’s done the same with her sister, Jayla.
But it won’t work forever. Sooner rather than later, more people will want to know where she is. I’ve got to act fast.
“We meet tonight,” I say to both men. “If Cortese’s not available, he needs to make himself available.”
The old racetrack sits abandoned on the slum side of the city. It’s been shut down for years, the track cracked and covered with overgrown weeds. The bleachers surround the place, once filled almost every night with rowdy spectators gambling on racehorses.
Dario Cortese and his men are already waiting on us when we arrive. He looks cool and casual as we approach, a cigarette smoldering between his lips and the moonlight reflecting on his greasy, gelled hair.
He cracks a grin hello. “Well if it ain’t Il Diavolo blessing us with his presence.”
I’m in no mood for games or fake pleasantries. Both Maurizio and Adagio flank me as well as the rest of the men I’ve brought along.
We stand opposite each other on neutral turf for this brief meeting, where only for a few minutes, the war between us is on pause.
Once I have my answers, I’ll move forward accordingly. But it’s time to hear it out of Dario’s mouth.
“There’s an important matter we need to discuss,” I say. “Portia James has gone missing. Where is she?”
Dario’s brows furrow and he plucks his cigarette from his mouth to tap away the burning ash. “The reporter lady? The same one from Metro News?”
“You know who she is. The man you replaced took her captive, did he not? That failed. Did you give it another try?”
“Sergio Sacrimoni took Portia James ’cuz he had no fucking clue what he was doing,” Dario answers with a brittle laugh. “He thought he could use her as some bargaining chip, like Titus gives a fuck about some news lady. All he cares about is that she stays out of our way.”
“Did you or did you not take her?” I growl between clenched teeth. My patience is on a short fuse, liable to run out at any second. Both hands ball into fists at my sides; the murderous glare I give Dario from behind my devil mask is the final warning.
He refuses to heed it, giving a shrug and blowing more smoke. “I can’t say I’ve got any interest in no reporter lady—but if she was poking her nose in our business, then she’d deserved whatever came her way.”
“That’s your final answer? Think carefully, Cortese. Because there will be no going back.”
“Like there ever was!” he laughs loudly. “You forget our past, Diavolo? All that has gone on?”
I step toward him, looking him unblinkingly in the eye.
“I know the past between our families well. That’s why I’m letting you know what you think has been brutality was nothing.
What’s been going on has been child’s play.
But you’ll soon find out the truth. Scoprirai perché mi chiamano il diavolo. ”
Dario does his best to remain unfazed. He can’t let his men see any cracks. Any sign of weakness would be a reflection of his leadership.
But I know better.
He puffs on his cigarette, remaining in stanch silence as my men and I turn to go.
We follow the dusty path we’ve walked down that leads toward the abandoned parking lot.
The crew I’ve brought with me disperses to their designated cars.
Maurizio and Adagio follow me to mine, Gavino sitting up front behind the wheel.
The second we’re inside and the door snaps shut, I give my next set of orders.
“Newport University,” I say. “We have a new guest to pick up.”
“He’s still out cold. We’ve got him bound and gagged in the cell,” says Adagio later in the night. “He’ll probably be awake in a few hours. You sure this is the direction you want to go in?”
“The Tucos have Portia. Cortese all but confirmed it tonight.”
Adagio trails in my wake as we walk through the long hallway of my penthouse, moving from one end to the other. It’s late at night and the city sleeps despite the twinkling lights scattered across the otherwise dark landscape.
Since the meeting at the racetrack, I’ve made several more moves. Most of which will not be known until daylight tomorrow.
But more importantly they will show I’m not fucking around. If the Tucos have Portia, then I’ve taken something of theirs, and I will hurt that prized possession until mine is returned. Once upon a time, family was off limits.
That’s no longer the case.
“He’s just a college kid. What is he, like, twenty? Twenty-one?” Adagio says. “He hasn’t even been made yet.”
I stop midway down the hall and round on him, devil mask still obscuring my face.
“If I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked.
Your view on the matter is irrelevant. It doesn’t matter if he is still a kid or if he’s a fucking made man—he’s Titus Tuco’s son and I’ll slit his throat if they don’t give back Portia. ”
Adagio holds up both hands to illustrate he means no harm. “Yes, boss. Just pointing out that, you know… technically, we still don’t know if the Tucos do have Portia.”
“If they didn’t, Cortese would’ve said so.
He left us in the dark on purpose. The fact he was willing to play with fire says enough,” I answer coldly.
I start back down the hall without checking to see if Adagio follows.
It doesn’t matter if he does. My mind is made up either way, and there’s no going back.
“I’m not entertaining his games. Now it will cost his boss his son. ”