Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

8. House Arrest

eight

House Arrest

Her jaw dropped. Was he making fun of her? That would ordinarily be her assumption with a question like that, but nothing about the man across from her seemed like the type. So Abigail refrained from saying something rude or egregiously sarcastic in response, and instead replied, “I definitely don’t want to die.”

The amusement he’d shown before broadened into a cold smile. “Smart choice.” He folded one leg over the other, immediately transforming to look almost like a king deigning to sit on a run-down throne. “You strike me as an intelligent woman, Abigail Fitzgerald. Profession aside. So I’m going to give you a choice. This choice will be entirely yours to make, but you will not have an opportunity to change your mind later. Your fate will hinge upon this one decision. Are you following me so far?”

Abigail swallowed hard. She really didn’t like where this was going. “Yes.” But if this monster thought she was going to bend her knee to him, or let him use her as some temporary mistress, or anything remotely subservient like that, he was going to be disappointed. She would rather die. At least in death she’d have a shred of her dignity left.

“I generally have no love for law enforcement at any level,” he said plainly. “However, it’s possible Albert’s little agenda could provide an opportunity for both of us. If you cooperate.” He made a waving motion with one hand. “I hear you stumbled into our feud with the Ink Blots and their benefactor, Brendan Coughlan.”

Right, the asshole. Abigail nodded slowly.

The Dragon let his arm lower. “Instead of aiming to upend and destroy my family, make them your target.”

Even Cristiano looked surprised by the Dragon’s words, which made Abigail feel a tiny bit more justified in her own shock.

“We will all sleep better with the Ink Blots, and what remains of the Irish mob, off the streets,” he continued. “You can sweep up whichever cops choose loyalty to Silva and hand them over to me in the process as a bonus. Sometime after the arrests are made, but before the trial, Coughlan himself will die by my hands. You don’t need to worry about those details. His blood is non-negotiable. The rest I’m willing to let you and yours have, provided a hefty sentence follows. I want them off the board and unable to harm the ones I love. I imagine you can understand that.”

Her head was spinning again as she listened to his words, trying desperately to keep up with them. On the one hand, his suggestion was absolutely outrageous. On the other, it was … reasonable. Almost too generous, even.

The Dragon kept talking. “Work alongside us, in secret, to accomplish this task—and to bury any evidence which points only to me and mine—and I will promise to let you live. While the mission is active, I will see to it you are protected. If you wish to sever ties when it’s done and move forward as strangers, I will allow it. That is how great a help this feat would be.” His eyes narrowed again. “Decline this offer, and you don’t leave this building alive.”

Her heart thundered in her ears. Fuck. Me. Death or dishonor, huh? That was really what he was asking her to choose between?

How much dignity would she really have dying like this? Dying because she’d gotten desperate and sloppy, slept with her mark, and put both their lives on the line? Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure anymore how much value her mission even had. It was hard to say whether it was worth her life. She was supposed to be willing to put her life on the line, she knew that. But … if she died here, today, over this, what then?

Then the De Salvos stepped back out those doors and painted the streets red with blood. The entire city would suffer, directly or otherwise, because the chief of police was so crooked he was downright misshapen. And because the Dragon had learned that Newark’s Special Agent in Charge was looking to put him away. Mix in a personal family rivalry she knew she didn’t fully understand and that only amounted to chaos.

If she made the other choice, though … she couldn’t stay with the FBI. Not for long. She’d never be able to stomach it. Beyond that, what? What else would happen? What was the consequence? One bad man dead. She shouldn’t be okay with that, but Abigail doubted she’d lose sleep over it. More than likely—hopefully—a bunch of others behind bars for life, or close to it. The city would be safer. Technically that was already the goal.

How the hell did that add up?

The Dragon pushed to his feet. “Give me an answer by dawn or I’ll take your silence as an answer itself,” he said. He started forward, angling to walk past her. “If you try to leave this building before then, you’ll be shot dead.”

Abigail licked her lips, one other question whispering through her. One question she needed not to be guessing at. It was her fault, after all. “Ryōma,” she said, her voice too soft at first. She turned enough to see the terrifying mafia man’s back and spoke more clearly. “What about Ryōma?”

The Dragon paused just beyond the doorway to the room and glanced over his shoulder. “Ryōma will be your protector if you accept. Your executioner if you don’t.” The direction and intensity of his gaze shifted. “That’s your punishment for this migraine.”

Her breath lodged in her throat and Abigail couldn’t stop herself from looking over at Ryōma.

He remained on the couch, though he’d tilted forward in a partial bow of acknowledgment that needed no translation. His fists were clenched tightly over his lap. So tightly, in fact, she thought she spotted a fresh smear of blood across the top of his pants. As if it were trailing from his fists, as if he were gouging his own flesh with the nails she knew he kept short.

She hated that she’d hurt him. She hated that she’d endangered him. She hated that she’d put him—either of them—in the positions they were in. But I can still fix it.

Abigail rushed to the hall, so she could at least get eyes on the two men striding toward the door that led outside, and pushed the words that she knew would change her life past her lips. “I’ll do it. I accept.”

She would not stand idly by. She would not be yet another agent of the law who only enabled trauma. She would not orphan innocent children. But maybe there was something to the old adage of fighting fire with fire. She could still accomplish a semblance of the goal she’d set out with, albeit differently than she’d envisioned. And when the dust settled, when the bars slid shut behind the last future convict, she would find a way to leave the FBI that didn’t call into question the credibility of every case she had worked.

It was an imperfect solution, but it was the best way to keep the most innocent people alive. The only other thing she’d have to figure out how to do would be smuggling her informant out of state before it was over.

The Dragon faced her once more, his blue eyes practically glowing against the backlight. “Excellent. Cristiano will set you up with what you’ll need. Use this location as your base for the time being.” He didn’t wait for her response before stepping out the door and disappearing into the afternoon sunlight.

Cristiano didn’t follow after him, but rather watched from the doorway for several seconds before stepping back and shutting it again. He flipped the deadbolt, then turned toward her and folded his arms. “It’ll take a few hours to get you set up. You’ll wait here for that time.”

Abigail frowned. “I thought I was supposed to be doing my job, with a different focus?”

“Essentially, yes. But you’ll need equipment and a cover story. By now your employer will have heard about the accident near your complex. You should be prepared to explain any calls you’ve missed, the reason you have a bodyguard, and the reason you’re adjusting focus.” His eyes narrowed. “First, you’re going to answer a question for me.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Now what? Is it not enough that you’ve raked me over the damn coals and basically forced me to abandon my life plan?”

“It was your life plan to destroy my family? Orphan my nieces and nephew? Commit elderly wives who are only guilty of being loyal to their husbands to dying in prison? That was your life plan?”

She sucked in a breath. “No! Dammit!” She made an exasperated sound as images of her own childhood ripped through her. “I decided to join the FBI when I was like thirteen. I dedicated myself to studying hard and reaching that goal throughout high school and college, at the detriment of my social life. That’s all I meant, okay? I don’t have a backup plan for my life.” She blew out a breath. “Just ask what you want.” It didn’t even matter, anyway.

His face was unreadable. “Why were you trying to get close to Felicity?”

Abigail stared at him. “Huh?”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.

Abigail pressed her fingers to her temple. “Oh my god, you’re serious,” she mumbled to herself. “I wasn’t , okay? I didn’t know she existed when I moved into that building. It was cheap and the FBI wasn’t looking to splurge on my lodgings. I happened to be walking by the office that day and heard a scuffle, so I went inside. Honestly, I would have called the police for her and walked away, but she didn’t want to. I didn’t get suspicious that she was involved somehow in my case until the day in the diner when you insisted on buying my breakfast. All I was doing was saying hi to someone I recognized. It’s hard being new in a big city and having to lie every second of the day.”

He stared her down for another long minute before unfolding his arms. “All right, then.”

Seriously? Just like that?

“I’m going to organize supplies. Don’t try to leave. I’ll bring food when I come back. Your new mission starts tomorrow, today you’re on house arrest.” He glanced past her and something she couldn’t read crossed over his face. “Both of you.” Then he pulled keys out of his pocket, turned, and let himself out. The door locked behind him.

Abigail blew out a breath. “Holy fuck.”

“You’re lucky. ”

She jumped at the haggard tone of Ryōma’s voice, coming from the room just behind her. He didn’t sound at all like himself. Not like the man she’d spent time with, at least. Then his words penetrated her brain and she twisted in place to balk at him. “How? How is being left alive to screw my own life over actually lucky ?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’d rather be dead? You don’t see the value in taking a violent, drug-pushing gang off the streets? And a bunch of dirty cops, and some straggling mobsters? It’s De Salvo mafia or bust for you, is that it?”

Abigail winced. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No. You meant that your life as you planned it is being thrown off track and you don’t know how to reconcile that.” He pushed to his feet, arms swinging to his sides. “You’re not the only one who’s had to deal with that, either. You’ll find a way to move forward, because you can . Life goes on.”

She felt herself frown. “Can I … ask you about that?” She knew the question was audacious. He probably couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore. But what he’d said sounded so painful, and was simultaneously so intriguing, she couldn’t help herself.

“No.”

Abigail reared back even as Ryōma angled past her to start down the hall. She opened her mouth to say something in response and her gaze dropped again to his hands. His fists were looser, though still arguably clenched, and she was sure now she saw blood on his fingers. “Ryōma, your hands—what did you do?” He hadn’t been bleeding before. She was sure of it.

He made a scoffing sound without breaking stride. “That’s the question, all right.”

What had he done?

He’d never had such a hard time minding his place, for one thing. Not since he’d been a lower-level man in a very different group, at least. And he knew full well how things went when he lost his temper in those situations. Trying to assert himself, trying to step up in defense of a woman who may or may not have earned what was happening, only meant pain, spilled blood, and death. The latter hadn’t yet come for him.

The fact that he’d had to gouge his own palms to keep from interfering when the boss had gotten in Abby’s face was a problem. Almost as much of a problem as being expected to stand by as her protector moving forward.

That was why it was a punishment.

It was almost funny how just that morning he would have grinned like an idiot at the notion of being assigned to stick close to her and keep her safe. It would have seemed like the easiest job he’d been handed in a damn long time.

Ryōma shouldered open the bathroom door and flipped on the tap to let the water warm. The house had some basic supplies, at least, so he could clean up the mess he’d made of his hands. They both needed a change of clothes, although at least hers were clean.

Feminine hands latched onto his outer wrist and a soft curse reached his ears as he realized he hadn’t bothered kicking the door shut behind him. She rolled his hand over and her grip tightened. “Shit, Ryōma, why did you do this to yourself?”

He ground his teeth. “You wouldn’t understand.” He pulled his arm from her grip and plunged both hands beneath the steaming water. It stung, but not badly enough to make him retreat.

Abby sighed. “I get that you’re mad, and I deserve that. I do. But you don’t have to be an ass all of a sudden. You don’t even know what I would understand.”

When the blood was mostly rinsed off, he used his wrist to pump a healthy amount of soap into his other palm and began lathering a little too roughly. That also stung, more than the water, and the suds quickly turned red. He kept going. “Yeah? I wonder whose fault that is.”

“Fine. You know what, yes, I lied. Newsflash , boyfriend, you weren’t exactly forthcoming with your job, either. So go ahead and play the hurt feelings card. Go ahead and give me the cold shoulder. Go ahead and self-mutilate, even, if that’s your thing. I’m not a therapist, I can’t fix that. But don’t dump all the blame on me like you were Mr. Angel.” She twisted and stomped from the room.

His lips curled and he shoved his hands back under the running water. He rinsed quickly, patted dry on the waiting towel, and pulled the entire box of bandages from the overhead cabinet before striding after her .

Abby was back in the sitting room, sitting on the sofa he had previously occupied.

Ryōma dropped the box in her lap and then sat at her side, inside her personal space. She made a sound of protest that he pointedly ignored. He held out his hands, palms up, so she could see the marks he’d made and where the blood still bubbled up. Instead of articulating the request, he said, “First, it’s hard to call something a lie when only one party was in the blind. So, yeah, I didn’t tell you what I do for a livin’. Doesn’t mean you didn’t know.”

She frowned at him, already thumbing open the box of bandages.

“Second, I didn’t say what I do, but I sure as hell didn’t tell you a lie to cover it, either. I gave you my name—not some fake identity I was usin’ to worm my way into someone else’s good graces.” He watched as she dropped her gaze, her frown tightening. “And third, I didn’t hunt you down with the intention of ruining your life.”

She dragged the edge of her nail across his palm as she smoothed out the sticky ends of the bandage. “Can you honestly say you never have, though?”

Ryōma waited for her to apply the second, on his other palm, then reached out and lifted her chin again. “When I hunt someone down, I’m straightforward. They know why I’m comin’ and how it’ll end when I catch them.”

“So you ruin lives, but it’s okay because you’re honest about it?”

He gave her a feral grin that was in no way warm and friendly. “Baby girl, nothing about what I do is okay . But someone has to get their hands dirty in this life, and it turns out I have the stomach for it.”

Her nostrils flared and she swallowed visibly. Her hands retreated to her lap. “And how … is this going to end? For me?”

For her. The question—and the clarification—cut through him. He released her chin and pulled the box of bandages from the nest of her arms. “The boss keeps his word. Do what you say you will, don’t fuck the family over in the process, and he’ll let you walk without constraints.” He stood again and went to return the box to the bathroom.

He really was a fool. She’d been using him from the start. All she wanted now was a path to survival, preferably with her career intact. Whatever potential he’d thought they had had been as much a lie as everything else.

Instead of returning to the sitting room and the beautiful siren within, Ryōma wandered into the kitchen. He’d heard Cris promise to bring food when he came back later, and in truth Ryōma had no real appetite, but it was a change of scenery. However small. The kitchen wasn’t the most expensive, the most elaborate, but it was nice enough to support whoever might need to stay in the house short-term.

Ryōma moved up to the window over the sink and looked out. They weren’t really in hiding, and the boss had left guards around the front and back exits to make sure Abby didn’t try bailing, so he wasn’t worried about someone spotting him through the small opening. He was just hoping to see something that might occupy his mind for a few minutes.

He stood there, watching the trees at the edge of the yard dance in the faint summer breeze, until the soft shuffle of Abby’s sock-covered footfalls drew his attention. He could feel her behind him like she commanded his every sense, but he didn’t move.

Her voice was softer than he’d been braced for, a blend of shame and sadness that felt like another punch to the gut. “I know you won’t believe me, but I never set out to hurt you. I never even set out to seduce you. I just … I had hoped we could talk, strike up a kinship somehow, and I could get you to open up that way. My intention had been to offer you some sort of immunity or reduced sentence and protection in exchange for your testimony.” She paused and he heard her draw a wet breath. “I realize that doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t make you feel better. But I … wanted you to know. For whatever it might be worth.”

Ryōma exhaled as her steps retreated.

He shouldn’t believe her. Even if he did, it shouldn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Ally or not, she was FBI.

Unless… He pushed away from the sink and trailed after her, finding she had returned to the sitting room once more. He wondered for a second if she was the most comfortable there, or if she simply wasn’t allowing herself to wander. Then he let the thought go.

Abby looked up as he stepped into the room.

Ryōma rolled his words around in his head for a beat. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” he said plainly. “You gave the boss your word. You’ll be held to that now until the job’s done, and that means you and I are gonna be seeing a lot of each other.”

She nodded slowly. “I suppose it does. ”

He dropped into a crouch in front of her. “So let’s do this right. Because if you think I’m suddenly gonna feel like sharing, you’d better think again.”

Abby gaped. “I beg your pardon? Feel like—Not everything is about sex!”

Ryōma let a grin build slowly on his face. “Oh, it’s about more than sex, baby girl.” He reached out and slipped his hands beneath the hem of her ill-fitted shirt. “Although the sex is also important.”

She swatted at his hands, tipping her body toward him in the process. “Sex is how we got in trouble, you idiot. It complicates things.”

“That was the old us,” Ryōma replied, hauling her up by the waist and tossing her over his shoulder. Her shriek only made him grin wider. “The new us is wholly aware of each other. I know exactly who I’m going to be fucking now.”

“Hey! Ryōma!” Abby tugged on the back of his shirt as he walked, her legs kicking helplessly. “Put me down!”

He stepped into the front room and swept his gaze around. Boss must’ve ordered Tony out. Good. Ryōma strode over to the bench seat positioned underneath the large picture window and let Abby slide down to her feet. His hand glided over her skin beneath her borrowed shirt as her tits dragged against his chest. She hadn’t bothered putting her bra back on yet. That made it even better.

Her cheeks were flushed and she immediately glanced around, obviously surprised by their surroundings. She pushed at his chest, attempting to step away. “You can’t go from basically not talking to me to—Hey! What’re you doing?”

Ryōma dipped his fingers past the waistband of her pants, which were hanging on by the sturdy grace of a fully drawn drawstring. He lowered his lips to her ear, using his arms to hold her against him. “Touching you. Figured that was obvious.” He nibbled the curve of her earlobe and drew his hands around to tug at her drawstring. “I’m gonna get on my knees for you and feast on your sweet pussy. Then I’m gonna pick you up, sit you on my lap, and fuck into you so good, you won’t even care if that door opens while I’m balls deep inside you.”

Her breath shuddered out of her and Abby tilted her head back as his lips lowered to her neck. “Th-that’s … a terrible … idea.”

He pushed her pants past her hips, letting the fabric fall to the floor and revealing her unadorned pussy. “Is it?” He reached lower and stroked two fingers over her folds, his lips teasing the column of her throat. “Doesn’t feel like you dislike it, though.”

His fingers slipped past her damp folds and she breathed out a curse. Her hands reached up to twist into his shirt, holding onto him. He teased her clit with the pad of his fingers, then broke from her skin. “Spread your legs, baby girl. Show me that pretty pussy.”