Page 123 of Tempted By the Devil

We both understand what the question really means.

“The situation last night didn’t make the headlines.”

“So much for actually pressing the emergency button on my phone correctly. I was holding out during the attack, hoping they were on the way.”

“We got lucky last night.”

“I just want to put it all behind me.”

Rafael kisses me again on the lips. “Consider it done. How about we go out to dinner? Just the two of us.”

“That sounds amazing. But maybe when this giant bruise on my throat heals.”

“There’re always turtlenecks. And scarves.”

I arch a brow at him and he chuckles. “Alright,dolcezza. No public dinners ’til you’re all healed up. You should get more rest. I have a few business meetings, but I’ve told Mara to be on call in case you need anything.”

Rafael finishes his coffee and leaves to go get ready. Even Saturdays aren’t safe from his busy work schedule.

But I have some things on my to-do list too. Rafael said I should rest up, but I slept so well last night that I need to be out and about. I need to feel some semblance of normalcy again after almost dying.

* * *

Jayla reacts about as expected. Her mouth hangs open the entire time I tell her about the warehouse and standoff between Il Diavolo and Sergio Sacrimoni. I tell her how I’d escaped into a taxicab only to discover that my driver was an imposter.

When I reach the part about the docks and the crane and how I’d been plunged into icy waters, she’s practically hyperventilating.

I pat her on the back to calm her down. “I’m okay, Jay. I swear I am. I’m in one piece.”

“What in the hell would make you follow them in the first place?! Portia, that was so crazy! Don’t you ever do that shit again!”

“It was dumb. I didn’t want to back out. I felt like I was so close to answers.”

“No answers are worth your life!”

I make her swear to keep the ordeal from Mom and Dad.

When they FaceTime us later that afternoon, we’re smiling and distracting them with talk about Jayla’s salon and their upcoming Caribbean cruise. They’re none the wiser, though Idoput on a scarf for the camera.

I pack another overnight bag and stay at Rafael’s for the rest of the weekend. We take things easy, watching movies in his theater room and enjoying his jacuzzi. Once in bed, we talk until one of us nods off (usually me), and in the mornings we have coffee together.

It feels so natural spending time at Rafael’s penthouse. He always makes me feel comfortable and ensures I have anything I need. He genuinely seems to want me there, making it clear he wants me to feel at home.

I take Monday and Tuesday off to give my bruises more time to heal.

Come Wednesday, I waltz into the Metro News building in a thick cowl-neck sweater and cigarette pants, ready to return to the grind.

Everyone in the office is relieved I’m back except Baron, who barely says a word to me. Yet, on three separate occasions, I catch him staring when I feel eyes on me and look up. I’m not sure what the frosty reception from him is about, but there’s no time to think much about it.

The next day as I come in wearing a different high-necked top, I’m called into Finkle’s office.

“You can close the door, Portia. You’ll probably want to hear this privately.”

“What’s this about?” I ask, taking the chair opposite his desk.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes like he’s exhausted and hasn’t had any good sleep in weeks. The bags under his eyes and lines etched deep in his face confirm this. The forty-something-year-old is a father of six and his wife had twins earlier this year.

“I received a very important phone call about you.”

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