18. Portia
18
PORTIA
I’m alone in Rafael’s huge bed come morning.
I snap upright with a thundering heartbeat, my eyes scanning the room.
He’s gone.
Oh no.
No. No. Not again!
I’m trapped in a wave of déjà vu as I push aside the covers and leap out of bed. I’m in nothing but my pair of panties from last night. I scoop his button-up shirt off the floor and shrug it on as I’m reaching the bedroom door.
Rafael Calderone’s penthouse apartment is bigger than the Newport Metropolitan Museum.
Navigating the halls feels daunting and complicated.
I turn left and follow the traces of voices coming from further down the hall. With each footstep my distrust grows. My worst fears are confirmed as I reach the kitchen and get ready to tell Rafael it’s over.
He won’t pull what he did in Sicily a second time.
Then I step into the kitchen and freeze mid-step.
My eyes widen in sheer horror at the group of men I find in the middle of a conversation in Italian. Rafael is among them, in nothing but a pair of sweats. Though he’s the half undressed one, rumpled hair and bare chest and all, he’s still serving alpha energy.
He’s the leader among them. They’re deferential to him.
As I appear at the entrance in only his button up shirt and my panties, the room falls silent. The men glance from me to Rafael as if waiting for his reaction first.
Rafael plays it cool as he always does, though I’ve started picking up on his subtlest tells. His dark eyes quickly pass over me and the muscle in his jaw bounces.
“ Continueremo questa discussione più avanti. Sparisci dalla mia vista .”
His men make themselves disappear.
It’s alarming how promptly they file out of the room. No questions asked. Zero objections. I stand by idly, still struck speechless, as they vanish from sight. Two of them I recognize as Adagio and Maurizio, the equally handsome, strapping men the last to leave.
“Good morning, dolcezza ,” Rafael says after a second. He steps toward me and presses a kiss to my brow. “Are you hungry? I was just coming to the kitchen to make us some coffee and breakfast.”
I finally manage to swallow down my shock. “And host an Italian business meeting.”
He smirks, turning back toward the kitchen cabinets. “What can I say? I’m a busy man. Sometimes business calls at all hours. Even while at home.”
“Are all of your employees Italian?”
“Most, yes. But the more important question is, dolcezza , what were you coming marching into the kitchen about?” he asks, setting two mugs down on the counter. His broad back faces me, the deep ridges of muscle distracting enough on their own.
And then I notice the scars etched into his skin, the strips of raised flesh. Scars that no tattoos can fully cover.
Scars I haven’t noticed until now since every time he’s been shirtless around me we’ve been in the middle of the most amazing sex of my life.
I make a mental note to ask him about them some other time.
Choosing my words carefully, I say, “I was just coming to see you.”
“Is that so?” He sounds amused.
“Yes…”
“You seemed pissed off. Then you froze once you saw who was in the room.”
Damn it.
“I was thinking that maybe…”
“Maybe what? That you would wake and find I’d left?” he predicts. “ Dolcezza , if this is going to work between us, you need to be open to leaving that in the past. You’re going to have to trust me.”
I draw in a breath, realizing he’s right. “Sorry, it’s just easy to believe the worst.”
“I’m going to change your outlook. I’m going to show you the best is possible.” He delivers a warm cup of coffee to my hands and then kisses my cheek. “Would you like breakfast?”
Thrown by how easily he’s handled the situation, I’m almost bashful nodding my head.
It’s confusing how things between Rafael and I feel so different from other relationships I’ve had. For as long as I’ve been dating, it’s always been a struggle. Any relationship I’ve had involved decoding clues or questioning loyalties. It’s involved men who were emotionally distant and unavailable and indecisive about what they really wanted.
There’s no greater example than Lincoln, who even in marriage, refused to man up and be the partner I needed.
Yet Rafael Calderone seems to be the exception. He’s the opposite, always making it clear how intensely interested in me he is.
He whips out a skillet from one of his cabinets and asks me to grab the eggs from the refrigerator. The next thing I know, we’re making breakfast together, sharing smiles and kisses. We’re engaged in conversation about current events as I sip the amazing coffee he’s made—it must be an Italian thing—and he scrambles us some eggs.
The way his mind works fascinates me.
He speaks about things like the stock market and the economy with relative ease, demonstrating a deep understanding, and proving how he’s become such a juggernaut in the world of business.
I enjoy picking his brain, hearing his opinions on things in the same vein he seems to like doing with me.
He asks me about the stories I’ve reported on. He promises I won’t be restricted on what I want to investigate now that he owns Metro News.
I quirk a curious brow. “Even Il Diavolo and the Belluccis and the organized crime epidemic? Finkle and Baron don’t want any of that touched with a ten foot pole.”
The smirk he casts me is both sexy and enigmatic. “Yes, dolcezza . Investigate the so-called Il Diavolo and those gangsters all you want.”
I don’t like getting my hopes up. I’ve always been more of a pessimist than an optimist, but as I sip my coffee and indulge in breakfast with the man I’ve started dating, I can’t help feeling hopeful.
Maybe this relationship really will be different; maybe Rafael Calderone is truly the man for me.
* * *
Over the next two weeks, Rafael continues to prove he means what he’s said. He has every intention of being the kind of boyfriend every woman dreams of. He’s gone from the Metro News headquarters building, making it clear he’ll be a hands off owner and CEO, and installing an official Chief Operating Officer to run the day-to-day operations.
But he remains intensely interested in my work and all aspects of my life, regularly texting and calling me throughout the day to see how I’m doing. He still sends flowers… to my apartment.
And other gifts.
One morning, coincidentally my day off, I wake to a chauffeur outside my door. I recognize him almost immediately as the same cute, young, dimpled driver we’d had during our stay in Sicily—Gavino. His English has moderately improved over the past year and a half.
He informs me I’ll be going on a shopping spree in Bellevue, the most expensive neighborhood in the city, known for its chic boutiques. At first I’m at a loss for words until my phone rings and it’s Rafael telling me to buy myself as many nice things as I want. All expenses are on him.
“Take your sister with you,” he says. “Get her some things too. Didn’t you say her birthday was coming?”
Jayla loves the idea.
“Sissy, you’re dating a billionaire! Are you even surprised?”
We arrive in Bellevue to attendants inside the boutique eagerly awaiting us. They serve as our personal shoppers as we admire the gorgeous fashions on the mannequins and are set up with our own private dressing room.
“I could get used to this,” Jayla says, chugging the complimentary champagne in between bites of strawberries. She pops a piece of chocolate in her mouth to top it off. “If you ever break up with him, I’m telling you right now, I’m knocking you upside your head.”
“Jay,” I laugh. “Be serious.”
“You think I’m playing? Fuck around and find out, sissy.”
I roll my eyes reaching for my own flute of champagne. “If you’re so in love with him, you date him.”
“Uh-uh. If he still looks at you like I remember he did, there’s no way he’d settle for me. You’re the James sister he wants. Now, Adagio…”
We giggle together as I step up next to her in front of the floor length mirror. She’s in a sparkly A-line mini dress that almost looks like a disco ball… in a good way. It shimmers against her beautiful brown skin and flatters her hippy figure.
“Is this the one?” she asks.
I flash a big smile and vigorously nod. “This is it! Look at you. Maybe a second night with Adagio is what you need.”
“You said Rafael would like to host a party for me?”
“On his yacht,” I finish, both brows raised. “His yacht , Jay. Who the hell has a yacht to throw parties on!?”
“Rafael Calderone, apparently. Tell him I’m in. How many people can say they rang in thirty-two on a whole-ass yacht?”
“I’ll let him know. He said to send a list of people you might want invited and he’ll handle everything else.”
“We need to talk about what kind of voodoo pussy spell you have this man under. I need tips.”
I wish I could offer some.
But two weeks into a relationship with Rafael, I’m still lost as to why he’s so taken with me. Whereas at first I questioned his intentions and the sincerity of his interest, each time I’m in his presence, it couldn’t be clearer it’s real. He’s enamored by me. He can hardly take his eyes off me anytime we’re together.
His touches. His kisses.
The thoughtfulness and constant consideration.
It’s all so overwhelming. It’s as if I’m some gem he’s searched years for.
I didn’t realize I yearned to be treated like a princess until it’s happened, where he’s constantly taking me out for unforgettable nights on the town, then back to his home for the most passionate sex of my life.
Where he’s content lying in bed with me to snuggle and chat.
I feel cared for in his presence.
Something I never felt around Lincoln.
As if sensing what’s on my mind, Jayla asks me about my ex-husband as she returns to the tray of strawberries and chocolates. “Any news on the deadbeat?”
“You mean Lincoln? Not since he came into our apartment. Rafael scared him off, so doubt I’ll be hearing from him anytime soon.”
“I still can’t believe the audacity. He’s lucky I didn’t come home first. I would’ve pepper sprayed the shit out of him.”
“Knowing Lincoln, he’d threaten to sue. Just like he did Rafael.”
“And what payday would be awaiting him? I’m almost as broke as he is.”
“But the difference is you have ambition. Your salon is on its way to success. Give it time.”
We change outfits several more times over the next hour before moving on to a different boutique. Shopping bags in each hand, it’s almost too much walking down the street lined with trendy shops and eateries.
I’d feel guilty if Rafael hadn’t insisted we buy whatever we want.
We’re approaching a designer shoe boutique when I recognize a group of men entering an Italian restaurant on the other end of the block.
Luigi Grasso is a notorious criminal in the city. The NPPD has tried and failed numerous times to bring him down, but his connections to the Tuco crime family are too strong. He’s been able to weasel out of every single charge ever brought up against him.
He and the handful of men he’s with stroll into the Italian restaurant as if they don’t have a care in the world.
My eyes narrow and I start in their direction without thinking to check with Jayla. She chases after me.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Lunch?” I ask. “I’m starving.”
“We ate before the last shop.”
“I’m still hungry.”
“For a meal at an Italian restaurant? With how filling their food is?” she asks skeptically. “This isn’t about work, is it?”
“One of Titus Tuco’s captains went in there. I want to see if I can overhear what they’re talking about.”
“Are you crazy? What part of shopping spree involves eavesdropping on the mob?”
“Shhh, we’ll be discreet.”
I grab her by the wrist to pull her along.
Since I’ve started dating Rafael, I’ve put my investigative work into the drug shipments and the gang war on the back burner, but I haven’t abandoned it completely. Benjamin Sigler didn’t just happen to turn up dead. That shooting at the meat-packing district wasn’t some one-time quarrel.
It’s all part of the broader organized crime syndicate dominating Newport City.
No other reporter has the guts to break the story, so I will.
We slip inside Bocca’s front doors and dart straight to one of the tables far in the corner, strategically walking with our heads bowed and faces obscured as we do. A pretty young Italian woman who barely looks out of high school comes to our table to take our order within seconds.
“Errr… how about some cannoli? That’s an Italian dessert, right?” Jayla flashes an awkward smile at the server.
“Play it cool,” I murmur, my face neutral as the server walks away. “We’re supposed to be here by chance.”
“People don’t tend to spy on the mob by chance.”
“Shhhh! They haven’t even glanced in our direction.”
“Except our server’s now at their table.”
I chance the slightest look, so subtle I’ve barely turned my head.
The young woman has indeed gone over to their table, refilling their glasses of sparkling water. Only three other tables in the restaurant are occupied. She’s probably waiting on all five of them.
Minutes go by where Jayla makes fake conversation about one of her latest clients. I’m half listening while watching Luigi and his men out of the corner of my eye. They seem to be discussing a serious matter judging by their furrowed expressions.
Could they be discussing another drug shipment into the city? Will it be arriving by freight train like some of the others and then couriered to meat-processing factories in disguise?
The curiosity becomes too much.
I have to know. At least see if I can catch a word or two of what they’re talking about.
“I’m going to use the restroom.”
Jayla tries to call me back, but I’m out of my chair and walking away before she can. I pass right by their table on my way to the back of the restaurant, acting as nonchalant and casual as possible.
But my ears are strained, searching for any bit of info they can pick up.
“Saturday,” says one of Grasso’s men. “U4EA will be the spot.”
I make it to the bathroom almost buzzing with excitement. The context is missing about just why U4EA will be “the spot”, but that’s enough to justify more digging. More research into just what Luigi Grasso and his men are planning at the nightclub.
A grin comes to my face as I stand at the sink and pass some time washing my hands. If I come out of the bathroom too quickly, it’ll seem suspicious. I have to remain as indifferent as I had on my way in.
Twisting off the faucet, I reach for paper towels from the dispenser.
The bathroom door swings open.
The air I’m breathing disappears all at once as I glance over and find Luigi Grasso standing in the doorway.
“Hey, sweet cheeks. How you doing?” he says, jutting his clefted chin. “Mind telling me why you’ve been eavesdropping?”