20. Rafael
20
RAFAEL
I’m fuming on my way to my office.
The door bangs open as I stride through and snatch the phone out of Maurizio’s hands.
“ Don Vito, i miei più sentiti rispetti, ma non mi aspettavo la vostra chiamata a quest’ora .”
“ Sono stato abbastanza paziente ,” comes his wheezing voice on the other end. “ Dimmi che il prodotto arriverà presto in strada .”
“ Ci sono state complicazioni con le spedizioni. Sto facendo quello che posso .”
His silence meets my excuses, and I grit my teeth, more than aware of what he thinks.
Don Vito Bellucci is known for his cunning. His ruthlessness. His brutality. Today I’m known as Il Diavolo on the streets of Newport, but there was once a time where Vito was the devil in question.
As far as some are aware, he still is Il Diavolo.
The man wearing the mask has never changed. He’s ageless. A timeless figure who runs the underground criminal operations of the city and rules with an iron fist.
I was honored to be his protégé. Even more honored when I discovered I would be his avatar in his failing health.
But make no mistake, if I can’t cut it like Vincenzo couldn’t cut it, then I’ll be eliminated in the blink of an eye. Loyalty only goes one way in Vito’s eyes.
Regardless if you are his nephew or his pseudo son.
“ Non abbastanza buono. Vieni dal nulla. Ho rischiato tirandoti fuori dalla polvere e ricreandoti a mia immagine. è così che mi ripaghi ?”
My jaw aches from how hard I’m gritting my teeth. “ So da dove vengo. Non c’è bisogno che tu me lo ricordi. Sono l'unica opzione che hai. ”
“ Dimostrarlo. Fallo accadere. Se non ci riesci tu, lo farà qualcun altro ,” he says, and then the line goes dead.
The impulse to rage wells up inside me. Every muscle in my body contracts. I crush the phone in my hand and breathe through the heat that’s taking over.
It would be so easy to flip the fuck out. Lose my temper and destroy the room. Rant, rave, scream at the top of my lungs at my men. Make them cower like frightened little animals.
But that would be too predictable. Too shortsighted and emotional.
All things I’m not.
Vito is running out of patience for our operation. He wants the new psychedelic drug on the street immediately despite the supply chain issues and the competition with Tuco. It’s true that there have been numerous fuck ups, like the shooting at the meat plant and then Sigler interfering with the latest shipment.
The longer we take to secure the supply, the greater the chance Tuco’s operation will prevail. One of his most prominent capos, Luigi Grasso, has been making progress with his own supplier. They’ve already attempted to outdo us on the party scene by striking deals with club owners like Milos at U4EA.
That’s without addressing the fact that Luigi tried to accost Portia and her sister at Bocca, which he will be held accountable for.
Time is of the essence.
I’ve got to make a move. Destroy any chance they have to gain the upper hand.
But first…
Mind made up, I push the phone into Maurizio’s chest. “Don’t disturb me for the rest of the night.”
“Diavolo, this is time sensitive,” he points out in his usual flat tone.
“Do you think I don’t know that, stronzo ?” I snap. “I’m aware what I’ve got to fucking do. But not tonight. Tonight I have plans. Sono con lei stasera. Lei è la mia prima priorità .”
He doesn’t dare object a second time as I stalk toward the door.
I’m a man with only one thing on my mind right now. Everything else has been pushed to the back burner until the sun rises tomorrow morning. Then I’m no longer Rafael—I’m Il Diavolo doing what he needs to do to stay on top.
For tonight, I made a promise. I told Portia we would spend time together and I intend to keep that promise.
I enter the bedroom to Portia wrapped in a towel. She’s just come off a shower and hasn’t even had a chance to change yet.
Her eyes broaden with surprise that I’ve abruptly returned. Her lips part, likely beginning to tell me about how she thought she’d take a hot shower while she was waiting for me. She wanted to rinse off any chemicals from the jacuzzi.
But as I quickly close the gap between us, striding straight toward her, she seems to realize what’s happening. It flickers across her face in the split second before I reach her and drag her toward me by the waist.
“What did I say, dolcezza ?” I ask, my palm slipping behind her to grip her ass. “I said we would pick up where we left off.”
I pull her into a fierce kiss conveying this very sentiment—the urgent hunger I have for her that couldn’t wait another minute.
Portia’s still surprised even as my lips touch hers, but she quickly gives in. Her soft mouth relaxes against mine, melting into the kiss. My tongue teases and tastes her. My hands skim back up her body and draw a shudder out of her.
Her skin is so smooth, so lush, that I can’t stop at one caress.
I go from stroking her back to collaring her neck to palming her breasts through the towel.
But it’s not enough. I need more of her.
My fingers grip the fold where the towel’s secured, ripping it away from her body. She gasps against my mouth as the piece of fabric tumbles to the ground and she’s left naked in my arms.
Soft, supple curves pressed up against me.
Instant fucking paradise.
Portia is borderline shy about her body—a quirk I’ve noticed about her and find both endearing and maddening. Her body is incredible from head to toe, slim curves wrapped up in mocha brown skin I can’t resist.
Manic with the intense desire I have for her, I lick at her mouth and then kiss my way up to her ear. “ Siediti sulla mia fottuta faccia .”
A light yelp leaves her as I pluck her off the ground and toss her onto the bed. I’m quick undressing, shoving down the sweats I’ve put on and prowling toward her on the bed like a predator.
The look on her beautiful face is of excitement. She’s sitting up with bent knees, and her chest heaving, dark eyes wide and plump lips parted.
I devour her like it’s what I was born to do.
With one swift motion, I’ve flipped our positions. I’m lying on my back and she’s straddling me. I’m dragging her forward up the rest of my torso until her thighs are on either side of my head and her delicious pussy is hovering over my mouth.
“ Soffocami con questa dolce figa .”
Portia’s entire body goes rigid as I pull her down to my mouth and my tongue takes its first swipe at her pussy. She cries out like she already can’t take it.
It’s already too much for her.
But it’s too fucking bad—I intend on dining on this pussy tonight and she’s going to have to take these orgasms I’m about to force out of her.
I’m about to have her thighs quaking and her pussy soaked.
My cock throbs at the thought, where it stands tall and erect midair.
Hands curled on her hips, I rub her pussy on my face. All the angles and contours create an instant friction that makes her elicit a hiss. The hairs on my beard add to this effect. Nothing but a tease as she grows needy and grinds her pussy back against me.
I flick my tongue to her clit and then lift her up enough for scolding.
“You want to come, dolcezza ?” I ask, biting at her inner thigh. She inhales a labored breath, her gorgeous tits subtly swaying from the motion, and then nods.
“Then ride my fucking face and earn it like a good girl.”
Yanking her back down, I’m suffocating myself on her pussy. My tongue pushes in and out of her in ravenous strokes.
Any semblance of inhibitions vanishes from Portia.
At the greedy assault of my tongue, she whimpers and grips the headboard. If not she’d probably crumble to pieces.
Her hips gyrate, picking up a motion that’s equally as greedy as my tongue. She rocks against my face, using its every contour to get herself off.
My fist closes around my dick and I start stroking myself.
Probably the best multitasking known to man—eating her pussy and jerking myself off.
Portia’s eyes clamp shut and her gyrations increase. Soon she’s clutching at the headboard and squeezing her thighs against my head. She’s breathing like she’s about to pass out.
Sharp, gasping breaths, her mouth dropped open.
I’m graced with the pleasure of watching it all unfold.
The fantastic fucking view of her tits from below. The underside of the soft mounds making me even harder, my free hand reaching up to palm and grope them.
Twist and tug at her dark, beaded nipples.
Then jerk and pull at my own cock, so damn hard and stiff I could come right now. I could blow just from the delicious pussy I’m tasting.
Sweet just like the nickname I’ve given her.
Dolcezza.
It’s so fitting, each drop of pussy juice is like a sweet nectar only for me. No other man will ever have her like this.
No other man will ever fucking know her taste.
I eat Portia like a starving man, and she rides my face like a woman gone mad. Together we’re a pair of desperate lovers racing to the finish line.
A climax we reach seconds apart.
Portia orgasms with a deep body-racking shiver, sinking down on my mouth and squeezing my head tighter between her thighs. She half collapses forward as the tremor works their way through her body, clinging to the headboard for support.
Her pussy drips its sweet nectar for me to lick up. For my tongue to swipe up as if I’m famished and not a fucking drop can go to waste.
Several aggressive tugs of my cock later, I’m following her over the edge. My orgasm surges through me and then explodes all at once. I grunt and bite into the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, the pleasure rushing me like a hot wave.
Portia crawls off me wearing a dazed yet satisfied look.
I cup her chin and kiss her on the lips, aware she’ll taste herself.
I can smell her natural scent in the hairs of my beard. The sexiest fucking scent known to man, and one I would prefer to keep at all times if I didn’t think it would make me even crazier for her.
She lays back against the pillows and sighs as if that one orgasm has solved her every problem. I reach over for a tissue off the nightstand and wipe up my cum, a grin working its way onto my face. It’s impossible to keep off given how elated she seems.
I drop another kiss on her lips, then trail down her body. The night’s still young, and I’m nowhere near through with her yet.
Tomorrow I’ll be deep in cutthroat business maneuvers and brutal violence. Both one and the same in the criminal underground.
For now I’m hell bent on enjoying myself.
I kiss my way past her flat stomach and then to the neat patch of curls on her mound. She giggles as if ticklish and then slides her fingers affectionately through my messy dark hair.
“That was the first time,” she confesses. “I’ve never ridden a man’s face before.”
“I probably enjoyed it more than you, dolcezza ,” I say, kissing her hipbone next. “ La tua figa è il mio sapore preferito .”
“That look in your eye scares me… and makes me excited.”
It’s true that I’m still staring at her like a hungry man. But that’s because I haven’t had the main course yet.
Only a few minutes later, and it’s time.
I’m ready to go again.
I’m dragging her toward me as she lay on her belly and then pushes her hips back, lifting on her knees. I spread her wide and take her deep.
It becomes a blur of my hips slamming into her and her beautiful body, gleaming with perspiration, bowing in reaction.
Her pussy’s gushing so much, so turned on, that there’s no need to be careful. No discomfort to be found. Instead, she fists the duvet and bucks her ass back toward me, asking for more.
Begging for it with the whimpers she lets out.
I come the second time, feeling like her pussy is sucking the soul out of my body. Her grip is maddening. It’s fucking dangerous how it leaves me reeling.
Huffing air into my lungs, I collapse beside her like an addict fresh off a fix.
She curls into me and things have never felt so right than in this moment. Even if I ever wanted to walk away, I’m not sure I could. If I ever had to for the sake of Il Diavolo and the rise to power I’ve committed myself to, I don’t know what the hell I would do.
And that is more dangerous than anything for a man in my position.
* * *
Come morning, I’m kissing Portia on the brow and telling her to spend the day in my penthouse if she’d like. She has the day off and I’d prefer if she kept to my domain versus going off on her own and making potential trouble.
Her investigation into the criminal underworld has been manageable from behind the scenes thus far, but she’s getting increasingly closer to real trouble.
First with Sigler and then with snooping at Bocca yesterday.
Bidding goodbye to Portia and heading out with my men, I’m no longer Rafael. I’m donning the devil mask the moment we’re in the underground garage and filing into the gang of cars we’re bringing today.
It’s a forty-minute drive through congested traffic to make it to the Tuco’s territory. Don Vito wanted me to send a message; he questioned if I had what it takes and if my bloodline makes me an inadequate protégé for his empire.
His warning was that if I don’t handicap the Tucos soon, then someone else will come in. They’ll replace me and I’ll be the new Vincenzo.
Ambition anchors me while a bitter need to prove myself drives me. The thirst for blood is the final spark that lights the fuel.
We roll up half a block down. Luigi and his men are walking toward the building that serves as a front for their operation. It’s a dry cleaner’s that looks inconspicuous to the unsuspecting eye.
Twenty-four hours ago, this bastard made a pass at Portia.
He’s been doing the dirty work of Tuco and seeking to sabotage our drug shipments. He’s a capo fighting to prove himself like I am.
The only difference is, I always come out on top.
There is no stopping Il Diavolo.
“Take him out,” I command. “Now.”
Where the Tucos sent warning shots weeks ago at the meat-packing district shooting, then the Rise and Thrive fundraiser, I’m beyond such trivial games. When my men pull the trigger, they mean it.
The bangs ring out to screams from anyone in the area. Luigi Grasso takes a bullet to the head and drops dead without even realizing what’s happening. By the time his men are scrambling to avenge their fallen capo, we’re speeding off down the street.
In war, there can only be one victor, and there is no defeating Il Diavolo.