Page 36 of Deal with the Devil
A second passes before the shock fades enough for me to call after her—or make an attempt to.
When I open my mouth to try, no sound comes out. It’s then I realize I’m wearing the mask. I’mlettingher leave.
In some twisted way, it’s another form of control, even if she doesn’t realize it. And then, when seconds go by and the dark silence echoes in the room, I set into motion and stalk after her…
The moment disappears as quickly as it’d pulled me in. I blink and find myself back in my bedroom, still minutes off the hot shower I’d taken, a towel secured around my waist.
But I’m aware of what I have to do next.
“You didn’t get taken,” I say, stepping toward the closet. “You ran. And I let you go. I wanted you to. But the question is… why?”
11
PORTIA
I can’t pretendI’m not surprised by the woman’s revelation. My brows jump at the same time I blurt out, “His ex-girlfriend? Oh, I didn’t know… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”
“No, it’s quite alright,” she says with an inflection both distinctly amused and Italian. She’s a slender woman about an inch shorter than I am, unbothered by how the wind tangles her long curls. She motions her head to the side, beckoning for me to follow her. “Are you the wife? I always knew she would come asking questions about him sooner or later.”
“Wife?!” I choke out. Then I laugh at how crazy that sounds. “Definitely not his wife.”
…but also not about to let you know we dated either.
“I’m a journalist writing a piece about him and his business profile,” I explain vaguely. “He’s become such a renowned businessman all over the globe. We really wanted to get a picture of who Rafael Calderone is, since we’ve heard he comes from such humble beginnings.”
The woman grunts out a laugh as she digs into the pocket of the button-up dress she wears. She pulls out a pack of cigarettes,offering me first before she lights one up herself. “Humble beginnings,” she repeats slowly, blowing smoke. “Yes, he did have humble beginnings. But that was so long ago.”
“I’m sorry, we should probably introduce ourselves. My name’s Giselle,” I say, citing my middle name.
“Lia,” she rattles off.
“So you knew Rafael from a young age.”
“We grew up here.”
I glance around the small stone homes, where the children kick a ball across the grassy field and chase each other back and forth. It seems peaceful enough, but it is clear the area isn’t exactly teeming with wealth.
“Rafael lived in number thirteen.”
“My family in twelve,” she finishes for me with a wry smile. “Our families were close. We attended the same school. My sister and I used to play with him. Our mothers watched us. My father was his doctor. He treated him when he had… a very bad illness.”
“What kind of illness?”
“It is not for me to say. But my father cured him and I was there to keep him company as he healed.”
“Sounds like you were all very close.”
“We were for many years. Rafael was a quiet boy. Very focused and studious. But very intense.”
All those descriptors match the Rafael I know—while I’m not sure if I’d call modern day Rafael quiet exactly, heismysterious and observant, and he’s definitely intense in more ways than one.
“When we grew older, we had feelings for each other,” Lia explains, developing a fond glint in her eye. She sucks on her cigarette a moment and purses her lip to exhale more smoke. “We were each other’s first loves as happens with boy and girl’s our age. I’m sure you know how that goes.”
“Uhh, sure…” I stammer, shifting uncertainly. I’m not sure I had listening to Rafael’s ex on my Bingo card for my trip to Sicily, but if it means gathering more intel, then it’s a necessary evil.
“Everything changed when we were still young. He lost his mother to tragic circumstances and was never the same. His grandmother was there to raise him. But I’m sure you can imagine the effect that would have on a boy coming of age. He had never had his father, and now he no longer had his mother either. Ragusa…” She sighs, pausing to watch the group of small children pass the ball between themselves. “The village has always been plagued by crime. Even more so in the past. We loathed them.”
“Who?” I press, leaning closer. I’ve taken out my phone to record voice notes. “Who gave the village trouble?”
