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As I predicted, it works. Portia ends up calling Joe Germanotta—a longtime friend of mine in the media business—and he officially offers her the position. She drags her feet on accepting for a few days, but in the wake of our breakup, she decides she no longer wants to be in Newport. A new break in DC suits her.

Within two weeks, she has her things packed and shipped off. Jayla’s rightfully tearful and reluctant to let her go. She doesn’t want to see her leave any more than I do, but the choice has already been made, and she’s forced to accept that her sister and best friend is moving on.

I watch them embrace at Newport International Airport. Jayla’s in big sunglasses, probably to hide her tears, as she puts her arms around Portia and tells her she can always come back if she decides it’s not for her.

Portia is equally as emotional. She tries to put on a brave face, bottling up any emotion, but I can read the subtle signs. The slight quiver of her jaw and the strained expression on her face. She hugs Jayla again as if needing one more for the road before she goes.

Then she grabs her rolling suitcase and starts toward the security checkpoint.

I feel numb watching her disappear among the crowd of other travelers. It’s taken every crumb of restraint I have to keep from chasing after her. Making a sudden appearance to plead with her not to go. Explain I only encouraged it and broke up with her for her best interests.

I did it to protect her. She just doesn’t know how or why.

Two things, among others, that she can never know.

Letting Portia go is what’s for the best. I remind myself this a thousand times. In DC, she’ll be able to start over, focus on her career, and stop fixating on the organized crime war in Newport. She’ll meet new people. A new man…

I heave a deep, difficult sigh and turn away from the airport’s crowded atrium. Adagio waits for me in the Audi as I slide into the backseat. Our gazes meet in the rearview mirror.

“Time to go?” he asks.

“Time to go.”

“So she’s really boarding the plane?”

“Yes,” I answer. “She’s really gone.”

He releases a breath like the one I had moments ago. “It’s probably for the best. That way no more situations like the docks or warehouse. Women—they’re prettier and smell nicer than us. But they’re too much trouble.”

“Drive.”

Adagio nods and pulls away from the curb where he’s been idled waiting for me.

It’s funny because the streets of Newport all look the same. I look out the window at the massive skyscrapers and bustling traffic and realize everybody else is carrying on like usual. The city doesn’t pause or stop for anyone. Neither does time.

Giving up Portia won’t get any easier, but it will be worth it for her safety and the security of my identity. It will be what’s for the best.

I have to refocus on the things under my scope. Our empire is thriving and growing by the day. The profit we’ve seen from Nectar has been beyond what we anticipated, which means even more expansion. Even more power and dominance.

Don Vito, Anthony Senior, and the others must recognize my reign won’t be ending any time soon. Titus and the rest of the Tucos will meet a wrath unlike anything they’ve ever conceived.

And it starts with Sergio.

We drive back to my penthouse, where I step into my office and pull the top drawer on the desk open. The mask slides onto my face, and I emerge as a different man than I was seconds ago.

Maurizio and my other men await me in the chamber where I keep my pet projects. Sergio’s barely conscious, bound to the dentist chair we often use. He’s sustained so much trauma and punishment over the past few weeks that it’s a miracle he’s alive.

Portia had noticed the scrapes on my knuckles. That was just the beginning.

He started as my punching bag. He’ll end up as my disfigured pound of flesh. I’ll collect every last scream he’s capable of giving until finally I’m satisfied and then he’ll be left to bleed out.

I step through the door and even my men tense up, intimidated by the man in the mask. The man they all fear.

“Ciao, pezzo di merda. Sei pronto per divertirti ancora di più oggi?”

Sergio whimpers, his mouth swollen and leaking blood. He has no teeth left… among other pieces of him already missing.

I hold out my hand and Maurizio promptly passes over the blowtorch. My latest weapon of choice.

“Voglio sentirti urlare,” I say, pressing the nozzle on the blowtorch and igniting the burning hot blue flame. “Non aspettarti che il diavolo abbia pietà. Non esiste.”

The devil has many forms, and today he’s chosen me.

TO BE CONTINUED…