17. Rafael
17
RAFAEL
Portia James still thinks she can escape my intentions with her.
She believes she has enough willpower to resist me and the natural pull between us. As she tosses the note from the roses in the trashcan and disappears down the hall, I’m nonplussed.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say. “I forgot I’m late for an important engagement. Business elsewhere calls.”
They stare after me perplexed and curious, but I don’t give a fuck. Newport Metro News is mine to play with, and if anyone has a problem with my leadership, then they’ll find themselves in the unemployment line.
I track Portia down to the next corridor, where she’s impatiently tapping her foot in wait for the elevator. I stop at her side, digging my hands in my pants pockets and glancing up at the numbers lighting up above the elevator doors.
“Good evening, dolcezza ,” I say. “How about another ride together?”
She grits her teeth. “Stay away from me.”
“You must know by now that doesn’t work. Especially after last night.”
“That was a mistake.”
“Some mistake. You were crying my name.”
“For the last time!”
The elevator arrives, its doors sliding open. Portia darts inside while I casually follow. It seems to dawn on her how useless it is to even protest.
I’m a determined man and I don’t give up easily.
And by easily, I mean ever.
She sighs and closes her eyes, leaning against the elevator wall. “I’ll resign from this position. Effective immediately.”
“Why would you think you need to do that, dolcezza ?”
“Because,” she says, eyes popping open for a glare at me, “I refuse to be known as the woman who fucked her way to the top!”
“I’ve told you if anyone says?—”
“I know what you’ve said. It doesn’t mean people won’t talk. It doesn’t mean it’s not becoming increasingly fucking obvious what’s going on between us, Rafael. I’ve worked hard for every career milestone I’ve achieved. I won’t throw it away by becoming your office plaything. I absolutely refuse. I’d rather walk away from this job than become that.”
Her voice trembles as she speaks. The conviction is sincere, her concerns reflecting in her expression.
I’m not a man who feels guilt often.
To rise to the level I have, I have had to cut off most emotional responses like guilt and shame. I’ve had to essentially erase any semblance of a conscience.
Not only does being a billionaire businessman require it of me, but Il Diavolo and his viselike grip on the city does as well.
This moment is a rare exception.
My chest tightens. Guilt presses down heavily like an iron weight. I take a step toward her, desperate to right this wrong.
Make her understand why I’ve done what I have.
“I understand,” I say, cupping her elbows in either hand. “It was selfish of me to do that. Leave the roses on your desk knowing everyone would see. I wanted you to know I enjoyed our time together last night, but you’ve told me your concerns about what people will think. They’re valid concerns. Know that I’m taking them seriously, dolcezza .
“People may judge if they believe something is going on between us. You’ve worked hard to get where you are today. That’s not something I would want to take from you. And it’s true—the achievements you’ve made are special. You’re the first Black woman in Newport to do what you’ve done. You are distinct in every way and it’s possible fools will use these things to dismiss you. It doesn’t matter if I punish them—people will talk.”
She avoids my gaze as I close in on her. My hands slide up her arms, then sweep across the narrow line of her shoulders, traveling until I’m cupping her face altogether.
“ Dolcezza , look at me.”
Her eyelashes flutter before she finally dares a glance up at me. My grin comes on its own, half amused by her reluctancy.
Hard to get ’til the very end.
It only turns me on more. Makes me crave her more.
Makes the moment she gives in that much more rewarding.
When her dark gaze meets mine, I look her in the eye and stroke her cheek with my thumb. “I’ll remove myself from daily operations at Metro News. I’ll remain owner, but I’ll hire a new executive to run the day-to-day operations. You won’t have to worry about seeing me in this building. Will that make you feel better?”
“You’re being serious?”
“I wouldn’t say I will if I won’t. I was here to spend time with you. This was the quickest way I knew how.”
She laughs at how outlandish I sound. “You… you really did buy a whole media company just to see me?”
My grin spreads. “Too much?”
“Ever heard of a phone call? A text? Hell, an email?”
“You would’ve hung up on me. Blocked me. Sent my email to spam.”
“All true,” she laughs some more.
“I wanted your attention… and I wanted to save your network. I’m a regular viewer.”
“Something tells me just why you were tuning in.”
“Will you let me take you to dinner tonight?”
“Rafael…” she moans softly, the simplest sound of hers turning me on.
“Just the two of us, dolcezza . I’ll send a car to pick you up. I’d say wear something nice but you look good in anything.”
With a final squeeze of her hip, I turn to press the button that opens the elevator doors, stepping out into the hall like it’s business as usual. I can feel Portia watching every step I take in the seconds before the elevator doors close again.
* * *
Portia gasps when I escort her onto the rooftop of the Walden Tower, the tallest building in Newport City. I let her feast her eyes on the magnificent view of the skyline. Her jaw drops open as she tentatively inches forward and then peeks over the edge.
I grip her shoulders to keep her safe, easing her back toward me. “Do you like the view?”
“Like the view? It’s amazing! Even better than the photos. We’ve flown over the tower before when riding in the Metro News chopper, but this is next level.”
“Good thing it’s where we’re having dinner.” My hand seeks hers out as I gesture to the neat table and pair of chairs in the middle of the rooftop. A canopy has been set up over our seating to ward off some of the night’s winds.
“Dinner on top of the Walden Tower? I didn’t even know that was a thing.”
“It is now. I called in a favor with Chef Veltri. His staff will be serving us.”
“You mean the same Chef Veltri who has a world-famous restaurant in this building?”
I chuckle. “Yes, dolcezza . Tonight is for us to celebrate.”
We take our seats at the table and toast to the dinner ahead. Portia goes from jubilant and excited to uncertain and quiet in only a few minutes.
“Tell me what’s on your mind. Something else is bothering you.”
She sighs. “Rafael, I want to enjoy this. I really do. It’s just… I can’t get out of my head. I can’t stop thinking about Sicily. Everything seemed so perfect. Then it wasn’t. It changed in a blink of an eye, like some kind of optical illusion wearing off.”
“You’re concerned it will happen again.”
“Do you blame me?” she asks, a rawness about her. Old wounds that are still fresh in some way. “I really… liked you. The time we spent together meant something. And then you just disappeared and never spoke to me. I’m not the kind of woman who just gets over stuff like that. It’s very hard for me to open up again once someone hurts me.”
Portia has been hurt deeply. First by her ex-husband and then by me.
I’ve hoped she could move on from the past, but it seems difficult for her. She’s untrusting after what she’s been through and I’ve provided no specifics as to what happened.
I never will due to the nature of the situation.
But this is my opportunity to reassure her. Show her how she should be treated.
“It won’t happen again.”
“You have to promise me, Rafael?—”
“ Dolcezza —”
“No,” she interrupts sharply. “You have to promise. You have to swear you won’t disappear again. You won’t make me a fool. You won’t make me regret this.”
“What have I told you?” I ask, taking her hand in mine. “I won’t ever lie to you. It will never happen again.”
“A part of me hates that I believe you.”
“Because I’m telling the truth. I would like to see you… exclusively.”
It’s a privilege watching the slow smile that lights up her beautiful face. She squeezes at my hand, glowing from more than the candlelight on the dinner table.
“Alright,” she agrees, then she bites at her bottom lip. “I would really like that.”
The mood for the rest of dinner is light and enjoyable.
We’re served freshly made Italian dishes that we gorge on, topping it off with more wine than we should probably have. Portia laughs at my story about the first time I traveled to America and how I’d gotten lost on the city bus in Newport.
Before I was ever a billionaire. Before I was even a millionaire.
Back when being Rafael Calderone meant nothing to no one.
She sips from her wine glass and shakes her head. “I wish I would’ve run into you! I would’ve helped you find your way.”
“How, dolcezza ? You’re even younger than me. You must’ve still been in school.”
“Jay and I have been taking the city bus since we were eight. We could’ve helped you.”
“Do you want to live in Newport for the rest of your life?”
“You know, I’m not sure. Lincoln always tried to get me to move out west to be closer to his family. I’m glad I didn’t take the bait. We saw how well our marriage worked out. It would have to feel right… and it never did with him,” she explains, frowning in thought. “How about you? Will Newport be your permanent home or will you jet set for the rest of your life, Mr. Forbes?”
I grin crookedly. “I knew it was a mistake to be photographed on the cover. Newport is a magnificent city… but it’s not home.”
“Sicily is.”
“It would be nice to return someday. Permanently. But it would depend on many factors.”
“Such as?”
“I would be settling down with a family. Somewhere in the countryside in a nice villa. There would be nothing else for me to accomplish.”
She hums. “That sounds peaceful. But what else could you possibly have to accomplish? Becoming a trillionaire?”
“You’d be surprised, dolcezza . My to-do list isn’t even halfway complete.”
Neither is Il Diavolo’s. Newport is mine, but is the Bellucci empire? Until it is… there will be no peaceful retirement…
We lean closer to meet for a kiss. Portia draws back already smiling and peering into my eyes, then she notices the collar of my shirt.
“Blood,” she says. “Are you okay?”
I glance down at the tiny speck on my otherwise pristine white shirt. A throaty chuckle leaves me as I wipe at the dry spot with my cloth napkin as if it’ll clean it up.
“Where did this come from? Maybe from earlier. A shaving accident. I trimmed my beard.”
Her smile falters for only a second before she leans close again for another kiss.
Of course, my words could be considered a lie by omission—the likelier culprit is the meeting I conducted with my men and one of Tuco’s street guys. We’d knocked him around a little before getting the information we needed and then putting him out of his misery.
Or it could really be from shaving.
There’s no way to know for certain unless the blood is tested.
I decide the latter is the truth.
We’ve had such an amazing dinner that we’re all over each other. Portia becomes the affectionate little seductress I’ve always sensed she was, eventually sitting in my lap. We kiss and stargaze and then kiss some more.
When the winds become too strong, we ride the elevator to the ground floor, locked in another passionate embrace. It’s how we end the night, traveling in the limousine and then up to my penthouse in the financial district, the door swinging shut behind us.
* * *
By Portia’s third orgasm, I’ve memorized the sound of her cries. I’ve learned every supple curve of her body as she convulses and her silky thighs squeeze me in between. We’re tangled in the sheets, in the throes of another passionate round.
I can’t keep my hands off her and she can’t keep from giving in.
With natural arousal, plenty of lube, and clever positioning, we’ve found workarounds to any discomfort she might experience.
We’ve found ourselves so engaged in our kisses and touches that the moment flows. Everything feels so raw, so natural as we kiss and my strokes come long and slow. Still deep but at just the right angle that she melts with pleasure and cries out.
Her pussy muscles flex around my cock and it feels like fucking paradise after years spent in a desert. The best massage imaginable as I can’t last more than three more pumps. My release hits me in a heat wave that has me groaning her name and spilling inside her.
It takes me a long moment to regain my wits.
Time Portia uses to comb my hair back. She smirks, then kisses her way up from my chest to my neck and jawline.
I’m not sure what it is about her that leaves me so fucking sprung.
But no other experience has ever come close.
No liquor, no other woman.
Hell. Not the billion fucking dollars in net worth.
I slide fingers under her chin and guide her lips to mine. “I’ve told you, dolcezza . You don’t know what you’ve done.”
She giggles, then burrows into the crook of my arm, but little does she know I’m serious. She has no idea how she’s fed my addiction and now there’s no turning back.
I’m a man who never walks away from what he wants.
Portia James will be no exception.
We drift off to sleep for hours. It’s some of the best sleep I’ve had in years, even if it comes to an end with a ping from my phone.
Traces of the early morning sky peek through the curtains.
Most of the city is still asleep. I glance over to my side. Portia hasn’t stirred. She’s curled up in the sheets, sleeping soundly like a Black Sleeping Beauty.
After dropping a kiss on her brow, I get up with my phone and leave the room. I’ve slid on my sweatpants and make my way through the long hallway that connects one half of my penthouse with the other.
By the time the door to my secret dungeon is sliding open, I’m Il Diavolo. The mask conceals Rafael.
My men wait for me with the person of interest I’ve requested they bring in.
Quinard Iverson tied to a chair, already bloodied and bruised. He lifts his head enough to peer up at me through his only good eye. The other is swollen shut.
“Look, man… I don’t want no fucking trouble…” he mutters breathlessly, his bottom lip split open. “If this is about my manager sabotaging the betting markets, that’s not me. I’m… I’m just a fighter…”
I grin from behind my mask. “Quinard, this has nothing to do with some underground gambling. This is about respect. I’m about to teach you some.”