Page 30 of Devil Among Men

“It’s starting to feel that way. Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I need you to trust that I know how to take care of myself and that Adagio’s doing right by me too.”

Maurizio studies her for a second, then gives a rigid nod. “Understood.”

That’s his final word as he turns and strides out of the room. Adagio’s quick to exit only seconds later.

Jayla sits back down, heaving a sigh. “That felt like it might’ve done more harm than good.”

“It’s, um, possible. You okay?”

“I don’t know how to feel about it, sissy. Maurizio’s saved my life twice. I care about him. Not like that, but I care about him.”

“He clearly cares about you too.”

“I just don’t know what to do with that, especially when I’m dating Adagio.”

“You don’t owe either of them an answer today. Sometimes things stay complicated for a while before they sort themselves out.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

I laugh at what’s such a Jayla thing to say. But it’s probably true all things considered. I’ve been doing so much reflection on my life lately, I’ve become my own therapist.

We sit together a while longer in comfortable silence, both of us conflicted over the things on our mind. Jayla caught between two men, and me caught between the past and present.

15

RAFAEL

“It’s time I tell you what I’ve remembered.” I sit across from Portia at the small table on our balcony, forcing myself to hold her gaze. “I had a flashback about a dinner twenty years ago. The same night as your parents’ murder.”

Her whole body stills. “I wish you’d told me sooner.”

“It took me some time to process what I was seeing. But… your father… he was there. Your adoptive father.”

“The night my parents died?”

“He was at the table with Vito and some other business associates. I remember hearing him ask about handling a problem, and Vito answering that it was already going to be handled.”

“You’re certain it was him?”

“I’m certain about the face. The voice took longer to place, but once I saw the photo on your phone, there wasn’t any doubt left.”

“Is it possible you’re misremembering? You were being inducted into the mob. You’ve said it yourself, your mind was fracturing. Memory doesn’t work like a recording. Isn’t it possible you’re conflating two different moments, or your mind filled in a face that fits the story better than the truth?”

“I’ve considered that.”

“And?”

“And I still believe what I remember.” I reach for her hand across the table. “But I understand why you’d want another explanation. I would too, in your position.”

“Maybe it was just business,” she says. “Maybe he got tangled up in it without understanding the full scope of what he’d agreed to, the way he told me on the phone. Rich men do business with dangerous people all the time without knowing exactly what they’re capable of. You’ve told me yourself that’s how the business world operates.”

“It’s possible.”

“But what? You don’t believe that?”

“Dolcezza, I can only speak to what I remember.” I squeeze her hand gently. “We need more proof either way. Real proof, not just my memory and a photograph. Renee, or the records from the warehouse. Anything that tells us the truth for certain before either of us decides what it means.”

She slowly nods, an ounce of resolve returning to her expression. “We keep digging until we find more.”