21. Diavolo
DIAVOLO
We’ve been back for less than a minute, and I’m already thinking about whose head needs to roll first.
Gavino promptly steps to the side to open the rear door for me. I slide inside, Portia soon to follow. She’s hardly spoken a word over the last ten hours. For the duration of the flight from Sicily into Newport, she’s been suspiciously silent, more observant than anything.
I’ve made a mental note of it.
But I have more pressing issues to worry about, like the fact Titus Tuco waited until I was out of town like the fucking codardo that he is.
Titus used his newest capo to do his dirty work. Dario Cortese and his crew set fire to the warehouse we had just set up in the Grove for our expansion efforts for Nectar.
Of course the motherfuckers didn’t want us to prosper as they fell more and more behind in the seller’s market. But it wasn’t just jealousy about how we blew them out the water selling our product on the streets—this was about retaliation .
Rafael mistakenly believed Tuco had something to do with Portia’s disappearance, so he snatched his kid right out of college and left him in pretty bad shape.
Tuco wasn’t going to take that shit laying down.
There was no other option than to do something as drastic as burning down our warehouse.
But it doesn’t matter why he did it. I’ll hit him back twenty times harder. I’ll crush Titus Tuco and the entire Tuco family once I’m through with them—and I won’t need anybody’s help to do it.
Don Vito doesn’t even need to lift a shriveled finger. I’ve got it, like I always do.
As we brake for a red light, I take the moment to glance over at Portia.
She’s still silent and observant. Her eyes are on the window, staring at the city skyline like she can’t believe she’s back home after being gone for so long.
This is the first time she’s been back in Newport since she moved to DC. It must be conflicting for her to be home but not be home at the same time. Some part of her must know she’s still a captive; she won’t be free any time soon.
…if ever.
Some would say it’s worse than being thousands of miles away in Sicily.
At least the distance put home as a far off possibility. Having home around the corner adds an extra cruel element to the captivity she seems to be aware of as she stares longingly out the window, then releases a shaky breath.
But if she’s expecting any comfort to be offered, she’ll be sorely disappointed once again.
I’m no Rafael and won’t ever pretend to be. Regardless of how captivating she may be, she’s still my prisoner, and that’s the harsh reality she must face.
No amount of longing looks out the window and pouty frowns will change that.
When the car rolls to a halt outside the Newport Financial Tower, her posture straightens. She recognizes the building, her gaze swinging from the polished golden doors over to me.
The last time she was here, she was with him .
I bet they spent many nights here together.
Many romantic evenings sipping wine and soaking in his fucking jacuzzi and staring at the night sky.
He’s exactly the type who would spoil a woman in such ways.
The elevator ride up to the top floor is a quick one. The doors roll apart with a ding. I step out to find my staff already waiting for me, ready to take whatever orders I give them. I issue Mara hers first.
“Portala nella stanza degli ospiti. Assicurati che si sistemi. Subito.”
She gives a quick nod and gestures to Portia, who follows her without a word.
I enter the open-space living room to find Adagio and Maurizio already waiting, both of them standing instead of sitting, a detail that irritates me more than it should. There’s something about how rigid and formal they come across that tells me what they’re thinking.
They’re aware I’m not him.
They’re aware I’m me —and it’s no secret where their true loyalty lies.
“I hope you’re ready. You better not have gone soft while I was gone,” I snap at them. “It’s no time for fun and games. The Tucos burned our shit to the fucking ground.”
Adagio opens his mouth to cut in, “Our crew that was on the premises took out some of their?—”
“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” I interrupt. “The place was torched to the ground under your watch. I go out of town for two weeks and this is what happens.”
Maurizio watches me like a disgruntled dog does an intruder. He’d never stare at him like that.
Just another sign of who he’s loyal to.
When he dons the mask, he gets respect. When I come before them, they act like I’m the impostor. I’m not the rightful successor to the Bellucci throne.
I stop in front of the dark-haired enforcer of few words and return his ice-cold glare. “You got a problem?”
His wide jaw sets. “No.”
“Good,” I say, turning my back on them to walk away. “Then both of you better be ready. We strike tonight.”
The fog coils around the wheels of their car, cloaking the otherwise dimly lit road. The streetlights that normally shine so brightly flicker overhead as Titus Tuco marches to his sedan, flanked by his personal bodyguard and driver.
He slides into the backseat with hardly any situational awareness at all, a sixty-something mafia don well past his prime that takes his privileged life for granted.
Good. That makes the fall harder.
The car pulls out of the drive and starts toward the intersection at the end of the road. They’re headed out of the suburbs straight into downtown Newport.
No matter his age, Titus likes to hit up his strip club to watch his girls dance— and collect his money.
As they reach the intersection, the driver brakes at the barricade he comes across—a stretch of unmarked black vehicles parked in the road, blocking off the way forward.
“Hey, boss,” he says from over his shoulder. “Road’s closed up front. What do you want me to do? You want me to head back home?”
From the back seat comes Titus’s grating bark. “What the fuck are you talking about, dumbfuck? What do you mean the road’s blocked? This is my private road leading to my house. How the hell could it be blocked?”
“I don’t know,” the driver mutters. “It’s just… it’s blocked. Somebody parked a bunch of cars up there.”
And right then, before Titus can really start berating him, a soccer ball-sized object slams into the windshield, leaving a slimy trail of what appears to be blood on the glass.
All three men in the car jump.
The object rolls grotesquely down the slope of the windshield like a sick offering from some horror show. Tuco’s bodyguard leans forward, squinting at the glass while Titus is much louder and crasser.
“What the fuck is that shit?!”
“Boss…” the driver answers slowly. “I think that’s… that’s Dario’s decapitated head…”
“What the fuck are you saying?” Titus snarls, then his eyes widen as it really hits him. “That’s Dario’s… that’s his… WHAT THE FUCK?!”
The words have barely left his mouth when we’re appearing at the sides of their sedan. Semi-automatics drawn, they’re surrounded.
“Get out of the fucking car. Now.”
Titus stumbles out of the car, so pitiful I almost feel sorry for him.
I would if I had a heart. But since I don’t, it’s an amusing sight. His eyes flick from my mask to the men surrounding him, then back to the blood smeared windshield, as if still trying to convince himself none of this is real.
“You motherfucker!” he shrieks, voice cracking with rage and disbelief. “You killed Dario?! You fucking piece of shit—he was my capo!”
I say nothing in response, the mask hiding my expression. The silence from a man like me tends to do more than words in most situations. It can be unnerving to be stared at by a man in a devil’s mask as the world crumbles around you.
The same can be said for Titus Tuco as the fog rolls by him and semi-automatics are jammed in his face.
“Where the fuck is my son?! Bring him back right fucking now, do you hear me?”
“Stop talking,” I command as though speaking to a toddler.
His eye bulge in offense, but I carry on anyway, indifferent to his ego.
“You’re in no position to demand anything, Titus.
Not when you’ve got twenty semi-automatics pointed at your fucking skull, and not after the stunt you pulled at my warehouse.
That little act of vengeance is going to cost you more than you ever imagined.
You should’ve played nice. But you chose to play dirty. Now you get to learn the hard way.”
He snarls like a rabid dog, spit flying from his mouth. “I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
And that’s when it happens.
The sky tears open behind him in a burst of red-orange fury, a deafening BOOM that shakes the ground beneath our feet.
His house—his sprawling, marble-laden monstrosity at the top of the hill—erupts in a bright fireball, flames licking the night sky like the open jaws of hell.
The shockwave sends Titus flying to the pavement with a grunt, and even I have to lean into the blast as the heat hits me square in the chest. It’s like the world’s largest oven door has just swung wide, and I inhale the scorching air like it’s divine incense.
Glorious.
Absolutely fucking glorious.
I watch the fire consume everything he’s built, and in this moment, I feel no remorse. No hesitation. Just the satisfaction his complete and total destruction brings.
Titus scrambles on all fours, howling, his face bathed in the reflected glow of the inferno. “You fucking psycho! You’re fucking insane! ”
I take a step forward, half bending toward him. “As a matter of fact…” I say in an eerily calm tone. “Yes, I am.”
He stares at me, eyes wide with horror.
“You said you wanted to see your son,” I continue, louder for the others to hear. “Look at the flames, Titus. You didn’t know it when you stepped outside, but he was only feet away from you. Just behind those doors.”
I gesture toward the blazing wreckage, watching as he turns his head to glance at the flames.
“And now he’s gone, up in smoke.”
Titus breaks, an ugly howl of pain leaving him. He throws himself at me as if to attack, but one of my men quickly slams the butt of a rifle into his sternum and knocks him back. He lands onto the wet ground like a pitiful creature, screaming at me about his son, his home ablaze.
About how he’ll get his revenge if it’s the last thing he does.
I watch in silence, satisfied by the show as I allow for a rare smile behind my mask.
When the revenge mission is said and done, we return to the penthouse on a victorious note. At least that’s my mood as I stroll into the penthouse. The same can’t be said for my alleged righthand.
Adagio was with me the entire time we exacted the plan against Titus Tuco, though he’s hardly said a word since the explosion.
He’s about as disgruntled as his counterpart from earlier, a marked difference from his usual demeanor. Adagio D’Ambrosio is known more as a jokester playboy type than anything.
I decide to call him on it, like I’d done the moody mute earlier.
“What is it?” I ask. “Out with it. Whatever’s twisting your insides, spit it out like a fucking man.”
He turns toward me, his blue eyes darker than usual. “I saw her. Portia. She’s here. In your penthouse.”
I give no measurable reaction.
“And?”
“And she’s not yours,” he snaps, nostrils flaring. “She’s his. You know she’s his.”
“That’s debatable.”
“So it’s true, then. The reports about her death—they were fabricated. You’ve had her this whole time.”
“Watch your tone.”
“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Don’t deflect. Don’t pull rank. Don’t act like this is beneath me. It’s not . It’s within my fucking pay grade as Rafael’s righthand to care when somebody starts crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed.”
Any interest I had in entertaining his tantrum vanishes.
“ I am Rafael,” I snarl, mirroring him, stepping into his space.
“Don’t forget that. I’m the one in charge.
And you… you're nothing more than a soldier. You want to talk about crossing lines? Let’s talk about your own, Adagio.
Because the only reason you’re so fucking concerned about Portia is because you’re too busy fucking her sister . ”
His face goes rigid.
For a beat, he doesn’t breathe. He just stares at me like he’s thrown I’ve brought it up so suddenly.
“You didn’t think I knew?” I ask. “I know everything . I know what you’ve been doing the past two weeks, sneaking off like a teenage boy with a hard-on and no impulse control.”
His jaw tightens. I see the flicker of rage in his blue eyes—the moment he considers hitting me. His fists are already clenched, shoulders squared, weight shifted like a man about to throw one.
But he doesn’t. He backs down.
Instead, he strides past me, storming out of the penthouse.
I watch him go with a sense of twisted amusement.
Coward.
They all want to pretend they can challenge the devil. But in the end, they all kneel.
I leave the open-space living room area and move onto other parts of the penthouse without even bothering turning on a light. The silence here is heavier than usual, stretched taut over the shadows, as if even the walls are holding their breath.
I head straight toward the door that belongs to her now, where Mara has set her up to stay.
My footsteps are soundless against the floorboards, but Adagio’s voice echoes in my head—bitter, accusatory, furious in a way that surprised even me.
She’s his.
He said it like it meant something. Like there are still rules. Like there’s still a goddamn line that can’t be crossed.
But I don’t believe in lines.
And I don’t believe she belongs to him any more than anything else he’s staked claim over.
Everything he’s ever thought was his is mine now. She’s mine if I decide she is. Mine if I take her.
I crack open the door to her bedroom and peer inside.
She’s asleep, curled on her side under cotton sheets, her face half buried in the pillow, one bare shoulder exposed to the cool air and the moonlight. Her breathing is slow and steady, lips parted just enough to tempt a thought I shouldn’t be having right now but do anyway.
She looks... soft like this. Breakable .
She ignites the same hot, carnal lust in me even at a glance, even at a distance halfway across a room.
They believe I’m never supposed to have her. But none of them have any say in what happens.
Adagio can stew in his self-righteousness. Maurizio can talk about loyalty like some old guard dog. Her sister can scream bloody murder for all I care. None of it matters.
Not anymore.
Because maybe I’ll keep her after all.
I’ll keep her as the ultimate prize for myself. And what the fuck would he do then?
Not a damn thing. Because I’m Il Diavolo.
And if I want her, I’ll have her.