11. Portia
PORTIA
I can’t pretend I’m not surprised by the woman’s revelation. My brows jump at the same time I blurt out, “His ex-girlfriend? Oh, I didn’t know… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s quite alright,” she says with an inflection both distinctly amused and Italian.
She’s a slender woman about an inch shorter than I am, unbothered by how the wind tangles her long curls.
She motions her head to the side, beckoning for me to follow her.
“Are you the wife? I always knew she would come asking questions about him sooner or later.”
“Wife?!” I choke out. Then I laugh at how crazy that sounds. “Definitely not his wife.”
…but also not about to let you know we dated either.
“I’m a journalist writing a piece about him and his business profile,” I explain vaguely. “He’s become such a renowned businessman all over the globe. We really wanted to get a picture of who Rafael Calderone is, since we’ve heard he comes from such humble beginnings.”
The woman grunts out a laugh as she digs into the pocket of the button-up dress she wears. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes, offering me first before she lights one up herself. “Humble beginnings,” she repeats slowly, blowing smoke. “Yes, he did have humble beginnings. But that was so long ago.”
“I’m sorry, we should probably introduce ourselves. My name’s Giselle,” I say, citing my middle name.
“Lia,” she rattles off.
“So you knew Rafael from a young age.”
“We grew up here.”
I glance around the small stone homes, where the children kick a ball across the grassy field and chase each other back and forth. It seems peaceful enough, but it is clear the area isn’t exactly teeming with wealth.
“Rafael lived in number thirteen.”
“My family in twelve,” she finishes for me with a wry smile. “Our families were close. We attended the same school. My sister and I used to play with him. Our mothers watched us. My father was his doctor. He treated him when he had… a very bad illness.”
“What kind of illness?”
“It is not for me to say. But my father cured him and I was there to keep him company as he healed.”
“Sounds like you were all very close.”
“We were for many years. Rafael was a quiet boy. Very focused and studious. But very intense.”
All those descriptors match the Rafael I know—while I’m not sure if I’d call modern day Rafael quiet exactly, he is mysterious and observant, and he’s definitely intense in more ways than one.
“When we grew older, we had feelings for each other,” Lia explains, developing a fond glint in her eye. She sucks on her cigarette a moment and purses her lip to exhale more smoke. “We were each other’s first loves as happens with boy and girl’s our age. I’m sure you know how that goes.”
“Uhh, sure…” I stammer, shifting uncertainly. I’m not sure I had listening to Rafael’s ex on my Bingo card for my trip to Sicily, but if it means gathering more intel, then it’s a necessary evil.
“Everything changed when we were still young. He lost his mother to tragic circumstances and was never the same. His grandmother was there to raise him. But I’m sure you can imagine the effect that would have on a boy coming of age.
He had never had his father, and now he no longer had his mother either.
Ragusa…” She sighs, pausing to watch the group of small children pass the ball between themselves.
“The village has always been plagued by crime. Even more so in the past. We loathed them.”
“Who?” I press, leaning closer. I’ve taken out my phone to record voice notes. “Who gave the village trouble?”
“The families. I’m sure those of you in America have heard of them. Their reach is far and wide.”
“The Belluccis?”
She merely inhales from her cigarette, neither confirming nor denying. “But no one hated them more than Rafael. He and his grandmother could hardly make ends meet from all the taxes being charged. He had to turn to petty crime to make money.”
My heart flutters in my chest, though I say nothing out loud.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by the fact a young Rafael would turn to petty crime. Probably because I’m so used to seeing him in positions of power and authority, in his tailored suits, where he seems so invincible and in control of everything.
But to think there really was a time where he was helpless and disadvantaged…
“He disappeared eventually. We all thought…” Lia draws a deep breath, casting me a sidelong look that’s grim.
“I’m sure you can imagine what we thought.
When people disappear in Ragusa, it is almost never good.
For that reason, we were surprised when he reemerged a few years later very, very different. ”
I arch a brow. “Different? In what way was he different?”
“The Rafael I knew was no more. He wore nice clothes. They were custom made for him. But not from his grandmother who was a seamstress. These were good quality clothes. Very expensive. He had a gold watch he wore and a new car he drove. He had become man, but not the man I thought he would be.”
“Where did he get the money for those things?”
“He had a new career,” she says ambiguously. “I’m sure you know how businessmen can be. They will find profit where they can. And Rafael learned that from the moment he went away. Sicily has its industries and he pursued that.”
“Does this have anything to do with a company called RossoVerde?”
She smirked. “The headquarters is a few kilometers away. If you wanted to visit, I’m sure they would be happy to tell you about Mr. Calderone’s business dealings.”
One of the children kicks the ball over to where we’re seated.
It rolls to a slow halt at our feet. I reach down and toss it back toward them.
They seem wary of me, likely confused by the rare sight of a tourist in their humble neighborhood; something tells me not many tourists come by this area of Ragusa.
I thank Lia for her time and then head out.
RossoVerde Biochemica is my next stop. I’m not sure what my intention is as I approach the secure facility. The logo resembles the same one I’d seen on the shipping manifest Allison Sigler had given me—a rose against a green leaf.
But the metal chain-link fence and locked gate indicate you need authorization to access the building, and I’m not sure if I want to reveal myself in order to gain entry.
As much as I can theorize, it seems Rafael was increasingly desperate, and then Lia insinuated he got involved with the Bellucci family somehow. Did they present him a business opportunity with a company like RossoVerde?
I spend the next hour observing the facility from the outside. Trucks come in and out. Men load them up and then send them off. There seems to be product being shipped out to all sorts of places. Could some of the merchandise being packed up be addressed to Newport?
One of the items on the manifest Sigler had was pharmaceutical resin.
I did some research on it. It seems it’s often used for the construction of pills. Could this have something to do with Nectar? Is Il Diavolo and the Belluccis’ next move to turn the drug into pill form and profit off it even more?
It’s as one of the trucks drives away that a box falls off the back and tumbles to the ground.
Rushing over, I kneel beside it and take some snapshots of the contents—what appears to be exactly what I suspected it would be, more pharmaceutical resin packed into vacuum-sealed bags.
My phone buzzes in my hand, a number I wouldn’t expect flashing on the screen.
“Francesca?” I mutter, frowning to myself. “Um, hello?”
“Portia! The American princess. I hear you’re back in Sicily. Is it true?”
“The island must be smaller than I thought. Funny you would know that.”
She gives a humoring laugh. “Yes, well, you met my sister.”
“Lia…” I say slowly.
“Her name is Natalia, but she prefers to be more informal with Lia. She had very nice things to say about you.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense. Lia—or, more accurately, Natalia —had mentioned she and her sister used to play with Rafael as kids. I also remember Francesca once telling me and Jayla she knew Rafael’s family in Ragusa.
Obviously, the sisters talked just like Jayla and I would.
“That’s good to hear,” I say. “Your sister was very welcoming.”
“It runs in the family. It made me think… I would like to show my own appreciation. You and your sister were some of my favorite guests I have given tours to. Would you like to join me for dinner?”
“I’m very busy?—”
“I’m sure you can spare an hour or two for some good Sicilian food. I will take you to one of the best places in Palermo. Fero will come to pick you up.”
“Actually, I already have plans with the host where I’m staying.”
“I’m sure Irene will understand.”
“Francesca,” I say slowly, “I never told you where I was staying. So how would you know the host’s name was Irene?”
“Oh… well… err… I…”
I hang up on her, looking around frantically for any watchful eyes. The facility of RossoVerde looms in the background as impenetrable as ever, surrounded by thick green brush, though as far as I can tell, no one else is around.
One thing is obvious.
Francesca, her sister Natalia, Irene the hostess at the boutique hotel, and probably everyone else I’ve come into contact with, haven’t been as helpful as they’ve wanted to appear.
They’ve been keeping tabs on me, which means there’s probably someone even more important—and powerful and dangerous—than they are, doing the same.
I rush from the RossoVerde headquarters, hailing a cab at the next street.
“Comiso Aeroporto, per favore,” I say in a novice attempt at Italian.
The cab driver thankfully understands anyway and makes my request a reality. I sit back against the cushions and steady my breathing, reminding myself I have everything I need in my purse—wallet, phone, passport, and all other necessities.
I’ll have to leave behind my belongings in the carry-on suitcase, but it’s too risky to go back to the hotel and grab them.
There’s no telling who might be waiting for me.
I have to get out of Sicily now.
The first flight available is the flight I want to be on.
Twenty minutes later, the taxi brakes outside the airport in the departures lane. I fumble with the Euros in my purse and end up paying the driver extra. It doesn’t even matter since I’m in such a rush to make it inside.
At the ticket counter, I purchase a flight from Sicily to London. The clerk behind the desk hands me back my passport along with my boarding pass and thanks me for choosing their airline. It feels like she’s handling me a lifeline as I take both and then head over toward the security checkpoint.
The security agent waves me through the metal detector. I pass through, following after the long line of other travelers. I’ve barely made it to the other side when a second agent approaches me from my left.
“Mi scusi, signorina,” he says politely. “Please step aside. We need to speak with you.”
I glance over my shoulder, uncertain who he’s talking to. “I’m sorry… what?”
“We need to speak with you,” he repeats. “Please, come.”
Other travelers openly stare as I’m guided from the metal detectors off to the sidelines of the security checkpoint.
“I need to grab my purse?—”
“We will grab your things for you.”
“I don’t like that. I don’t want to be separated from my things?—”
“We need you to step into this room for a moment.”
I pause midstep, then rear back. “I’m not going inside any room until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I have just told you,” he says, his Italian accent punctuating each word. “We need you to step into this room.”
Another agent has appeared on my right. Both nudge me toward the door as panic slowly fills me up.
The three of us walk into the room, which is empty except for a table and two chairs.
The walls are covered in a coat of dull, sterile gray paint that’s almost depressing.
On the opposite side of the room is a plain door painted the same sterile gray as the walls.
It looks more like it’s prepped for interrogations.
“I want my purse, and I want to know why I’m in here right now!” I yell, curling my hands into fists at my sides.
“I will tell you.”
The voice is coming from behind me. From through the door on the other side of the room—its opened and someone has walked through.
I go still for a moment, my pulse pounding harder in my veins, before I gradually turn around.
Il Diavolo stands in front of me, hands deep in his pants pockets, his devil’s mask obscuring his face.
“Hello, Portia,” he says in a smooth, mocking tone. “Long time no see.”