Page 37 of Deal with the Devil
“The families. I’m sure those of you in America have heard of them. Their reach is far and wide.”
“The Belluccis?”
She merely inhales from her cigarette, neither confirming nor denying. “But no one hated them more than Rafael. He and his grandmother could hardly make ends meet from all the taxes being charged. He had to turn to petty crime to make money.”
My heart flutters in my chest, though I say nothing out loud.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by the fact a young Rafael would turn to petty crime. Probably because I’m so used to seeing him in positions of power and authority, in his tailored suits, where he seems so invincible and in control of everything.
But to think there really was a time where he was helpless and disadvantaged…
“He disappeared eventually. We all thought…” Lia draws a deep breath, casting me a sidelong look that’s grim. “I’m sure you can imagine what we thought. When people disappear in Ragusa, it is almost never good. For that reason, we weresurprised when he reemerged a few years later very, very different.”
I arch a brow. “Different? In what way was he different?”
“The Rafael I knew was no more. He wore nice clothes. They were custom made for him. But not from his grandmother who was a seamstress. These were good quality clothes. Very expensive. He had a gold watch he wore and a new car he drove. He had become man, but not the man I thought he would be.”
“Where did he get the money for those things?”
“He had a new career,” she says ambiguously. “I’m sure you know how businessmen can be. They will find profit where they can. And Rafael learned that from the moment he went away. Sicily has its industries and he pursued that.”
“Does this have anything to do with a company called RossoVerde?”
She smirked. “The headquarters is a few kilometers away. If you wanted to visit, I’m sure they would be happy to tell you about Mr. Calderone’s business dealings.”
One of the children kicks the ball over to where we’re seated. It rolls to a slow halt at our feet. I reach down and toss it back toward them. They seem wary of me, likely confused by the rare sight of a tourist in their humble neighborhood; something tells me not many tourists come by this area of Ragusa.
I thank Lia for her time and then head out.
RossoVerde Biochemica is my next stop. I’m not sure what my intention is as I approach the secure facility. The logo resembles the same one I’d seen on the shipping manifest Allison Sigler had given me—a rose against a green leaf.
But the metal chain-link fence and locked gate indicate you need authorization to access the building, and I’m not sure if I want to reveal myself in order to gain entry.
As much as I can theorize, it seems Rafael was increasingly desperate, and then Lia insinuated he got involved with theBellucci family somehow. Did they present him a business opportunity with a company like RossoVerde?
I spend the next hour observing the facility from the outside. Trucks come in and out. Men load them up and then send them off. There seems to be product being shipped out to all sorts of places. Could some of the merchandise being packed up be addressed to Newport?
One of the items on the manifest Sigler had was pharmaceutical resin.
I did some research on it. It seems it’s often used for the construction of pills. Could this have something to do with Nectar? Is Il Diavolo and the Belluccis’ next move to turn the drug into pill form and profit off it even more?
It’s as one of the trucks drives away that a box falls off the back and tumbles to the ground. Rushing over, I kneel beside it and take some snapshots of the contents—what appears to be exactly what I suspected it would be, more pharmaceutical resin packed into vacuum-sealed bags. My phone buzzes in my hand, a number I wouldn’t expect flashing on the screen.
“Francesca?” I mutter, frowning to myself. “Um, hello?”
“Portia! The American princess. I hear you’re back in Sicily. Is it true?”
“The island must be smaller than I thought. Funny you would know that.”
She gives a humoring laugh. “Yes, well, you met my sister.”
“Lia…” I say slowly.
“Her name is Natalia, but she prefers to be more informal with Lia. She had very nice things to say about you.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense. Lia—or, more accurately,Natalia—had mentioned she and her sister used to play with Rafael as kids. I also remember Francesca once telling me and Jayla she knew Rafael’s family in Ragusa.
Obviously, the sisters talked just like Jayla and I would.
