10. Rafael
10
RAFAEL
“We… we weren’t expecting you.”
I glance at Adagio on my left and then at Maurizio on my right. My gaze returns to the nervous security guard, the mask I wear making the stare down even more unsettling. He’s supposed to be guarding the door to Milos Popovic’s office, yet here he is quaking on the spot like a pussy.
We’ve shown up to Club Euphoria—spelled U4EA on the neon sky blue sign—one of the hottest clubs in the city.
Everybody else in the club’s busy dancing and drinking the night away while we’re ready to make some business happen.
“Well?” I say. “Move the fuck out of our way.”
The security guard trips over himself moving to the side and winds up like an empty sack on the floor. Me and the others step right by him and into his boss’s office.
Milos’s equally as thrown off guard.
As we burst into his office, he spills the drink he’s sipping on down the front of his shirt. “What’re you?—?”
“Milos, it’s so nice to see you again,” I interrupt, moving through his office like it’s my own. It basically is now. “I’m sure you remember the last time we met, do you not?”
He sits up in his large office chair and gives an uncertain nod. Reaching for a napkin to dab the stain on his shirt, he says, “O-of course, Diavolo. H-how could I… how could I ever forget?”
“You tell me, Milos. I thought we had an understanding.”
“W-we do, Diavolo. Why would you think…” He can’t even bring himself to finish, his face sheening with a sudden sweat.
I grin from behind my mask, hands deep in my pockets. “Are you nervous, Milos? No need to be. This is a friendly visit if you choose for it to be. I’m here because I’ve heard things. Things that are not so good.”
“You know me. I don’t do anything. I’m all about my business. The club and that’s all.”
“Adagio.”
From my left Adagio steps forward and tosses a set of photos onto Milos’s desk. He returns to my side like the dutiful soldier he is.
Milos’s face pales setting eyes on the photos scattered in front of him. He husks out a shaky breath and then releases a laugh that sounds a couple notes away from a cry.
“Titus Tuco… he… he asked to have dinner. That’s all.”
“Is that all? Really, Milos?”
“I swear it. I wouldn’t lie. I wouldn’t double cross.”
“Well,” I say calmly, “I’m glad that’s cleared up.”
He slumps slightly in his chair, releasing another breath. This one relieved. “Thank god, Diavolo. You’re a reasonable man. I always knew it.”
“I am a reasonable man, aren’t I? Maurizio.”
“What… NO!”
Milos leaps half out of his chair before Maurizio’s on him in a quick stride. Five-foot-nine skinny-fat Milos is no match against a wall of muscle like Maurizio who handles him like a rag doll.
He’s slammed down onto the leather sectional in the room. I stop in front of him as he squirms against Maurizio’s enduring hold.
“I swear you’re misunderstanding!”
“I don’t think I am, Milos,” I say. “Word is you pledged allegiance to Tuco. You agreed to distribute his product in your club. Is that not right?”
“He asked. I told him I’d think about it!”
“Adagio.”
“NO!” he screams out, but it’s too late.
Adagio has the pliers ready. Maurizio pins his arm down while Adagio positions the pliers at Milos’s fingers.
“Which one should we take first, Diavolo?” Adagio asks.
“You choose. Have some fun with it. Take two.”
“ARGH!”
Milos’s screams fill the office as Adagio doesn’t hesitate to do as instructed. He rips off the nail from Milos’s index finger, then the one from his middle. Blood oozes from the gashes where his nails are supposed to be, the tips of both fingers nothing more than nubs.
“Eight more. No—eighteen. There’re your toes as well.”
He’s busy sobbing, his whole body clenched up in pain. He’s an ugly crier, snot bubbling from his nose.
“Hey!” I say, losing patience. I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Pay attention or the rest are coming off. You want to save them—and other parts of you—then you’re going to do as we say. Is that understood, Milos?”
“Yes!” he chokes out amid more sobs. “Y-y-yes! Anything!”
“Then this pledge to Tuco means nothing. You won’t distribute his product. You’ll distribute ours.”
“Yes… of course… yes… just yours…”
“Excellent. Was that so hard, Milos?”
He shakes his head side to side, looking pitiful. Sweat mats his dark hair to his scalp and tears shine on his face. Snot’s dribbled onto his lips. His whole body’s tense from fear and pain.
“We’ll give you five.”
“T-Tuco was giving me ten.”
“We’re giving you five. You deserve zero for what you’ve pulled. And if we find out you’re still doing business with him… Adagio.”
He produces yet another photo, dropping it in Milos’s lap.
It’s a photo of Milos and his family at dinner in his home, shot by a long range camera.
I don’t like threatening people’s families—and it’s usually a last resort power move—but sometimes it’s necessary to illustrate a point.
Nothing and no one is off limits.
“Nice family. Let’s hope nothing happens to them,” I say, humor in my tone. “Good night, Milos.”
We leave Club U4EA and its throbbing EDM music behind.
Maurizio glances down at his watch. “You have the charity dinner.”
“Ah, yes. How could I forget? Dolcezza is waiting for me and she doesn’t even know it yet.”
Both Adagio and Maurizio get in the front of the car while I sit in the back.
The mask comes off.
It rests in my lap as a smirk spreads on my face.
The devil stares back up at me, his red face clenched into a menacing expression. My alter ego that strikes fear in the hearts of millions across the city.
I run my fingers along the curved horns and let out a dark laugh.
Il Diavolo’s reputation goes back decades. He’s almost an urban legend at this point.
No real identity is attached to him.
But just when people thought he was gone in more recent times, he’s returned to wreak havoc like never before. He’s set out to rule the city.
He always gets what he wants. The two of us are the same in that way.
Diavolo will get his control of the city. And I will get the woman that’s long been the object of my desire.
* * *
The timing works out perfectly.
We’re pulling up as the Rise and Thrive charity dinner is beginning. I straighten my tie and step out of the Bentley we’ve driven over. Adagio and Maurizio follow half a pace behind as we enter the Newport Plaza and several staff members bow their heads in deference.
I’m coming up on the banquet hall when I hear the lilt of her beautiful voice.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We thank you for attending the special Rise and Thrive charity dinner tonight,” Portia greets in typical bright and eloquent fashion. She’s such a natural on the mic, so gorgeous on stage, she’s captivating. “We have gathered to celebrate the charitable donation of… of…”
She goes still, her face going blank. She’s staring down at the paper she’s been reading from on the podium as if she can’t believe her eyes.
A grin slants across my mouth.
Perfect timing indeed.
I stroll into the banquet hall, immediately earning glances from members of the confused audience.
“Mr. Rafael Calderone,” she says. Her gaze lands on me from the stage.
I wink at her.
She’s fuming. She’s frazzled. She’s so beautiful even when she’s thrown off that I’d like nothing more than to go up on stage and plant a deep kiss on her.
The awkward pause lasts another few seconds before she finally regains enough composure to finish her introduction.
Cheryl Doyle takes over at the mic, transitioning into more details about tonight’s charity dinner. I’m mentioned to the applause of everyone in the room. I give an enigmatic grin and nod of my head while remaining aloof and unbothered.
I’ve taken my seat at the head table, Adagio and Maurizio on either side of me.
But I’m hardly paying attention to anything else going on in the room.
My gaze is set on one thing and one thing only—Portia gracefully makes her way down the stage stairs and damn near takes my breath away.
The dress she’s wearing is sinful.
It highlights how delicious a figure she has. Bare shoulders exposed with a hint of cleavage to make matters worse, the bodice portion of the dress cinches at the waist. The draped skirt shows off her hips and the slit up the front teases some thigh.
The emerald-green color looks heavenly on her brown skin.
My pulse picks up and the heat of arousal floods me.
Possibly the worst place considering we’re in a crowded room of a hundred.
Her signature dark red lip finishes off the look that’s got me as distracted as she was by me. If only she had any idea what she does to me. If she knew how often she’s on my mind.
I remember all too well what she looks like underneath that dress. I have vivid memories of her soft naked body writhing in my bed as I pleasured her. Images I’ll hold onto until I’m an old man on his death bed.
Everything from the face she makes when she orgasms to the breathy noises she makes when she’s close to coming. I can still feel those sexy legs wrapped around me and that perfect pussy of hers clenched around my dick…
I snatch up the glass of champagne that’s been poured and drain it whole.
She’s taken her seat two tables over with the rest of the foundation’s members.
Adagio nudges me in the side. “Stop staring. You’re coming off like a creep.”
I barely move my lips answering. “I’ll be whatever I have to be to get her back.”
“Get her back? Did you ever have her?”
His question goes ignored.
Once Cheryl finishes her speech, we enter the dinner portion of the night. The rest of the lights in the dining room return and servers appear from all sides to deliver the first course to everyone.
An idea strikes me.
I slide out of my chair and stroll two tables over.
There happens to be an empty seat at the foundation’s table.
“Good evening, ladies,” I say in a brash tone. “Thank you for having me. Would you mind if I join you for dinner?”
All four women’s faces light up except for Portia. Cheryl answers first. “Of course, Mr. Calderone! Please do. You’re the guest of honor.”
“That seat was reserved for Keisha,” Portia says.
“And Keisha called in sick, Portia,” Cheryl snaps with an irritated glance. Her smile returns when she looks back at me. “Mr. Calderone has donated millions to our cause. I’m sure even if Keisha were here she wouldn’t mind switching him seats.”
“I’m happy for the opportunity to contribute. It’s a very important cause.”
“Wait a second,” says a chubby-cheeked woman from across the table. “Portia, you work for Newport Metro News. Mr. Calderone, I read in the paper you’re purchasing the network.”
Humor flickers across my face. “That’s right. Another very important endeavor of mine. How could I let the network go under when it has such talent like Ms. James here?”
“I have to take this call.”
Portia pulls the same move she had at the meeting last week. Her chair scoots back and she’s up on her feet in a flash, striding away.
It may have worked the first time, but it won’t the second. Even if I have to pick her up over my shoulder and stop her from leaving.
“Excuse me, ladies,” I say with a wink.
Several of them sigh almost dreamily as I walk away. I’m not the type of man who enjoys flirting with just any woman, but I have learned that most women will drop their panties for a man who is rich and attractive.
A fact of life I’ve used to my advantage when necessary.
Portia’s fast but I’m faster.
My stride eats hers up as she makes her escape. She flees into the hall outside the banquet room not even bothering to pretend she’s taking a phone call. I come up from behind and grab her by the elbow to keep her at my side.
“Ms. James, was that a lie you told in there?” I taunt, my tone smooth and casual.
She wrenches her arm out of my grasp. “How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me? What are you even doing here tonight? Did you even mean to donate to this charity or did you do that as another game?”
“What can I say? I told you we’d have dinner together.”
The laugh she gives is of disbelief. “Rafael… Mr. Calderone, let me make one thing clear. If I were ever going to give you a second chance, that went right out the window when you showed up at my work. It damn sure is out the window after this.”
“I donated 6.7 million to your favorite charity. How many men have done that for you?”
She rolls her eyes and turns away from me. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need them to. I don’t need them—including you—to do anything.”
She sets off into another stride. The view from behind is impeccable. Her ass in that dress is like a peach worthy of sinking my teeth into.
I go after her, determined to get her to see reason. See things my way.
We make it halfway down the hall. The doors on the other side fall open and in walk two men in ski masks, clutching Uzi machine guns.
I have less than a second to react.
My hand clenches shut on Portia’s arm and I wrench her behind the nearby stone column as the guns go off.