Page 11 of Devil Among Men

“I know how this works, Rafael.” It comes out sharper than I mean it to, old frustration resurfacing despite the fragile peace of the morning. “I’ve spent years reporting on families like the Belluccis. I understand operational security.”

“I know you do.” The beginnings of an apology flickers across his face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I set the fork down, some of the tension easing back out of my shoulders. “Sorry. Long night.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. Not after everything.”

We sit a moment longer in silence, everything unresolved from dinner still hovering underneath the surface. It’s a different silence than the one on the terrace, though. Less like a wall. More like a held breath; the kind two people share when they’re both waiting to see who moves first.

I think about how easily I could lose him—how close I came to actually watching it happen last night—and how none of that fear canceled out the hurt I have. I don’t know yet how to hold both feelings at once without one eventually swallowing the other whole.

“Rafael,” I murmur. “Thank you for last night… and this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I told you. I’ll always get you out.”

I don’t have an answer for that yet. But I hold his gaze a beat longer than I should, long enough that Concetta clears her throat pointedly from the kitchen doorway, amused by whatever she’s just walked in on. Rafael breaks first, clearing his throat and standing, color rising faintly along his jaw.

The tension inside me recedes, my heart lighter.

For the first time since this nightmare started, I feel like I might, eventually, breathe again.

6

RAFAEL

The map’s spread across the table in the B&B’s small back room, corners weighted down with whatever we could find—a coffee mug, a stack of books, Maurizio’s knife. Five of us crowd around it: me, Maurizio, and three soldiers who followed us out of Newport City when I turned my back on Vito; men who’ve got more reason than most to want the Belluccis bleeding.

“Their shipment comes through the port Thursday night.” Maurizio taps a spot on the map, a stretch of coastline forty minutes from here. “Weapons mostly. Some cash moving through too, based on what our contact’s telling us.”

“How reliable is the contact?”

“Reliable enough.” He doesn’t elaborate further, and I don’t push. Maurizio’s sources have kept us alive this long. I’ve learned not to question the wiring behind that.

“We hit the shipment, cost them weapons and money in one move.” I trace the coastline with two fingers, working through the angles. “More than that—we send a message. Vito burns our house down, we burn his supply line.”

“Aggressive.” One of the soldiers, Enzo, shifts his weight, uncertain. “You sure that’s the move? Feels like poking a bear that’s already awake.”

“The bear’s already coming for us regardless.” I meet his eyes. “Might as well make sure it knows we bite back.”

Maurizio studies the map another long moment before nodding. “Thursday, then. In and out before their security rotation changes. We take the shipment, we torch what we can’t carry, and we’re gone before anyone’s smart enough to call it in.”

“Numbers?” I ask.

“Their intel says six men on the dock that night. Maybe eight if they’re being cautious after everything.”

“We can handle eight.” Enzo again, more confident now that the plan’s got real shape to it. The other two soldiers nod, some of the tension in the room easing.

I study the map a while longer after the plan’s settled, tracing the route we’ll take in, the route we’ll take out, every contingency I can think to prepare for. Thursday night. Two days from now. Plenty of time to plan and not nearly enough for the thing sitting heaviest in my chest—figuring out how to leave Portia behind without it turning into another fight neither of us can afford right now.

Portia’s waiting for me when the men clear out, arms crossed, standing in the doorway like she’s been listening longer than I’d like.

“Thursday night,” she says. Not a question.

“You heard.”

“Walls are thin, Rafael.” She steps further into the room, eyes flicking to the map still spread across the table. “I want to help. Not stand around here waiting to hear if you made it back.”

“No.”