29. Portia
PORTIA
FOUR WEEKS LATER…
The morning light slips in through gauzy curtains, its warmth stretching across the stone floor in slow-moving shadows that ripple each time the sea breeze blows in.
I lie still, tangled in linen sheets that smell vaguely of him, and listen to the distant sounds of splashing waves rolling inland.
It’s a quiet, peaceful sort of way to start my day.
Something completely different from what my life was only a few weeks ago.
Even more different from what my life was as field reporter Portia James working for Metro News in Newport, before I ever met Rafael Calderone or discovered the true identity of Il Diavolo.
But as I reach across the bed before I’ve even opened my eyes, I can’t say I regret a thing. I’ve probably cried more tears, felt more fear, lived closer to the edge than I ever have before in my life. Yet I wouldn’t change how it’s all gone down.
As crazy as it sounds, I made up my mind a long time ago that I wanted truth. But I also wanted him .
My eyelids lift and my vision clears to find the spot in the bed next to me is empty. The pillow beside mine is creased with the shape of his head, a warm indentation still pressed into the mattress.
He was here. Not long ago.
Blinking slowly, I push myself upright, the sheet slipping down my shoulder as I turn toward the pale light filtering in. It takes me a moment to register the shape beyond the curtains—a shadow moving behind the sheer veil of white, framed by the open doors that lead to the balcony.
He’s out admiring the water again. He loves the fact that he’s been able to be closer to home.
In some way, it’s helped bring more peace to his mind, something he’s desperately needed. While Rafael’s mental state is a complex situation we’re still dealing with, escaping Newport allowed him to regain more control over his consciousness again.
I’ve insisted on professional help. He’s begun seeing a psychologist to manage his condition. There’s a long road to go, especially considering Rafael has yet to tap into what made his psyche split in the first place.
Anytime the subject is broached, he shuts down. I try not to bring it up or push him on it, hyperaware it could trigger a relapse into Il Diavolo territory.
But the truth is, there were moments of our ordeal the night we fled Newport, where I swear Rafael was Il Diavolo—or maybe their psyches had finally merged again.
I’d become something of an expert at telling them apart, and toward the end, I sensed it was Rafael who was with me on that construction site.
…at least some part of his consciousness.
We haven’t discussed what happened between me and Il Diavolo. We haven’t talked much about any of the things that went down beside planning and strategy for how to move forward and what our next move will be.
But we have agreed no more secrets. No more hidden truths. We’re facing whatever comes together, good or bad.
My feet find the cool tile, the air kissing my skin as I step onto the balcony.
Rafael stands barefoot on the stone, facing the horizon where the sea stretches for what seems like forever. The morning light catches on the water and glistens almost like someone’s applied a filter.
He’s shirtless in sweatpants that hang low on his hips. His arms are thick and defined as he leans against the iron railing and watches the local ships embark on a morning sail. His dark hair, usually neat and tamed, is tousled and unruly, as if he rolled straight out of bed and into this moment.
I stop at his side. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did. Better lately… all things considered.”
My gaze lands almost involuntarily on the area beneath his collarbone where the skin is still healing, the wound angry and raw despite the weeks that have passed. The scar is puckered slightly, a jagged reminder of the bullet that tore through him not even four weeks ago.
He stepped in the way and took a bullet that could’ve—more than likely would’ve—hit me.
He notices what I’m staring at, his dark eyes gleaming. “I’d do it again. No hesitation.”
“I know you would,” I murmur, inching closer. “But you were Il Diavolo.”
The corner of his mouth lifts as if he’s tempted to smirk. He doesn’t argue the point, instead scooping my hand up in his and pulling me the rest of the way into him.
His mouth finds mine in a sweet kiss of affection. It’s become a staple of our mornings in recent weeks, as we’ve stayed in this small coastal village and waited out the next move we’ll make.
The kiss deepens. His tongue slips into my mouth and I eagerly meet him with a playful flick. His hand slides up my spine as my fingers tangle in his hair, only a matter of seconds before we get carried away.
Rafael guides me backward from the balcony back into our villa bedroom. Once we hit the bed, we fall together, landing with our arms and legs entwined and our mouths seeking each other out.
It doesn’t take long before we’re pulling and tugging at what little clothes we’re wearing, and each article winds up tossed to the floor.
I slip out from under Rafael and climb on top of him. His dark eyes gleam as I push him back against the pillows and straddle him.
“Let me,” I whisper, wrapping my fingers around his dick. “Let me love you.”
“You’ve loved me even when you shouldn’t have, dolcezza,” he answers. His hands cup my breasts.
I lean forward for a kiss, moaning into his mouth.
When I pull back, I reposition myself over his hard, throbbing cock, sliding him inside me.
Both of us groan as we come together, electric sparks running through us. It’s so instantaneous and intense that it’s almost magical.
Almost too unreal.
“Christ,” Rafael breathes. “You feel incredible, dolcezza. And you’re all mine.”
“We’re each other’s.”
I start with slow rolls of my hips, rising up until just his tip remains inside me before sliding back down his full length. The rhythm is languid and teasing, designed to drive us both wild with need.
He stretches me like always, my pussy walls fluttering around him.
I move up and down, guided by his strong hands. He grips me by the hips and thighs and ass, always unapologetically greedy when it comes to feeling my curves.
We hold each other’s gaze, watching the pleasure flicker across our faces. My mouth has dropped open and his jaw is set tight, his breathing labored. But it’s these small details that dials up our pleasure.
That makes it that much more intense as I slide up and down Rafael’s cock and look him in the eye.
“You’re so fucking deep like this," I moan, bracing my hands on his chest as I pick up the pace. I grind down against him in faster circles. His dick hits different spots inside me, forcing shivers of pleasure.
“Take what you need, dolcezza. Ride me and fuck yourself. Squeeze that sweet little pussy on my cock.”
His hands roam over my body as he talks dirty, sliding up to grope my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peak and ache. Then his hands travel back down to grip my hips and help guide my gyrations.
I sit back, placing my hands on his thighs for leverage as we go faster. I bounce up and down on his cock with increasing intensity, my breasts swaying with each movement. The new angle lets him penetrate even deeper, so damn deep I’m almost unbearably full.
My pussy tingles in warning, my orgasm rising up inside me.
I throw my head back with a cry of pleasure as Rafael’s dick stimulates my G-spot and then I’m coming undone.
“Oh god… Rafael! I’m coming,” I gasp, my hips undulating in desperate motions.
Rafael pulls me forward and smashes a kiss to my lips. His tongue pushes inside my mouth and he holds me in place as thew new angle causes even more friction.
He knows exactly what he’s doing—as we kiss deeply, my clit mashes up against the base of his shaft with every downward stroke.
The dual stimulation is too much.
It sends me straight into the orgasm we’ve been working toward. I’m shameless doing what Rafael told me to do, fucking myself on his cock as blissful waves wash over me.
“Look at you. Fucking gorgeous like this,” he groans, watching me ride him with wild abandon. He gropes my ass and kisses my throat.
I'm grinding and bouncing on him frantically now. My pussy muscles clench around him, shockwaves tingling inside me.
Rafael comes with me, showing how in sync we are. As I’m falling apart in his arms, he’s wrenching me down one final time on his cock. We ride out every sensation that passes through our bodies.
The deep quivers that take hold of me and the twitch and spasm of his solid muscles. Then comes the reward that’s his warm release filling me up from the inside.
I collapse forward onto his chest, both of us breathing hard and slick with sweat from the intensity. His arms wrap around me, holding me close as we both recover from what just happened.
“That was fucking amazing,” he murmurs into my hair. “I will die with that imagery in my head—you riding my cock like that.”
“Mmm,” I agree, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, right next to his puckered scar from the gunshot wound. “I love being on top of you like this.”
“And I love you. All of you.”
I pull back to look him in the eye. “I feel the same, Rafael. I love you… every part of you. The dark and the light and I’m going to be here for both. I’m going to be by your side as we get through this.”
He understands what I’m talking about; though we’ve escaped the country and have made it so far as literal fugitives, there’s still dark times on the way.
So much for us to figure out, from his condition and whether Il Diavolo will ever make his return, to the complications with the Belluccis and his role in the crime family.
Rafael presses a kiss to my brow, his hands stroking up and down my bare back. “You have no idea how much that means, dolcezza. Having you by my side. It means I’m unstoppable. It means together we will be.”
The Italian sun warms my shoulders as Jayla and I walk along the tree-lined promenade, our footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones.
The Mediterranean breeze carries the scent of lemon trees and salt air, and for a moment, I can almost pretend we're just two sisters on vacation instead of. .. well, whatever we are now.
Jayla's been quiet for the past few blocks, her usual chatter replaced by worried glances in my direction. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“How's Rafael doing today? Really, I mean. Not the brave face you put on for everyone else.”
I consider lying, giving her the sanitized version I've been feeding everyone. But this is Jayla. She sees through me anyway.
“He's struggled,” I admit. “But he's fighting, Jay. He's still in there.”
She stops walking and turns to face me, her dark eyes serious. “Portia, we're literal fugitives now. The FBI, the Belluccis' enemies, God knows who else is looking for us. And we're here chasing some miracle cure that might not even exist.”
“We're not chasing anything,” I say firmly, starting to walk again. “We're in Italy to solve everything. Not just by seeing Rafael's old doctor, but to handle business with the Belluccis. To end this once and for all.”
“I know,” Jayla says, hurrying to catch up. “Which is exactly why I'm so worried.”
I study her profile as we walk. There's something different about my sister since we left Newport. A new confidence, maybe. Or perhaps it's the way her face softens whenever Adagio's name comes up.
“Jay,” I say carefully, “why did you choose to come with us? Not just me, but with Adagio too?”
Her lips quirk as if tempted to smile as she looks away. “What do you mean?”
“Is it because you're in love with him now?” I ask gently. “Because sometimes the things you do when you love someone don't make sense.”
Jayla lets out a rueful laugh, shaking her head. “Tell me about it. The things I do for my sissy.”
The words hit me right in the chest, my throat tightening with emotion. I reach over and squeeze her hand, smiling despite everything.
“I know,” I say. “And I know this is crazy, Jay. I know it seems impossible. But I trust Rafael with everything I have now. We will come out on the other side of this.”
She stops again, studying my face with those sharp eyes that have always seen too much.
“I still don't know how you know that,” she says. “How you're so sure.”
I meet her gaze steadily, feeling the weight of everything we've been through, everything we still have to face. The answer comes to me with surprising clarity.
“Because we have to.”
The simple words hang between us in the warm Italian air. Jayla searches my face for a long moment, then nods slowly.
“Okay," she says finally. “Then we will.”
And as we continue down the sunlit promenade, I almost believe it myself.