PORTIA
Rafael’s restless through the night. His brow’s furrowed even in sleep, muscles tense under the sheets.
“No,” he mutters. “Don’t you fucking do it!”
“Rafael, what’s wrong?” I press a gentle hand against his shoulder, careful not to startle him too hard. “Wake up. You’re dreaming.”
His eyes snap open, chest heaving, disoriented for seconds to come. Recognition gradually settles in and eases his tensed features.
“Portia, was I speaking in my sleep?”
“You started to. Bad dream?”
“Loaded question. I can’t tell if they’re dreams so much as they’re flashbacks.”
“Do you want to share? Maybe recalling it out loud will help make it clearer.”
He hesitates, silently debating if he truly wants to open up and share what’s on his mind. Though he’s gotten better in recent weeks, Rafael can still be an enigma.
“Not tonight,” he says finally. “We’ll go over everything eventually. But things aren’t clear enough right now.”
“Relax and let yourself fall back asleep.”
I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, deciding to drop the subject. I have faith Rafael will share whatever it is that’s on his mind eventually.
If it’s unclear right now, it could still be from the fractured pieces Il Diavolo left behind.
His arms wrap around me, our bodies curled close. We drift off only moments later, finally falling back asleep.
The next morning, Jayla’s laughing at a video on her phone when I settle onto the sofa beside her. The late-morning sun highlights the thin scar still visible at her hairline. Battle wounds from the fire the Bellucci’s set to our villa.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Adagio sent me a video of himself trying to cook risotto. It’s a disaster.
” She turns the screen toward me, and sure enough, there’s Adagio in the B&B kitchen, flour somehow everywhere despite risotto requiring none, grinning at the camera like a man entirely unbothered by his own incompetence.
In the background, Concetta can be heard shouting in rapid Italian, almost certainly a complaint about her kitchen being commandeered.
“He’s trying,” I offer, laughing despite myself.
“He’s really not, though. It’s sweet, honestly. He’s been doing little things like this all week. Cooking disasters, terrible jokes, anything to keep my mind off how close we all came to losing everything at the villa.”
“How are you doing? Seriously, Jay?”
“Better every day.” She touches the scar along her hairline absently. “Some headaches still, and I get tired faster than I used to. But I’m here. That’s more than I can say for a lot of people caught up in this mess.”
Maurizio walks through a moment later, glancing at the phone screen before heading toward the coffee pot. “He’s going to poison someone with that eventually.”
“Rude,” Jayla huffs.
“I’m serious. Doctors are mandatory after eating anything he makes. How’s the head, by the way? Any more headaches?”
“Occasionally. Nothing serious. Dr. Renata says it should fade eventually.”
“You should be resting more than you are,” Maurizio says. “A concussion isn’t a small injury to push through carelessly, Jayla. I’ve seen men make that mistake before. It doesn’t end well.”
“I’m being careful.”
“Are you? Because from what I’ve seen, you’re running around this B&B like a hummingbird, like nothing happened, barely resting, letting Adagio distract you with terrible risotto instead of actually recovering.”
“Maurizio,” I say slowly. “She said she’s being careful.”
The enforcer scowls. “I am making sure she takes the time necessary to process—”
“I’ve processed it plenty,” Jayla interjects. “I live with the headaches every day, Maurizio. You don’t need to remind me.”
“I’m not trying to remind you of anything. I’m trying to make sure you’re not pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”
“And you think that’s your job?”
“If no one else will take the job of looking after you, then I will.”
Adagio walks in at exactly the wrong moment, catching the tail end of Maurizio’s comment. His expression hardens as soon as he does.
“What the fuck are you talking about? You think I’m not looking after Jayla?”
“You seem more interested in keeping her entertained than making sure she’s actually healing. Somebody should be paying attention to that.”
“I am paying attention!” Adagio shouts. “I check on her every single day. I make sure she eats, sleeps, takes her medication. What exactly do you think I’ve been doing, Maurizio?”
“I think you’ve been enjoying playing house. You haven’t been aware of the real danger we’re facing.”
“It’s a lot more like you’ve got your eye on what’s mine and want to make it yours!”
The room goes silent, tension thick enough that even Jayla seems unsure how to step into it.
“You both need to stop!” she says. “What do you think you’re doing fighting each other? Is this some competition for me?”
Neither man answers, choosing to fume in silence.
“Adagio, you know how I feel. Why are you acting like you’ll lose me?” she asks, then rounds on the other enforcer. “And, Maurizio, you’ve saved my life… several times. I’ve been grateful for that. But that doesn’t give you the right to question how Adagio takes care of me.”
Maurizio’s jaw tightens. “I never said it did.”
“It’s starting to feel that way. Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I need you to trust that I know how to take care of myself and that Adagio’s doing right by me too.”
Maurizio studies her for a second, then gives a rigid nod. “Understood.”
That’s his final word as he turns and strides out of the room. Adagio’s quick to exit only seconds later.
Jayla sits back down, heaving a sigh. “That felt like it might’ve done more harm than good.”
“It’s, um, possible. You okay?”
“I don’t know how to feel about it, sissy. Maurizio’s saved my life twice. I care about him. Not like that, but I care about him.”
“He clearly cares about you too.”
“I just don’t know what to do with that, especially when I’m dating Adagio.”
“You don’t owe either of them an answer today. Sometimes things stay complicated for a while before they sort themselves out.”
“You sound like a fortune cookie.”
I laugh at what’s such a Jayla thing to say. But it’s probably true all things considered. I’ve been doing so much reflection on my life lately, I’ve become my own therapist.
We sit together a while longer in comfortable silence, both of us conflicted over the things on our mind. Jayla caught between two men, and me caught between the past and present.