Page 90 of Tempted By the Devil

Huffing air into my lungs, I collapse beside her like an addict fresh off a fix.

She curls into me and things have never felt so right than in this moment. Even if I ever wanted to walk away, I’m not sure I could. If I ever had to for the sake of Il Diavolo and the rise to power I’ve committed myself to, I don’t know what the hell I would do.

And that is more dangerous than anything for a man in my position.

* * *

Come morning, I’m kissing Portia on the brow and telling her to spend the day in my penthouse if she’d like. She has the day off and I’d prefer if she kept to my domain versus going off on her own and making potential trouble.

Her investigation into the criminal underworld has been manageable from behind the scenes thus far, but she’s getting increasingly closer to real trouble.

First with Sigler and then with snooping at Bocca yesterday.

Bidding goodbye to Portia and heading out with my men, I’m no longer Rafael. I’m donning the devil mask the moment we’re in the underground garage and filing into the gang of cars we’re bringing today.

It’s a forty-minute drive through congested traffic to make it to the Tuco’s territory. Don Vito wanted me to send a message; he questioned if I had what it takes and if my bloodline makes me an inadequate protégé for his empire.

His warning was that if I don’t handicap the Tucos soon, then someone else will come in. They’ll replace me and I’ll be the new Vincenzo.

Ambition anchors me while a bitter need to prove myself drives me. The thirst for blood is the final spark that lights the fuel.

We roll up half a block down. Luigi and his men are walking toward the building that serves as a front for their operation. It’s a dry cleaner’s that looks inconspicuous to the unsuspecting eye.

Twenty-four hours ago, this bastard made a pass at Portia.

He’s been doing the dirty work of Tuco and seeking to sabotage our drug shipments. He’s a capo fighting to prove himself like I am.

The only difference is, I always come out on top.

There is no stopping Il Diavolo.

“Take him out,” I command. “Now.”

Where the Tucos sent warning shots weeks ago at the meat-packing district shooting, then the Rise and Thrive fundraiser, I’m beyond such trivial games. When my men pull the trigger, they mean it.

The bangs ring out to screams from anyone in the area. Luigi Grasso takes a bullet to the head and drops dead without even realizing what’s happening. By the time his men are scrambling to avenge their fallen capo, we’re speeding off down the street.

In war, there can only be one victor, and there is no defeating Il Diavolo.

21

PORTIA

“You look happy.”

Baron frowns as he says it. I’ve turned up at the office on my day off, dressed casually in a Newport Titans jersey and some hip-hugging jeans. Normally, I would avoid coming into the station during my off time, but I’ve left my work laptop and I wanted to access the files I’ve saved of my investigation into the mafia’s drug shipments.

The truth is, I do look happy. I’m basically floating on cloud nine.

I’m so high off the night I had with Rafael that I’m in desperate need of some kind of distraction. Hence the urge to spend my off time refocusing on my investigation.

“Do I usually look unhappy?” I ask in return. I unplug my laptop from the charger plugged in at my desk and slide it into my shoulder purse.

“You usually look focused. Sharp.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Baron. Work me and personal-time me are two different women.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice with a glance at the others in the newsroom. No one else pays attention to us, but his paranoia makes him do it.

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