Rafael
ONE MONTH LATER…
A few weeks since the coastal road incident, and Sicily becomes less like a place where we’re hiding and more so a place we’re thriving.
We killed Anthony Senior three weeks ago, on a quiet street in Palermo, two precise shots and gone before anyone realized what happened. Maurizio planned it down to the second, and I pulled the trigger myself, watching the man who served as my capo for years drop onto the cobblestone ground.
It should’ve felt like more than it did. Twenty years of men like Anthony Senior building an empire on other people’s suffering, and in the end it took less than ten seconds to end his part in it.
The month’s moved fast since. We dismantled two more Bellucci properties, seized what remained of their cash reserves, and watched the family’s structure collapse under its own weight without Vito or Anthony Senior left to hold it together.
Maurizio’s contacts report soldiers scattering, unwilling to pledge loyalty to a family that’s lost both its don and its heir apparent’s father within a month of each other.
“No word from Anthony Jr. since,” Maurizio says. “He’s tried recruiting a few times. His attempts fall apart within days. Word’s spread that the family’s cursed. Nobody wants to be the next name added to a dead man’s ledger.”
“Cursed,” I repeat. “Fitting, given everything. Any sign of him trying to flee the region?”
“Not yet. He’s still in Sicily, moving between safehouses, from what our contacts can tell. Scared, mostly. Not stupid enough to run somewhere we could easily track him crossing a border. You still want him dead?”
“No stone left unturned,” I say. “He needs to go for us to know the job is done.”
“We’ll start putting it in motion.”
“Good.” I glance toward the window where the olive grove is. She’s currently sitting out with a drink in hand, watching the waves roll in. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”
“She has plenty,” Maurizio points out. “There’s still her father.”
“She is taking her time confronting him.”
I leave Maurizio inside and go join her in the olive grove. Her coffee’s gone cold, and she’s hardly noticed as I walk up and take the seat next to her.
“You’ve been out here a while.”
“Doing some thinking…” she murmurs with a wistful sigh. “I’m sure you already know what. How long can I keep avoiding the conversation?”
“You don’t owe him anything, Portia. Not a call, not an explanation, not closure on his terms.”
“I know that. But I owe it to myself—and Jayla. I want it addressed. Out loud. To him.”
“You sure?”
“It has to happen if we’re going to move on. I want to put this chapter behind us.”
“Then I’ll be here by your side,” I say calmly, stroking her hair. “Giving you the support you need.”
The corner of her lips quirks in a smile. “Thanks.”
It takes Portia another minute or two before she sets up the video call, and her adoptive father answers. His face appears on screen, eyes bright.
“Cupcake, it’s been weeks!” he exclaims. Then he seems to notice her stony expression. “Is there something wrong?”
Portia draws a breath, shoulders tense. “I think I’d rather cut straight to the chase and tell you. I… I know everything, Dad.”
“Everything about what, sweetheart?”
“The Belluccis—about the deal you had with Don Vito. The dinner you had with him the night my birth parents were killed.”
Jerrod’s face falls. “Portia, please, let me explain—”
“I don’t want an explanation. I want you to tell me in your own words why you lied to me. You knew what Vito was capable of. You watched him kill my parents, all so you could continue your business deal.”
“I never thought he’d actually go through with it. He said he’d handle them… but I had no idea he meant permanently, sweetie. By the time I understood it was real, it was already done. I couldn’t undo it. I could only try to make sure you and Jayla were safe going forward.”
“You call twenty years of lies safe?”
“I call it the only way I knew how to protect you. I’ve hated myself every single day since. I’ve watched you grow into an incredible woman while carrying a secret I knew would destroy you if you ever learned it. I didn’t know how to tell you without losing you entirely.”
“You lost me the moment you agreed to Vito’s terms. I needed a father who stood up for what was right, not one who’d trade it away to save himself.”
“Portia, I love you and Jayla both, more than my own life. That was never a lie, whatever else I did wrong,” he explains. “Your mother—your adoptive mother—she doesn’t know the full truth. I never told her everything. If you tell her—”
“That’s not my responsibility to manage. You built this lie. You live with the consequences of it, including whatever happens when it finally reaches her.”
“Please, give me a chance to explain in person. Come home, and let me—”
“I told you. I’m not coming home. There is no home there anymore, Dad,” she says. “You made sure of that the day you decided your safety mattered more than my parents’ lives.”
“But what other option did I have?”
“You didn’t have to sell out my dad for business! I’m done with this. I don’t want to speak to you again. I mean it this time.”
“Don’t do this. Let me make it right somehow.”
I lean into frame then, unable to stay silent any longer.
“Respect what she’s asking for,” I say calmly. “You betrayed a friend to save your life, and you’ve spent twenty years letting his daughters believe you were someone worth trusting. Whatever guilt you’re carrying now, you earned every ounce of it.”
“As if it’s any of your business what’s happened. I never meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant,” I interrupt. “You got exactly what you deserved when the truth finally caught up to you. Be grateful it only cost you your daughter’s trust and not your life.”
Portia’s hand finds mine under the table, gripping tight, grounding herself against the weight of what she’s finally saying out loud.
“I’m never coming back to the States,” she says. “My life is here now, whatever that means going forward. I need you to accept that, and I need you to stop calling.”
“Portia, this is crazy! You don’t know what you’re doing. This is a mistake!”
She ends the call on him without a goodbye, setting the phone face down.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything, the silence heavy between us.
“You did the right thing,” I finally say, pulling her against my chest.
“I know,” she murmurs. “It still hurts.”
“It’s allowed to hurt.” I press a kiss against her hair, holding her tighter. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right call.”
She pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I keep waiting to feel lighter. As if closing that door should’ve made this easier to get through.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “These kinds of dynamics are complicated, and grief doesn’t care about closure. Sometimes it changes shape.”
“I’m not the only one who’s starting to sound like a therapist,” she laughs.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” I press another kiss against her forehead. “We’ll get each other through times like these. It’s what you do when you’re in love, and I’m ready for our next chapter to begin.”
A small smile returns to her face. She nods against me, and we sit there together for a while, the olive grove full of hushed calm, the war finally behind us.