Page 73 of Tempted By the Devil

My mind is full of these thoughts as I go on a side quest from my research on the bakery brawl story. I turn up outside Benjamin Sigler’s apartment building for the third time in a week. I’m approaching the door that’s supposed to be his apartment only to find a stout man stepping out and fishing for his ring of keys.

“Excuse me,” I say, flashing my press badge. “Is this Benjamin Sigler’s apartment? Portia James with Newport Metro News. I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for a story.”

“You’re wasting your time,” he grunts. “Benjamin Sigler’s dead.”

I’m shocked enough that I stammer. “Oh… I wasn’t aware… I saw him last week.”

“Recent development. Putting his place up for rent. That’s all I can tell ya, so unless you’re here to fill out an application, scram!”

No wonder Sigler hasn’t been answering my texts. He didn’t ghost me after his info was wrong about the shipment; he passed away.

“But how?” I mutter to myself, hopping on the subway.

An eerie sensation creeps over me. It could be a coincidence that Benjamin Sigler provided me insider info about the Bellucci’s next drug shipment and then wound up dead.

…or it could be something much more sinister.

“There you are!” exclaims Baron the second I walk through the door at the news station. “Tell me you got to interview the bakery owner?”

“Done. I said I’d do it, didn’t I?” I ask before stopping in my tracks.

There’re two dozen red roses on my desk. The vibrant flowers are freshly cut and gorgeous, dressed up in a glass vase and satin ribbon.

I’m speechless reaching for the delicate notecard attached.

Belle rose per una bella donna

-R

I look up at the glass wall that cordons off our department from the rest of the floor. Rafael happens to be standing in the hall talking with Finkle and another assistant director. As if waiting for the moment I’d glance over, his gaze meets mine. He winks at me, then returns to his conversation as though he hasn’t made yet another obvious gesture.

“Yeah, about that,” Baron says, folding his arms. “Who are these from? You know how unprofessional it is to get roses delivered to your desk? And where did you disappear off to last night? You left at the same time as Mr. Calderone. Did you know you two have gone viral on TikTok for that tiff with Iverson, Portia? Portia!”

Mind made up, I’ve shot toward the door. Striding into the hall, I crush the notecard into a crumpled ball passing by Rafael and the others. It gets tossed into the first trashcan I come across.

My silent-but-not-so-subtle response to what he’s done.

It’s a message that’s loud and clear in its own way.

I’m not interested.

17

RAFAEL

Portia Jamesstill thinks she can escape my intentions with her.

She believes she has enough willpower to resist me and the natural pull between us. As she tosses the note from the roses in the trashcan and disappears down the hall, I’m nonplussed.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say. “I forgot I’m late for an important engagement. Business elsewhere calls.”

They stare after me perplexed and curious, but I don’t give a fuck. Newport Metro News is mine to play with, and if anyone has a problem with my leadership, then they’ll find themselves in the unemployment line.

I track Portia down to the next corridor, where she’s impatiently tapping her foot in wait for the elevator. I stop at her side, digging my hands in my pants pockets and glancing up at the numbers lighting up above the elevator doors.

“Good evening,dolcezza,” I say. “How about another ride together?”

She grits her teeth. “Stay away from me.”

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