Page 6 of Devil Among Men

Maurizio watches it go, jaw clenched and hands bloody and rubbed raw from where he pulled the beam off her.

The rest of us stand in the drive, watching the villa burn. Black smoke brushes against a sky full of stars.

Portia’s shaking against me, staring up at the flames eating through the only safety we’d managed to scrape together in weeks. Her fingers tighten around mine as if she’s afraid I might disappear too if she lets go.

“Could this have been an accident?”

I don’t answer right away. I’m watching the fire instead, studying how it caught in more than one place at once. It’s moving faster and hungrier than any electrical fault has a right to.

I’ve seen fires set on purpose before, and this has all the markings of one.

“I don’t believe in accidents,” I say finally.

Maurizio steps up beside us, his eyes scanning the tree line past the gate as though he expects to find someone standing out there watching us burn. “Whoever did this wanted us to know it happened. This wasn’t subtle.”

“You mean like a message?” Portia says.

“More like a warning.”

Silence falls over the three of us.

I pull Portia in tighter against my side, keeping her close despite the immediate danger behind us.

My mind races through every enemy who might want us dead badly enough to burn down a house to make the point.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I almost let it ring out, too caught up in the wreckage in front of me to care about anything else tonight.

But when I glance down at the number lighting up the screen, I go still.

I know that number. I haven’t seen it in months, but it doesn’t matter. It’s burned into memory the same way everything from that life is, impossible to forget no matter how far I run.

A Bellucci number.

Portia goes still against me, looking on with growing dread.

“Rafael.” Her voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Who is it?”

But we both know the answer, the call more a formality than anything. A way to let me know exactly who’s watching.

4

RAFAEL

I answer on the first ring, my voice coming out as a growl. “Chi cazzo è?”

“Rafael, Anthony Jr. It’s been a while, huh?”

My grip tightens on the phone. “What do you want?”

“Just checking in. Heard you had a rough night. How’s the villa holding up? Nice and toasty, I imagine.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid. I turn away from Portia without meaning to, my natural instinct to shield her from what’s gone down.

“You son of a bitch,” I growl. “You think this is a game?”

“Don Vito wanted you to know he hasn’t forgotten what you did. Consider tonight a warning shot. Next time it won’t just be property.”