Page 35 of Devil Among Men

“Portia, I love you and Jayla both, more than my own life. That was never a lie, whatever else I did wrong,” he explains. “Your mother—your adoptive mother—she doesn’t know the full truth. I never told her everything. If you tell her⁠—”

“That’s not my responsibility to manage. You built this lie. You live with the consequences of it, including whatever happens when it finally reaches her.”

“Please, give me a chance to explain in person. Come home, and let me⁠—”

“I told you. I’m not coming home. There is no home there anymore, Dad,” she says. “You made sure of that the day you decided your safety mattered more than my parents’ lives.”

“But what other option did I have?”

“You didn’t have to sell out my dad for business! I’m done with this. I don’t want to speak to you again. I mean it this time.”

“Don’t do this. Let me make it right somehow.”

I lean into frame then, unable to stay silent any longer.

“Respect what she’s asking for,” I say calmly. “You betrayed a friend to save your life, and you’ve spent twenty years letting his daughters believe you were someone worth trusting. Whatever guilt you’re carrying now, you earned every ounce of it.”

“As if it’s any of your business what’s happened. I never meant⁠—”

“I don’t care what you meant,” I interrupt. “You got exactly what you deserved when the truth finally caught up to you. Be grateful it only cost you your daughter’s trust and not your life.”

Portia’s hand finds mine under the table, gripping tight, grounding herself against the weight of what she’s finally saying out loud.

“I’m never coming back to the States,” she says. “My life is here now, whatever that means going forward. I need you to accept that, and I need you to stop calling.”

“Portia, this is crazy! You don’t know what you’re doing. This is a mistake!”

She ends the call on him without a goodbye, setting the phone face down.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything, the silence heavy between us.

“You did the right thing,” I finally say, pulling her against my chest.

“I know,” she murmurs. “It still hurts.”

“It’s allowed to hurt.” I press a kiss against her hair, holding her tighter. “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right call.”

She pulls back, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I keep waiting to feel lighter. As if closing that door should’ve made this easier to get through.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I say. “These kinds of dynamics are complicated, and grief doesn’t care about closure. Sometimes it changes shape.”

“I’m not the only one who’s starting to sound like a therapist,” she laughs.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” I press another kiss against her forehead. “We’ll get each other through times like these. It’s what you do when you’re in love, and I’m ready for our next chapter to begin.”

A small smile returns to her face. She nods against me, and we sit there together for a while, the olive grove full of hushed calm, the war finally behind us.

18

PORTIA

Concetta helps Rafael set up dinner on the B&B’s small rooftop terrace, string lights strung between the chimney and an old iron railing, candles flickering against the evening breeze coming off the water somewhere beyond the rooftops of the village.

“What’s all this?” I step through the narrow door onto the terrace, genuinely caught off guard by the effort clearly poured into tonight.

“A proper dinner,” Rafael answers. He pulls out my chair, dressed nicer than I’ve seen him in weeks. “You’ve earned one after everything lately.”

“You didn’t have to do this.”