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RAFAEL

“Always such a pleasurehaving drinks with you, Rafael,” says Archibald Warner. The liver-spotted man winks at me, raising his drink in solidarity.

I’m seated in the armchair across from him nursing my own drink. We’re at the tail end of our impromptu business meeting.

Archibald is one of the biggest financial juggernauts in the city, running the global investment bank W&M. He’s made billions while the average citizen in Newport makes pennies.

Not my favorite person in the world, but he’s often a necessary evil when doing business in the city (and the rest of the world, for that matter).

He has no clue I’m familiar with him and W&M in more ways than one.

Most of my business dealings as Rafael Calderone are entirely separate from my dealings as Il Diavolo.

The same millionaires and billionaires who highly respect Rafael Calderone deeply fear Il Diavolo and the Bellucci family.

How I prefer things.

“Well, I better be on my way,” Archibald says, setting down his glass. “We’ll have to do this again sometime. My turf next time.”

He laughs at his own quip. I merely grin and wait for my security to show him out. The second he’s gone, I’m pivoting for my desk and opening the top drawer.

The devil mask waits inside, my alter ego calling to me.

I put him on and inhale a deep breath as if my palate is being cleansed.

As if Rafael Calderone is the character I play, not Il Diavolo.

Il Diavolo is who I truly am at my core. Il Diavolo is who I was truly born to be.

Il diavolo ha molte forme.

Mamma’s words ring true even so many years later. I step toward the fireplace in the room and pull on the lion head book end.

The fireplace slides to the side and reveals an entryway that leads to a dungeon few get to visit. Even fewer make it out alive.

“JESUS CHRIST HAVE MERCY… PLEASE… GOD NO… GOD NO… NO… NO!”

The screams echo from the end of the tunnel and only grow louder the closer I make it.

I stroll into the dungeon with my mask on and hands in my pockets to the gruesome scene before me.

Benjamin Sigler’s strapped down to the same kind of chair you’d find in any dentist office. His mouth’s propped open by a metal device, revealing the nightmarish state of his teeth… or what were once his teeth.

They’ve been crushed into pieces on the floor.

Adagio and Maurizio are on either side, each with a pair of pliers and an apron to keep the blood off their designer suits.

“Diavolo,” Maurizio says with a nod of his head. “He refuses to talk. We’ve been taking a tooth for every question he hasn’t answered.”

“We’re quickly running out,” adds Adagio. “Next is the tongue. What do you think?”

“NO… NO-NO-NO!” Sigler screams in horror. “PLEASE JESUS CHRIST!”

I step closer and peer down at the pitiful sack squirming in the chair. “If you want to save that tongue, then it sounds like you better start talking. We know it was you, Benji.”

“You killed my brother, you piece of shit!” he shrieks, a sudden fight about him. He spits at my face, landing a loogie on the mask.

Adagio and Maurizio immediately stick the pliers in his mouth. The metal devices clamp down on his tongue as they go to wrench it right out.