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“Rafael!” comes Maurizio’s voice.

We look over to spot one of my right hand men flagging us down. He’s by the last lifeboat with a bleeding Jayla, clearly waiting on his boss before he dares leave.

Gripping Portia’s hand tightly, I race toward him.

We’ve barely landed in the water, floating away, when the rest of the yacht goes down. One hundred million dollars down the fucking drain. I’d be livid if I couldn’t easily produce another one just like it.

I’m more enraged by the prospect somebody had the fucking audacity to attack me so out in the open.

First the shooting at the Rise and Thrive dinner. Now an explosive blowing up my boat.

The Tucos must think this is an even playing field since clearly they wanted retaliation for Luigi. They clearly are aware that Rafael Calderone and Il Diavolo are the same man.

To make matters worse, Anthony is here to witness the wreckage. He’ll be returning to Don Vito any moment to tell him all about how I’m letting the Tucos blow up my shit. It’ll be yet another example of weakness in his eyes. Another excuse for him to attempt to replace me.

But they have another thing coming if they believe I’ll ever allow it.

Both the Tucos and Don Vito and his minions like Anthony are in for a rude awakening. Rafael Calderone is not a man who allows for disrespect; Il Diavolo is a man who will tear them all from limb to limb over it.

* * *

There are no casualties from the yacht explosion. Everyone was either able to snag a lifeboat to shore or was rescued in time by water rescue men who came to the scene.

But there are many injuries. Severe burns, serious concussions, bruised and broken limbs among other things.

Portia’s sister sustains a fractured rib and sprained ankle from the force of the blast. I wait with Portia in the emergency room as the doctors patch Jayla up. I’ve put off questioning from the police so I can remain at Portia’s side and be supportive through this moment, though she barely looks at me. She won’t even utter a word.

She’s rightfully upset.

“Thirsty?” I ask. “I can have Maurizio go get?—”

“Rafael,” she snaps, arms tight across her chest, “I don’t need you or your men to get anything, okay? You’ve done enough.”

I take a step closer. “You have every right to be upset by what happened. But I’ll get to the bottom of?—”

“You mean like how you got to the bottom of the shooting a few weeks ago? Why does it seem like violence follows wherever you go?”

…because violence is my life.

“The police are investigating,” I say in a tone that’s forcefully calm. I lay a gentle hand on her shoulder only for her to shrug it off. “I will make sure they get the people who did this, Portia. You have my word.”

“Jayla was hurt. She could’ve died.”

“Which is exactly why I will make sure that I find out who did this.”

“Are you sure you don’t already know?”

My gaze narrows as I step around to face her more directly. “What exactly are you insinuating? Speak clearly. You know how.”

She scoffs. “You really think I must be naive, don’t you? You really think I buy for one second you don’t actually know what’s going on?”

It’s happening. I can sense it. Our first real fight.

None of the past back-and-forth, tit-for-tat exchanges count. We weren’t together yet and much of it was actual foreplay for us. Portia trying her damnedest to resist the attraction she had for me. The magnetic chemistry that she could feel pulled us together.

But this—it’s a couple at odds, butting heads, both in testy moods. She’s challenging me while I’m agitated enough to abandon my attempts to assuage her feelings. Her accusation lingers between us as the rest of the emergency room carries on in chaotic fashion.

No one around us is the wiser that the girlfriend of Il Diavolo might finally be putting the puzzle pieces together.