8. Rafael
8
RAFAEL
I knew as soon as I saw her that there was no going back.
It happened over three years ago when I was still relatively new to Newport City. I was transferred to the area to take over for the last capo who had been running the territory, Vincenzo Bellucci. As the nephew of the Don, he had been given chance after chance to succeed.
But he had fucked up one too many times and had been pulled.
I came in aware of the mess I’d been left. It was going to take years to undo Vincenzo’s failures. Early mornings, long days, late nights.
I was willing to put the work in.
I bought a penthouse on Wall Street, right in the center of Newport’s financial district. The place cost a pretty penny, but it was worth it for the location alone. For a businessman like me, I needed to be at the epicenter of where business happened.
The sun was still rising when I woke every morning. Often coming off a late night with only three or four hours of sleep, I was in a testy mood.
My staff knew to deliver things like my coffee and paper first thing in the morning. I’d often be buttoning up a crisp shirt and looping my tie when Mara, my maid, would walk into my bedroom and set both items down for me. She’d bow out as I mumbled a thank you, usually distracted by the morning news playing on the flatscreen TV.
I digested news more than most men in my line of work.
The reason being that while they were deep in the lifestyle, I was aware of how it intersected with the rest of society.
I was aware from the time I was a kid how crime organizations met business at a crossroads. I knew how real world events affected both.
I hadn’t become a billionaire businessman off the Bellucci name alone. Most of my success was my own doing.
My smarts. My instincts.
Making the right moves at the right time.
So every morning I’d get ready for another long, hard day’s work fixing the Bellucci empire in Newport City while I sipped my coffee, read the paper, and watched the local news.
Usually, it was puff pieces about upcoming events around the city or weather forecasts for the days ahead.
But, sometimes, it was field reporting for whatever breaking news happened.
The banner flashed across the screen and then the desk anchors segued into the reporter on the scene.
She appeared with a microphone in her hand, eyes bright and sultry, lips a sweet, dusky pink shade. Skin brown like rich mocha.
My hands had stilled in the middle of doing my tie. I found myself unable to look away, suddenly entranced by the exquisite woman on TV.
Junior field reporter Portia James.
She was a rookie yet she had twice as much charisma as anyone else on the channel.
That first morning she came on my screen, I watched the entire morning news program beginning to end, waiting to see if she’d reappear.
The next morning, I did the same thing.
Soon she became a part of my routine.
Coffee and paper delivered first thing to my bedroom as I got dressed for the day in my uniform of a suit and tie. TV on with the news, but for an entirely different reason than before—it was on my screen so I could see Portia James.
On days she didn’t make an appearance, I was disgruntled. Agitated by whatever incompetent, uninteresting field reporter took her place.
Days passed.
Weeks. Months.
You’d think I’d grow bored of watching the morning news solely for some woman I’d never met before. Just for the ten or twelve minutes she was on air.
But as days, weeks, and months turned into a year, I was not only more invested than ever before, I was looking to sate my appetite in other ways.
A simple internet search told me the basics about Portia James.
She was thirty-one. A journalism graduate of Newport University. She liked traveling, sports, and shopping. Her Instagram profile was public, a curated peek into her world, where she posted photos like the latte art from a local café and the stunning views from her trip to Jamaica.
She was orphaned, adopted by a sweet older couple she was close with. Her and her biological cousin.
Apparently, they had suffered some sort of family crisis at a young age, leaving them without parents.
Mr. and Mrs. James had stepped in before the girls could be separated by the system.
It explained why she often spent a weekend each month volunteering with causes like Rise and Thrive, helping underprivileged children.
She lived in a decent apartment in the Edgewater neighborhood and traveled by subway to work.
And… she was married.
The woman I had spent almost a year watching on my TV each morning was married. I’d never noticed because she didn’t wear her ring on air and she’d kept her maiden name.
She really didn’t even mention him on her social media until one evening I opened the app and she had made a post wishing him a happy anniversary.
I’m not quick to anger. I’m a sensible, rational man. Yet I almost snapped my fucking phone in half, a current of rage rushing me at once.
His name was Lincoln Powell, a failed tech entrepreneur with little to nothing going for himself. He served no purpose in her life other than dragging her down. He didn’t give her the kinds of things she deserved and he damn sure didn’t appreciate her.
“Again?” Adagio asked one morning.
I was straightening my tie in front of the large flatscreen TV and he was reporting early to my penthouse to brief me on some business movements.
“Again what? Be clearer when you speak,” I said, more sour than usual.
Today’s segment was a special one, titled “Get to Know the Metro News Morning Crew”. Everybody from the anchors to the field reporters to the meteorologists were featured in quick five-minute clips showcasing their personal lives. It was meant to endear viewers at home to the cast, but instead it pissed me off as Portia’s video played and she was filmed in her apartment with her husband.
Her fucking husband that looked aloof and uninterested the entire time as Portia talked brightly to the camera.
Adagio glanced from the TV and then to me, arching a brow. “Again this,” he said. “The news reporter lady.”
“Her name is Portia James. Refer to her as such.”
“She’s pretty,” he admitted. “But what’s the plan? You’re going to continue watching her on TV?”
“Never you mind. It’s none of your business.”
I knew exactly what the plan was. But, more importantly, I was aware how careful I had to be.
It wasn’t good to become distracted, but what could I say?
I like what I like. I’m a man who gets what he wants once he sets his mind on something. Portia James happened to be that something.
* * *
The elevator doors close and trap us alone together for the first time in over a year. I cock a grin at Portia James, taking yet another moment to admire how good she looks. If at all possible, she’s grown even more beautiful.
More poised and elegant in her simple sage-green wrap dress.
She strut down the corridor in high heels like she was walking a runway. She carried herself like a queen without even realizing it.
There was an effortless spark about her that I’ve found entrancing from the second she appeared on my TV screen years ago.
“It looks like we’ll be going down together, Ms. James,” I say. “Perfect opportunity for us to talk.”
Her eyes narrow, burning with contempt. “Who says I want to speak to you? Get off this elevator.”
“I would like a word.”
“I don’t care what you would like. Excuse me.” She nudges past me to smash the button for the next floor.
She wants off the elevator.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Getting off this elevator!”
“I said I would like to talk.”
“And I said fuck off!”
My head tilts to the side. “You’re angry with me.”
The elevator dings reaching the fourth floor. The doors slide open and a man moves to step on. I pin him with a menacing look and say, “This elevator is full. Take the next one.”
I press the button to close the doors as Portia swats at my hand.
“I want off!”
“After we speak,” I say. “There’s a lot we need to talk about. You walked out of the meeting.”
“Is this what it’s come to? You’re harassing me inside an elevator?”
“We can go for a walk if you like. Or a ride. My car is outside?—”
Her features twist in offense. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Then we’ll stay in this elevator and talk. You look beautiful today.”
“You can’t be this tone deaf.” She releases a dry laugh with a shake of her head and then brings a hand up to her brow. “You really think it’s alright to show up like this? What are you doing here, Rafael?”
“You heard in the meeting. I’m buying Newport Metro News.”
“For what reason other than to be a dick?”
“I explained upstairs. The station has a lot of potential.”
“Cut the crap, Rafael! This is some… some ploy of yours. I saw how you were looking at me in the meeting,” she says, her brown skin flushing with heat.
I can feel it. She’s upset.
Pissed.
Rightfully so.
I was aware she wouldn’t be the happiest to see me.
But I also intended for a chance to clear the air.
“I was looking at you because you’re beautiful… as I just told you,” I explain. “I like staring at beautiful women. So do most men.”
“The flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Allow me to take you out to dinner. We can talk in a more civilized environment.”
She folds her arms and diverts her gaze. “I’m not interested. Please get out of the way so I can step off the elevator.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you not interested?”
She scoffs. “You’re unbelievable. You know exactly why. You go out of your way to charm me in Sicily, wining and dining me. Pretending you wanted to get to know me. Making me feel… feel…”
There’s a slight tremor to her voice as she trails off.
I inch closer. “Feel what, Portia?”
“We’re not doing this right now,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re not about to manipulate me into telling you all about how humiliated I was. You’re not going to get me to fall for your games. None of it was real.”
“You’re wrong.” I close in on her, backing her up against the elevator wall. She inhales sharply as I lean in so close, our mouths hover half an inch apart. I haven’t even touched her yet and she’s already shaky and flustered.
Adrenaline courses in my veins. Pure instinct drives me.
I become like an animal sniffing out my prey, inhaling the scent of her.
Jasmine and roses and something muskier to offset the floral notes.
Addictive and arousing all at once.
Her long lashes flutter with every stunned, wide-eyed blink she gives me. Curiosity blends with uncertainty on her beautiful face. She’s unsure where this is going and if she even wants to know. If she even wants the moment to end.
I lift my hand, slowly and carefully, like we have all the time in the world.
As far as I’m concerned, we do.
It doesn’t matter that we’re in the middle of an elevator of her office building. The building will soon be mine once my purchase of Newport Metro News goes through.
It’s more important that I make her understand. That I can make her see how misguided her beliefs are.
The back of my knuckles graze the curve of her cheekbone. “You’re wrong, dolcezza ,” I repeat. “There was no pretending. There were no games being played. Everything that happened between us was real. I never intended to hurt you or make you feel humiliated. I would like the chance to make it up to you.”
She squeezes shut her eyes as if to make me disappear. Her breathing sharpens, light intakes of air I can feel against my lips.
But I’m much more interested in her lips—they’re painted the color of wine. Unable to resist, I cup her chin and then gently place a kiss on her mouth.
If I don’t pull away immediately, it’ll become so much more.
I’ll quickly lose control and ravage her sweet lips like I did the night we spent together.
Exercising restraint, I draw back slightly and say, “Please allow me to take you to dinner.”
There’s a second where her answer’s up in the air.
I can sense the conflict inside her. The war that plays out as her brows knit and she licks at her bottom lip as if to taste remnants of my kiss.
The second passes and she snaps forward, shoving at my chest.
“I need to get off this elevator!”
Portia presses the buttons to open the door and then darts out into the corridor. She’s quick in her high heels, making her escape before I can stop her.
But it’s okay.
I’m calm accepting her decision. She’s not ready yet to forgive me. She needs more time. Different circumstances. A better setting.
I fish my iPhone out of pants pocket. “Maurizio,” I say, “have the director of the Rise and Thrive Foundation give me a call. I would like to sponsor an event.”
We hang up with me straightening my tie and pressing the elevator button for the ground floor. The meeting at Newport Metro News didn’t go as planned, but I have more cards to play. I’ll always have more moves to make.
I meant what I decided from the moment I first saw her.
There’s no going back. She’s mine and I will always find a way.