22. Rafael
22
RAFAEL
“We’ve been through this!” I yell the moment I’m alone with Anthony. We’ve retreated to my private office on the yacht. “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.”
I bare my teeth to chew him out some more until noises pour in from the open window. Voices from above deck erupt into screams. We both go still, listening to the commotion breaking out.
“This you?” I ask, my brows creasing in suspicion. “You playing a hand in this?”
Before Anthony can answer, a massive explosion rocks the yacht. Our surroundings as we know them feel like they’re spinning. The boat’s taken such a steep dip that gallons of water splash through the windows and above deck.
We’re wiped out, knocked off our feet by the sheer force of the blast. I slam into the cabinet in the corner, crumpling to the ground against my own free will.
Smoke fills the room in thick plumes, burning lungs and making everything hazy.
I prop myself up by the knee and unholster my Glock. I’m fighting through the dizzy spell that’s making the room feel like it’s still spinning. It doesn’t help that the boat is rocking like a damn seesaw.
Stumbling to my feet, I step over Anthony’s limp body on the floor and shoot for the doorway. The lights have gone out except for the red glow of the emergency exit signs. I reach the hallway still unsteady, gripping the wall for leverage.
Two more steps forward and I’d trip on a lump on the floor if I weren’t careful.
Portia?
“Portia!” I call out, dropping to my knees beside her.
She’s half out of it herself, stirring with a hoarse noise from her throat.
But I’m more preoccupied by what lies ahead.
We’re fucked.
The end of the corridor has not only filled with smoke, flames have burned a hole from above deck. If we don’t get off this yacht soon, we’ll be next. The flames will torch the rest of the hall.
“We’ve got to go,” I grunt, sliding an arm around her waist to pull her up with me. “C’mon, this way. Up… up…”
We hobble together toward the opposite end of the hall, where there’s a blinking emergency exit sign. Anthony has emerged from the office and follows us.
Once at the escape hatch, I pry it open and then wave Portia through. We come out on the side deck, which is taking on a dangerous amount of water. It won’t be long before the entire yacht goes down. If not for the flames eating up the front half then the back half sinking into the dark water.
“Rafael!” comes Maurizio’s voice.
We look over to spot one of my right hand men flagging us down. He’s by the last lifeboat with a bleeding Jayla, clearly waiting on his boss before he dares leave.
Gripping Portia’s hand tightly, I race toward him.
We’ve barely landed in the water, floating away, when the rest of the yacht goes down. One hundred million dollars down the fucking drain. I’d be livid if I couldn’t easily produce another one just like it.
I’m more enraged by the prospect somebody had the fucking audacity to attack me so out in the open.
First the shooting at the Rise and Thrive dinner. Now an explosive blowing up my boat.
The Tucos must think this is an even playing field since clearly they wanted retaliation for Luigi. They clearly are aware that Rafael Calderone and Il Diavolo are the same man.
To make matters worse, Anthony is here to witness the wreckage. He’ll be returning to Don Vito any moment to tell him all about how I’m letting the Tucos blow up my shit. It’ll be yet another example of weakness in his eyes. Another excuse for him to attempt to replace me.
But they have another thing coming if they believe I’ll ever allow it.
Both the Tucos and Don Vito and his minions like Anthony are in for a rude awakening. Rafael Calderone is not a man who allows for disrespect; Il Diavolo is a man who will tear them all from limb to limb over it.
* * *
There are no casualties from the yacht explosion. Everyone was either able to snag a lifeboat to shore or was rescued in time by water rescue men who came to the scene.
But there are many injuries. Severe burns, serious concussions, bruised and broken limbs among other things.
Portia’s sister sustains a fractured rib and sprained ankle from the force of the blast. I wait with Portia in the emergency room as the doctors patch Jayla up. I’ve put off questioning from the police so I can remain at Portia’s side and be supportive through this moment, though she barely looks at me. She won’t even utter a word.
She’s rightfully upset.
“Thirsty?” I ask. “I can have Maurizio go get?—”
“Rafael,” she snaps, arms tight across her chest, “I don’t need you or your men to get anything, okay? You’ve done enough.”
I take a step closer. “You have every right to be upset by what happened. But I’ll get to the bottom of?—”
“You mean like how you got to the bottom of the shooting a few weeks ago? Why does it seem like violence follows wherever you go?”
…because violence is my life.
“The police are investigating,” I say in a tone that’s forcefully calm. I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder only for her to shrug it off. “I will make sure they get the people who did this, Portia. You have my word.”
“Jayla was hurt. She could’ve died.”
“Which is exactly why I will make sure that I find out who did this.”
“Are you sure you don’t already know?”
My gaze narrows as I step around to face her more directly. “What exactly are you insinuating? Speak clearly. You know how.”
She scoffs. “You really think I must be naive, don’t you? You really think I buy for one second you don’t actually know what’s going on?”
It’s happening. I can sense it. Our first real fight.
None of the past back-and-forth, tit-for-tat exchanges count. We weren’t together yet and much of it was actual foreplay for us. Portia trying her damnedest to resist the attraction she had for me. The magnetic chemistry that she could feel pulled us together.
But this—it’s a couple at odds, butting heads, both in testy moods. She’s challenging me while I’m agitated enough to abandon my attempts to assuage her feelings. Her accusation lingers between us as the rest of the emergency room carries on in chaotic fashion.
No one around us is the wiser that the girlfriend of Il Diavolo might finally be putting the puzzle pieces together.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, since you seem to know?” I stick both hands in my pants pockets and tilt my head to the side like an asshole, my left brow quirked.
“You said you’d never lie to me. But you do know lying by omission is still a lie, right? An extremely wealthy man like you, who has armed guards wherever he goes, you’re just a paragon of virtue and morals, right? It’s just a coincidence that the mobster Luigi Grasso seemed to respect you so much that he let me and Jayla go the moment your name was dropped?”
“You said it yourself, Portia. I’m an extremely wealthy man. A highly respected man. Why wouldn’t my name drop mean something?”
“To a mobster?”
“Why not? He’s a person just like everybody else. Powerful people respect other powerful people. I bet he respects the fucking president of the United States too. That suspicious now?”
“I would ask him. But I saw the headlines earlier today. He’s suddenly turned up dead.”
I scrub at my jaw amid a low chuckle. “Again, dolcezza . I ask, what exactly are you insinuating? Be clear. Be bold. Use your big girl voice.”
“My big girl voice,” she repeats with an incredulous shake of her head. “I’ll do you one better, Rafael. I’ll use my big girl investigative skills to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going on. You better hope you are as virtuous as you claim to be… or else you might wind up with a few problems.”
“Is that a threat, dolcezza , or is this some new form of bedroom talk? Because, let me tell you, it turns me on when you get a little feisty.” I’ve edged even closer, lowering my voice to a husky rumble that only she can hear. “Choose wisely. You could end up in trouble.”
“My choice is more than clear. Stay away from me. Stay away from my sister.”
Portia pivots on her heel and storms off. I watch her go, half amused while another part of me wonders if I shouldn’t have been so petty. I should’ve been more consoling.
But how was I supposed to react when she was essentially accusing me of being a criminal?
One of the ER nurses stops her, likely to update her on Jayla’s status. The two exchange some words and then the nurse leads her past the flapping doors where the patients are kept.
I sigh and think some more about how the fuck I’m going to fix this now.
It’s gotten to the point where Portia is openly accusing me of criminal association. She’s suspecting I’m not the man I’ve presented myself to be—and she would be correct in many ways.
Except my intentions with her are real. The man I am when with her is real. Shouldn’t that be enough?
“Trouble in paradise?” Anthony asks from behind. He’s been loitering around the ER since he was discharged earlier for smoke inhalation. He cracked a joke to the nurse that he inhaled plenty of smoke on his own as a daily cigar smoker.
But I haven’t been fooled one second—Don Vito’s consigliere has hung around for one purpose only.
He wants to finish what we started earlier on the yacht before he departs for Sicily.
“The only one who’s going to have trouble is you if you think you can fuck with my operation,” I snipe from over my shoulder.
He grunts out a laugh. “You mean your operation that’s getting your boats blown up? Some operation, mio amico .”
“I mean my operation that will eliminate anybody execution-style on a public street who dares fuck with me. You want to be next, suino ?”
“You don’t still think I had a hand in this, do you?” He laughs again, wiping a fake tear of laughter from the crinkly corner of his eye. He’s moved up to my side, his belly jiggling from his deep laugh. “Think, idiota . Would I blow up a boat that I was on? What sense does that make?”
Anthony has a point. I’m simply too pissed and worn down for the night to think straight.
I scrub a hand over my face and let out a rough breath. “It was Tuco. Revenge for Grasso.”
“The boss was very impressed you did that. It was a big move.”
“The first of many. My yacht sinking won’t slow me down. Everything’s already fallen into place.”