21. Portia
21
PORTIA
“You look happy.”
Baron frowns as he says it. I’ve turned up at the office on my day off, dressed casually in a Newport Titans jersey and some hip-hugging jeans. Normally, I would avoid coming into the station during my off time, but I’ve left my work laptop and I wanted to access the files I’ve saved of my investigation into the mafia’s drug shipments.
The truth is, I do look happy. I’m basically floating on cloud nine.
I’m so high off the night I had with Rafael that I’m in desperate need of some kind of distraction. Hence the urge to spend my off time refocusing on my investigation.
“Do I usually look unhappy?” I ask in return. I unplug my laptop from the charger plugged in at my desk and slide it into my shoulder purse.
“You usually look focused. Sharp.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Baron. Work me and personal-time me are two different women.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice with a glance at the others in the newsroom. No one else pays attention to us, but his paranoia makes him do it.
“You’re dating him, aren’t you?”
My brows jump high. “Excuse me? Dating who?”
“You know who. Be honest, Portia. There’s something going on.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I murmur, quickly collecting the other things I need off my desk. Laptop charger, wireless mouse, and pad. I toss in my favorite pen and notepad too. All of it to avert his probing gaze and follow up questions.
“You think I haven’t noticed? You two went off into an elevator together… for eleven minutes. The dozens of roses? The calls to his office? The personal invite to the boxing championship? The way he can’t keep his eyes off you?”
“How is this any of your business, Baron?”
“It could be seen as a conflict of interest.” He gives yet another glance around the hectic newsroom where reporters, junior and senior alike, rush off for their next story. “Look, I don’t give a crap what you do with your off time. I’m applying for a new gig in DC. There’s an opening for Prime Time DC and I’ve applied. But you might want to be careful. Others talk. You really think I’m the only one who’s noticed?”
He walks off with those parting words that linger in his wake.
The bright mood I’ve been in pops like a balloon, leaving me empty and regretful.
So much for innocently dropping by work to pick up my laptop.
I end up returning home to the apartment I share with Jayla. The birthday girl is laying on the couch with the remote and a bowl of M&Ms resting on her belly.
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your nails and lashes done? Tomorrow is your big day!”
“Eh.”
“What do you mean ‘eh’? You love celebrating your birthday! You have a whole yacht party dedicated in your honor.”
She sighs, picking a blue M&M out of the bowl and popping it into her mouth. “Maybe we should cancel.”
“You’re playing, right? Jayla, Rafael’s spent thousands on the party. He’s invited everyone you know. What’s up with you? You’ve been acting weird ever since that lunch at Bocca. I said I’m sorry—what else is bothering you?”
“It’s just… isn’t this moving kind of fast?” she asks.
“Me and Rafael? Now I know you’re playing. You encouraged me to give him a second chance!”
“For fun. I never knew it would… get so serious so fast.” She sits up clutching the remote and bowl of M&Ms in her arms, peering at me with round, imploring eyes. “Don’t you find it kind of odd that a table of mobsters backed down as soon as Rafael’s name was dropped?”
“Rafael is an important man. He’s a billionaire, Jayla.”
“I guess…” She nibbles on her lip in thought. “Luigi’s reaction was just very interesting.”
Though I shake my head incredulously, truthfully, a part of me had thought the same. Luigi calmly backed off the second Gavino showed up and mentioned I was dating Rafael. Gavino himself had gone from cute Italian boy-next-door to hardened muscle in two seconds flat. He was strapped.
I don’t know of many chauffeurs casually carrying around firearms and confronting mobsters.
No… it can’t be…
Jayla spots the dimming expression on my face and she jumps to her feet to throw an arm around my shoulders. “Sissy, forget what I said. You know I’ve been watching a lot of Law and Order: Organized Crime. Stabler has me thinking all sorts of shit. I’m just being paranoid. I’m excited for tomorrow night. I really am.”
But it’s too late. The idea’s been planted in my head. It’s spreading fast, putting into question every moment I’ve ever spent with Rafael, and making me wonder if I’ve been wearing rose-colored glasses.
In a way, it’s Sicily all over again.
An amazing time spent with a man almost too perfect to be true…
* * *
Any concept of what Jayla’s yacht birthday party would be like goes out the window once the festivities begin. I had known Rafael was planning for extravagance—emphasis on the extra in extravagance—but I hadn’t imagined anything like this .
His yacht is huge.
Extremely huge.
More mansion on water than boat.
Gold and silver decorations adorn the triple-decker luxury yacht, where there’s a stage for R&B sensation Lyric to perform live. There’s a DJ and a dance floor for party guests to get down. There’s a gourmet buffet and a giant chocolate fondue in the shape of the numbers thirty-two, Jayla’s new age.
Bottles pop and alcohol flows freely.
Fireworks explode in the sky, dotting it with thousands of glittery sparks.
Jet skis whiz by on the dark water courtesy of Rafael—any guest can hop on one and ride them.
It’s like an amusement park for adults as I sip on champagne and watch two of Jayla’s friends from cosmetology school having the time of their life to the music the DJ player’s remixing.
The yacht is swarming with everyone Jayla wanted on the guest list.
And others—people who work for Rafael and the crew of men who seem to go wherever he goes. The men he’s told me are his security.
It’s a word I can’t help finding suspicious in light of what Jayla said yesterday.
But it seems like, in typical Jayla fashion, my cousin-turned-adopted-sister has forgotten all misgivings she claimed to have. She’s wearing a sparkling birthday crown worthy of a queen with her third cocktail in her hand as she flirts shamelessly with none other than Adagio.
“You owe me a dance,” he teases, flashing a handsome grin. It pairs nicely with his bright blue eyes.
Jayla gives a coy smile in response and says, “More like you owe me dinner.”
He chuckles. “You’d have to pick up my calls first.”
“I’m a busy woman.”
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jayla’s tipsy giggle is melodic as she finally gives in a little and let’s Adagio take her by the hand and guide her toward the front of the yacht where they can watch the firework show.
And have a little more privacy.
I’d be cheering her on, practically kicking my feet in excitement if I weren’t so in my head.
Here I am, aboard a yacht worth millions of dollars, for the amazing party my billionaire boyfriend threw my sister, and yet I can’t stop overanalyzing. I can’t stop seeing clues in everything surrounding me, wondering if maybe the truth has been in front of my face the entire time.
Rafael is associated with the mafia.
“ Dolcezza ,” he hums, coming up from behind. He wraps his arms around my hips and presses a kiss into the side of my neck. “There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
I struggle putting on a smile. “I guess I wandered off…”
“Wandered off or playing hard to get? You know how much I enjoy when you make me work for it. It’s always so fucking good when I finally get you to give in.”
He utters these words into my ear in a growly whisper that sends a vibration of lust quaking through me. I find myself breathless and hot just that quickly.
Memories of recent nights are too fresh to ignore. They linger at the forefront of my mind as soon as he starts touching me.
Until now I never understood what people meant when they claimed they couldn’t resist someone. I didn’t get couples who said they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
Lincoln hadn’t ever made me feel that way. Neither had any other man I’d dated.
But Rafael has changed that for me. He’s a drug I didn’t know I’d become addicted to.
“Later tonight, dolcezza ,” he vows, nipping at my ear, and I shudder again.
“Rafael, quanto è speciale vederti !”
I recognize the voice almost immediately, though it takes me a second longer to remember from where. We both look up to find none other than Anthony Citti walking toward us with a fat grin and his arms open wide.
The Italian Santa Claus had been so welcoming and gracious to Jayla and me during our time in Sicily. Always with a cigar in his mouth, he’d talked our ears off about Sicily and had made us laugh roasting his son Anthony, his wife Olivia, and others in their circle.
I’m lost for a second as he approaches and Rafael drops his arms from my hips.
What is Anthony doing here?
“What are you doing here?” Rafael asks, voicing my thought aloud. He’s as perplexed as I am, except his features tighten and his jaw sets. He steps forward to intercept him before he can ever reach me. “You mentioned nothing about returning to the States.”
“ Hai mai sentito parlare di sorprese, amico mio ?”
Rafael’s only reaction to his question is the flex of the muscle in his jaw. I look between the two men, more lost than ever about what’s going on.
“Ah, and there she is!” Anthony goes on in his passable English. His grin widens at the sight of me. “I see you have finally locked it down! She’s as beautiful as ever. Vale tutto il duro lavoro che hai fatto per averla. Ciao, bella .”
Though I understand nothing else he’s said, I give a nod to acknowledge his bright hello.
But I’m about as frosty as Rafael is—my brows are knitted and I’m tensed up. Just another red flag to add to the growing pile. Who is Anthony Citti and what is his relationship with Rafael, anyway?
“Let’s talk. Privately,” Rafael bites out. He strides forward without waiting for an answer from Anthony.
Anthony merely chuckles and then moves to follow.
I’m shaking my head watching the two of them disappear among the crowd of celebratory party guests. All around me the party rages on. No one any wiser to some of the subversive things potentially at play.
But I’m a journalist for a reason.
When I pick up on something amiss, I have to know what’s going on. I have to get the scoop.
So as Rafael and Anthony head inside one of the yacht’s cabins, I’m giving it a second and then trailing in their wake.
I’ll have to find some way to eavesdrop on their conversation.
Allowing for a minute or two to pass, I casually walk up on the door where Rafael and Anthony disappeared into. It’s some kind of private office for Rafael.
No one else is around. The narrow corridor is empty, echoes of the party above loud, but not to be outdone by my racing heartbeat. I take a deep breath and press my ear to the door.
“We’ve been through this!” Rafael snarls, anger bathing each word. “This is my operation. My business! You stay out of it.”
“Mio amico, you seem threatened by a simple visit. I’m here on friendly terms.”
“Bullshit. Run that tired line on somebody more green. You mess with what’s mine and you will see the consequences!”
“Threats spoken so freely. You may want to calm down.”
“I have it under control.”
“Nessuno ha detto il contrario. Io credo in te, ma è stato lui a chiedermi di venire qui.”
Both of them pause as if they’ve sensed something amiss. I freeze too, gently clamping my hand over my mouth. Have they realized someone’s standing outside the door? Do they know I’m listening in?
I’m a second away from abandoning my spy mission altogether. Quickly, before it becomes impossible to make a believable escape from the scene of the crime.
But I never get a chance to.
As I give it a second to listen for more from the other side of the door, the steady sway of the yacht is no more. The luxury trideck boat gives a sudden violent jerk, uprooting my balance and knocking me off my feet.
I slam onto the floor like I’m weightless against the brutal force of the collision.
A blast has erupted that’s so deafening it’s a sound that vibrates straight through you. It makes eardrums bleed and teeth ache.
Everything we know of this mansion on water spins out of control as the lights go out, the acrid smell of smoke fills the air, and blazing flames glow from the far end of the corridor.
We’ve been struck by something you’d never want to be struck with.