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Then I think about all the other odd occurrences like the shooting and the yacht explosion. I think about the crew of armed men who seem to follow Rafael everywhere and the way the mere mention of his name got Luigi Grasso to back down.

Before he turned up dead.

Shot dead in cold blood, on the street like nothing.

I blink and realize I’ve been so lost in thought that I’ve walked into the Java King on the corner from the station and gotten in line. It’s now my turn to order.

The two college-aged girls behind me sigh impatiently, prompting me to step toward the counter and order my usual.

I sit down with my drink and phone in hand thinking about what I should do next. I’ve reached a dead end as far as what information I can unearth online. What about info I could gather from people who know Rafael?

A name comes to mind scrolling through the contact list on my phone. It’s a person I haven’t contacted in almost two years, but who has remained in my phone by chance.

Three rings later, Francesca Vigoda’s answering her phone.

“Hello?” she says, a confused lilt to her Italian accent.

“Francesca? Hi, it’s me Portia James. I’m not sure if you remember me from?—”

“Our American Princess,” she interrupts, her voice brighter now. “Yes, of course I remember you. What a nice surprise! Are you back in Sicily?”

“Hmm? Oh, no! No, that’s not why I’m calling. I was actually… I was hoping maybe you could provide me some info.”

“Info? What kind of info?”

“About Rafael Calderone. You had mentioned your company works for him.”

“That is correct. He invests in our touring company. Would you like me to set up a future tour for you and your sister?”

“Maybe another time. I was more so interested in learning more about Rafael. Your families knew each other growing up, correct?”

“Mr. Calderone is from Ragusa like my family.”

“Can you tell me more about his family? His upbringing? More about his?—”

“I’m sorry, I’m not able to provide any information about Mr. Calderone.”

“But maybe you can tell me how your company began working?—”

“Portia, I am sorry,” she repeats firmly. “I can’t answer these kinds of questions. It was nice speaking to you. Goodbye.”

The call drops before I can plead with her to stay on the phone.

Sighing, I rub at my brow as if pained by a headache. Something tells me any other business associates I contact will have a similar knee-jerk response to any questions. The people he works with are undyingly loyal. That’s for sure.

“It’s going to be lit.”

“I can’t wait. You’re sure you can get us in?”

“Positive. I know all the bouncers at U4EA.”

Giggles erupt from the table behind me.

I sneak a subtle glance over my shoulder to find the two college-aged girls who had been in line behind me are now seated at my neighboring table. I’d think nothing of their conversation if not for what they say next.

“Rumor has it there’s a new product they’re selling,” whispers the first girl. “It’s called Nectar. I can probably score us some.”

The second girl’s laugh is nervous. “The last party favor I tried had me passed out by the toilet.”