Page 7 of Deal with the Devil
you know he didn’t
i have proof
2
RAFAEL
“Newport is yours,”Adagio says with an impressed nod and sip of his bourbon. “But now that you’ve conquered the city, what’s next? The country?”
We’re seated at the cigar lounge Il Salotto Nero, otherwise known as the Black Parlor in English. It’s a member’s only club located in one of Newport’s more aristocratic neighborhoods. A mere half block down from the Newport Plaza, Il Salotto Nero is perhaps one of the most exclusive places in the city. Hidden behind an unmarked mahogany door, the lounge is invitation only.
Almost exclusively used by the rich and powerful to conduct dealings too unsavory for anywhere else.
The lounge makes for the perfect atmosphere to do so—rich wood paneling and black-and-gold wallpaper cover the walls, lit up by amber-hued sconces and green glass banker lamps at every table. The floor itself consists of a dozen-odd tables and plenty of plush leather armchairs, all hazed in curls of cigar smoke. It’s dark, moody, and luxurious, which is all anyone visiting needs.
As Adagio speaks, I nurse my own drink. I’m sipping on some Grappa, an Italian grape brandy that reminds me of home.
I’m due for a trip back to Sicily soon. Don Vito and the others expect it of me.
But Adagio is correct when he says I’ve taken over the city. The past four months have been some of the most profitable months in the Bellucci family’s reign, and it’s all been thanks to me. The new psychedelic we launched onto the market, known as Nectar, has been a runaway smash success. We’ve expanded from selling in clubs to supplying numerous private wholesale buyers and even other territories in the city.
And we’re only getting started—the mycologists on my payroll are in the process of developing an even stronger version of the drug. Nationwide domination doesn’t sound half bad.
“We’ll see,” I answer finally, remaining cryptic. “I have many other ventures to explore.”
Adagio grins. “Il Diavolo won’t be happy ’til he rules the world.”
“The Tucos refuse to accept it,” Maurizio chimes in. My brutal, brooding lead enforcer sits in the third armchair, forgoing a drink and indulging only in a cigar. Famously nicknamed Ice Pick for a vicious takedown of fifteen men singlehandedly with nothing more than the sharp tool used as a weapon, he likes to remain sober when out in public. Even places as discreet as Il Salotto Nero. He puffs on his cigar and blows out more smoke. “They still believe they have a fighting chance.”
“I would too if I were as delusional as Titus Tuco,” laughs Adagio. “You see that hair piece he wears? As if Stevie Wonder can’t tell it’s a toupee.”
A half-grin forms at the corner of my mouth. “You would resort to insulting his looks.”
“But am I lying?” he asks. “If you’re losing your hair, then call it a day. Shave the shit off.”
“What would you be without your hair, belloccio?” Maurizio asks. “Would women like Jayla still throw themselves at you?”
“Yes, leccaculo, because I’m charming. Try it sometime.”
I roll my eyes as my two confidants trade barbs. It wouldn’t be the first time. Though Adagio and Maurizio work well together as a team, providing the perfect backup I need, their opposite demeanors mean they sometimes clash.
“I can be,” Maurizio answers him. “But charm involves more than flashy cars and wads of cash.”
“You mean crushing skulls?” Adagio sneers. “That’s sure to drop some panties.”
“Since when do my two lead soldiers bicker like whiny schoolgirls?” I ask.
“We’re taking cues from our leader, Diavolo,” Adagio says, shooting me a subtle grin over the rim of his bourbon. “Your obsession has gone nowhere since she left.”
I pin him with a cold, scolding look. “Quando ho detto che avrei smesso di essere ossessionato?”
“Very true,” he concedes. “You’ve accepted it’s for life.”
“If only she knew,” adds Maurizio.
“She doesn’t need to know,” I say darkly, glaring at the cigar haze circling us. “All that matters is she’s safe and starting over. Moving on from me and her life in Newport.”
It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what was necessary.
