RAFAEL
The shipping logistics company sits on the outskirts of Catania, a nondescript warehouse complex that gives nothing away from the outside. Exactly the kind of place a man like Vito would choose to hide serious money in plain sight.
“Renee confirmed it processes cash shipments twice a week,” Portia says, spreading printouts across the table. “Tuesday nights, minimal security. A skeleton crew handling paperwork, maybe two armed guards on rotation.”
“Light security means light resistance.” Maurizio traces the building’s layout with two fingers, comparing it against satellite images pulled from an old surveillance app none of us should probably still have access to. “In and out fast. No reason for it to turn into another firefight.”
“We’re not just hitting the cash,” I say. “We take the financial records too. Everything on paper, everything digital we can pull off their systems before we torch the place. Portia’s right that Vito’s rebuilding through this operation. We cut it off at the source.”
“I can help with the digital side,” Portia says. “I know what to look for. Account numbers, shell company references, anything that connects back to what Renee already gave us.”
“You’re not going inside.”
“I know that. I’m talking about remote support. I can watch the security feed Renee helped us access. That’s not inside the building, Rafael. That’s exactly the role we agreed on.”
I study her for a moment, old fear warring against the trust I promised her.
“Alright, remote support only. You stay here, eyes on the feed, radio contact the whole time.”
“Understood.”
“Dario, you’re on files.” I turn to the younger soldier, who straightens at the assignment, clearly eager to prove himself after sitting out the port operation with a minor injury.
“You know what we’re looking for. Anything with the shell company names.
Anything tied to account numbers or wire transfers.
If it looks financial, it comes with us. ”
“And the cash?” Dario asks.
“Takes priority over everything except the records,” Maurizio answers. “I’ll handle the safe myself. It’s an older model. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
“Charges?” I ask.
“Enough to collapse the structure without leveling half the block. We’re not trying to make headlines. Just cripple the operation quietly enough that it takes Vito time to even realize what happened.”
I study the timeline one final time, running through every contingency, every point where the plan could unravel the way the port did.
This time feels different. Better intel, better planning, a target that doesn’t require walking into a wall of armed men. Still, the memory of Enzo’s death sits heavy enough in the room that nobody’s willing to call this operation simple, not out loud, not with so much riding on getting it right.
“Questions?” I peer around the table.
Nobody has any.
…good. Let’s get this over with.
We arrive minutes after midnight to a dark and empty warehouse, exactly as Renee’s information promised.
“Two guards, north entrance,” Portia radios. “Rotation puts them both at the gate for the next six minutes. That’s your window.”
“Copy.” I signal Maurizio and the others forward, moving fast across the open lot toward the service entrance Renee flagged as least monitored.
We breach the door quietly, Maurizio disabling the alarm system with practiced ease while Dario and the other soldier fan out to secure the perimeter.
Inside, the warehouse smells like diesel and cardboard, rows of shipping containers stacked high enough to swallow the beam of my flashlight entirely.
“Office is in the back left corner,” Portia says. “Renee’s old badge should still work on the door, assuming they haven’t updated the system.”
It does. The lock clicks open on the first try, and we’re inside a cramped office lined with filing cabinets and an outdated computer system that looks decades behind whatever Vito’s actually running his empire on now.
I jut my chin at Dario. “Start pulling files. Everything with the shell company names Portia flagged.”
Maurizio works the safe while I keep watch, tension coiling tight in my chest despite Portia’s steady updates confirming the guards haven’t moved. The safe clicks open a few minutes later, revealing stacks of cash bundled tight, more money than I expected sitting in a warehouse this unassuming.
“Take it all,” I say. “And plant the charges. We’re done here in five minutes.”
We work fast yet methodically, adrenaline pumping hard through our veins.
Dario finishes with the files, stuffing folders into a duffel bag while Maurizio sets the explosives along the warehouse’s support structure, enough to cripple the building without drawing more attention than necessary.
My hands stay steady even as my heart hammers against my ribs; old instinct overriding whatever fear tries to surface in a moment like this.
A radio crackles somewhere near the front gate, faint enough it might be nothing. I freeze, listening closely, every muscle coiled and ready.
“Portia,” I whisper into my own radio. “Status?”
“Guards still holding position at the gate. That crackle was just them radio checking in with the next shift,” she explains. “You’re still clear. Hurry, though. The next rotation starts soon.”
I exhale slowly, nodding to Maurizio to keep working. Dario zips the duffel bag closed, slinging it over his shoulder, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cool night air inside the warehouse.
“Guards still holding position,” Portia radios. “You’ve got maybe ninety seconds before rotation shifts.”
“Copy. Moving now.”
We clear the building with seconds to spare, the explosion lighting up the night sky behind us as we pile into the waiting car, adrenaline and relief crashing through me in equal measure.
“Good hit,” Maurizio pants. “No casualties. No firefight. Exactly how it should have gone at the port.”
I glance back at the warehouse burning behind us, satisfaction spreading through my chest. “Portia,” I say into the radio. “We’re clear. Heading back now.”
Portia’s on the balcony when we finally make it back. The second I’m within reach, she’s in my arms, her mouth finding mine before either of us says a word.
“You did it,” she breathes between kisses. “We did it.”
“We did. Together, dolcezza.” I pull her closer, adrenaline still coursing hot through my veins. “Your intel was perfect. Every step.”
“I know.” She smiles against my mouth before finally pulling back. “I told you I was good at my job.”
I kiss her harder, backing her toward the bedroom door, adrenaline and want tangled too close to separate anymore. She fumbles the handle behind her, and the second it gives way we’re stumbling through it together, clothes coming off in a rush of impatient hands and half-caught fabric.
I get her jeans down her legs and mine off entirely before we hit the mattress, both of us bare and desperate, nothing left in either of us for anything slower than this.
She pulls me down against her, skin against skin, legs wrapping around my hips, grinding up against me until I have to grip her waist just to keep from finishing before I’ve even started.
I flip her onto her stomach, and she pushes up onto her knees immediately, back arched, glancing over her shoulder at me with an expression that finishes off whatever restraint I had left.
I drag my hands slowly up the backs of her thighs first, over the curve of her hips, memorizing every inch of her exposed like this before I finally settle behind her.
We grown as I push into her, then I don’t hold back at all.
I set a hard, punishing rhythm from the first thrust, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
She meets me stroke for stroke, back arching deeper, her moans coming sharp and unrestrained, muffled against the sheets every time I drive into her.
The headboard knocks against the wall. The bed frame creaks under the force of it.
I lean over her, chest pressed flush to her back, teeth grazing the curve of her shoulder, and she rocks back to meet every thrust like she can’t get close enough, deep enough, fast enough.
Her skin is slick with sweat under my palm as I drag one hand up her spine, fisting her hair again, tilting her head back until I can catch her mouth in an awkward, hungry kiss over her shoulder.
She whimpers into it, the sound vibrating against my lips.
Her pussy tightens around me even before I pick the pace back up.
I straighten, both hands returning to her hips, watching the place where our bodies meet with every thrust, the sight of it nearly undoing me on its own.
Her spine curves deeper, chest dropping toward the mattress while her hips stay lifted, angling herself to take me deeper still, and the change in position drags a broken sound out of both of us at once.
I slide one hand around to find her clit, working it in rough, insistent circles that match the punishing pace of my hips.
She instantly arches against me, thighs trembling and breath breaking into short, ragged gasps.
Her fingers dig into the sheets. She’s spiraling fast, feel every muscle in her body coiling with each thrust. I chase it with her, hips snapping harder, one hand still working her clit, the other gripping her hip to keep her exactly where I want her.
She shatters first, a sharp cry tearing out of her as her body seizes up. My strokes continue through it, drawing every last aftershock out of her.
Her pussy clenching around me forces my own release crashing through almost instantly. I bury my cock deep one final time, groaning against the back of her neck and let go. My release rushes me and I come inside Portia.
We collapse together, my chest pressed to her back, both of us gasping, hearts hammering out of sync against each other’s ribs.
Sweat cools against overheated skin. Her thighs are still trembling faintly against mine, aftershocks rippling through her every time I shift my weight, and I press one last, unhurried kiss between her shoulder blades before finally rolling us both onto our sides, pulling her flush against my chest, still catching my own breath.
She twists in my arms, tangling our legs together under the sheets, already half asleep before her breathing fully evens out.