Page 26 of Devil Among Men

“I like that. All of it.” She leans into my shoulder, my arm around her hips. “Maybe we can have a nice little villa in a small Sicilian town. Away from too much craziness.”

“What about Newport News? What about getting the scoop?”

I’m teasing, and we both know it.

She laughs softly and says, “Never say never! I could do a smaller beat for some Sicilian newspaper. Don’t laugh at me!”

But it’s too late as my chuckles rival hers. I cup her face and draw her lips to mine. We give each other kisses, our lips curled at the edges.

Both so damn tempted to smile.

“I can’t even knock the hustle,” I say. “You are a journalist at heart.”

“So was my bio dad. He stayed on Vito Bellucci’s ass. Maybe that was why he was murdered.”

Portia’s speaking partially in jest—at least distracted by how we snuggle close under the moonlight—but what she’s said is as plausible as any other theory.

What would cause Don Vito to target Portia’s birth parents? His news reporting, or did it have something to do with Jerrod James?

It’s the end of our conversation for the night.

Portia tilts her head up and we kiss ’til we head inside and get ready for bed.

Hours later, once Portia’s asleep against my chest, breathing slow and even, I lie awake, turning things over again.

My mind goes from replaying the lost dinner memory to the family photo I’d seen Portia staring at. Then it goes to everything we know about the past.

It seems the answers are slowly floating to the surface, but in the meantime, the rest of the picture’s so damn murky.

13

RAFAEL

The shipping logistics company sits on the outskirts of Catania, a nondescript warehouse complex that gives nothing away from the outside. Exactly the kind of place a man like Vito would choose to hide serious money in plain sight.

“Renee confirmed it processes cash shipments twice a week,” Portia says, spreading printouts across the table. “Tuesday nights, minimal security. A skeleton crew handling paperwork, maybe two armed guards on rotation.”

“Light security means light resistance.” Maurizio traces the building’s layout with two fingers, comparing it against satellite images pulled from an old surveillance app none of us should probably still have access to. “In and out fast. No reason for it to turn into another firefight.”

“We’re not just hitting the cash,” I say. “We take the financial records too. Everything on paper, everything digital we can pull off their systems before we torch the place. Portia’s right that Vito’s rebuilding through this operation. We cut it off at the source.”

“I can help with the digital side,” Portia says. “I know what to look for. Account numbers, shell company references, anything that connects back to what Renee already gave us.”

“You’re not going inside.”

“I know that. I’m talking about remote support. I can watch the security feed Renee helped us access. That’s not inside the building, Rafael. That’s exactly the role we agreed on.”

I study her for a moment, old fear warring against the trust I promised her.

“Alright, remote support only. You stay here, eyes on the feed, radio contact the whole time.”

“Understood.”

“Dario, you’re on files.” I turn to the younger soldier, who straightens at the assignment, clearly eager to prove himself after sitting out the port operation with a minor injury. “You know what we’re looking for. Anything with the shell company names. Anything tied to account numbers or wire transfers. If it looks financial, it comes with us.”

“And the cash?” Dario asks.

“Takes priority over everything except the records,” Maurizio answers. “I’ll handle the safe myself. It’s an older model. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”