Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

11. Bullets & Trains

eleven

Bullets & Trains

It was a long, frustrating night.

To no one’s excitement, Ryōma and Abigail were transferred from the standard safehouse system to the guest house on Michele De Salvo’s property. It wasn’t a sign of trust or an offer of protection, it was a thinly veiled warning. Ryōma understood that. Just as he understood that for as much as he disliked it, he had little choice other than to suck it up for the time being.

Abby had already offered something of value, something she hadn’t originally wanted to give. It was a start. Both sides needed to figure out a way to work together.

Ryō ma said a silent, pointless prayer that one of the parties involved would have an epiphany come sunrise as he slipped into the darkened bedroom. He was bone-tired after having spent the past several hours out on the streets, helping round up Marchesi’s regular acquaintances. Mama Marchesi didn’t seem to have had a clue about her boy’s disloyalty, and so far, his friends were singing the same tune. The ones that were talking at all.

It was the ones that had run, the two that had forced him and Cris to give chase, that were cause for concern.

But he’d get back to peeling their secrets out of them after breakfast, and breakfast would come after sleep. He’d already detoured to the bathroom to clean up what he needed to, so he stepped out of everything but his boxers and crawled under the covers.

Abby was sound asleep, her back to the main part of the room and her body twisted so she was half on her side and half on her stomach. Her dark hair was loose, hiding her neck and most of her shoulders from view. With only the faint light of what little moonlight poked around the edges of the curtains, she was hard to see, except for where her skin showed. Her skin was bright even in the darkness, like a guiding beacon.

Ryōma curled up behind her and dipped his head until her hair tickled his nose. He drew in a lungful of her scent and bit back a groan. The woman was a drug to him. He’d never understood the feeling until he’d stepped into her space in that bar, until her eyes had met his and he’d caught his first teasing whiff of her lightly perfumed scent. The FBI thing was a huge fucking complication, to be sure, but he was determined to find a way past it. A way that didn’t involve one or both of them spending a few decades behind bars.

Abby shifted faintly, letting out a soft hum.

Ryōma melded himself around her, slipping a leg between hers and pulling her into his chest as he adjusted to let her take a portion of his weight. One of his arms curled over and around until he could catch her fingers. He found the nape of her neck with his lips and pressed a kiss there. “ Oyasumi ,” he murmured against her skin before shifting his head back enough to rest it on the pillow.

Abby exhaled beneath him, her body unclenching from some invisible tension.

He let his eyes close, the exhaustion from the day taking hold and dragging him quickly into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Waking up with Ryōma was startlingly domestic. Comfortable in a way Abigail had not been prepared for. Though the building around them was unfamiliar and she knew it was as much a holding cell as it was a safe haven, it was too easy to lose herself in the small, intimate moments. The way his arms felt, locked around her, when she’d first pried her eyes open. The way he’d nuzzled into her neck in protest when she’d tried to extricate herself from his grip. The way he’d whispered good morning against her lips—in Japanese—then grinned almost boyishly as he taught her the word. The way he had followed her into the shower and made absolutely no bones about fucking her against the shower wall until they were both wide awake and crashing again before finally helping her lather up.

Abigail wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. If she didn’t think too deeply on it, this could well be described as the best start to a Monday she’d ever had. But she was too awake now to not understand that, for all that had happened the day before, this was the day everything changed. Not that she was always expected to show up at an office, or even call her supervisor. Whole weeks went by without direct communication between herself and her bosses. But if she was nowhere, never logging onto the grid or leaving at least a small digital breadcrumb, it would be suspicious.

“That is not the look you’re supposed to have on your face this morning,” Ryōma said, leaning into her personal space with a single arched brow. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

She blinked rapidly, dragging herself into the moment. “Sorry,” she said on reflex. “I was just—I realized this idea, this plan, is going to be more complicated than we might be ready for.”

He adjusted to rest his butt against the peninsula, angled to face her. “Considering it’s already pretty damn complicated, that’s a concerning statement. What’s on your mind?”

Abigail smiled. She appreciated that he was willing to have this conversation calmly with her. It made her want to work harder to make the situation easier for him in turn. “If I understand correctly, I’m supposed to be essentially doing my job, but actually in favor of your employer. Both in the way that I bury anything which might solely incriminate you, and particularly in the way that I alter the focus of my mission to target the Irish mob instead.” Which really wasn’t much of an alteration, given the vague parameters of her assignment. It only felt like one, since for most of her time in Newark she’d been operating under the—accurate—presumption that the De Salvos were the source of the crime.

Ryōma inclined his head. “That about sums it up. I think you’re supposed to toss Silva in, too, if you can.”

“Right. I definitely will.” She set her coffee down. “The issue is, how am I supposed to do that while I’m sequestered? I do understand the distrust, don’t get me wrong. But all this—” She swept an arm out to indicate the empty sitting room behind them. “Accomplishes is getting me labeled as a missing person and running the risk of intensifying the FBI’s focus on my investigation.” She held Ryōma’s stare as his eyes narrowed in a way she understood was not a glare, but a thoughtful reflection. “I won’t be able to do what’s been asked of me if I’m locked up and left to twiddle my thumbs every day. That’s what I’m saying.”

Two distinct knocks coming from beyond Abigail’s position interrupted any response Ryōma might have had. Her back went rigid as she watched Ryōma straighten and turn to face the source of the noise, and she couldn’t bring herself to fully relax at the notion that he didn’t reach for a weapon. No matter how she felt about him, his allies were not necessarily hers .

A voice she barely recognized as belonging to the owner of the property they’d been shuffled to the previous evening said, “Glad to hear I don’t have to explain that to you. You’ve had enough time to eat, I presume?”

“Yep,” Ryōma replied. “Cris texted me this morning, said he was gonna run lead on Marchesi’s friends for now.”

Abigail slowly spun herself around on her stool-styled seat, enabling herself to get line-of-sight on their host, Mikey De Salvo. She remembered when they’d been abruptly introduced the night before, he’d somehow looked angrier than his own brother. Whether that was because he was being asked to open up his personal property or because he had a worse temper she genuinely didn’t know.

The blatant anger on his face was less obvious this morning, though his brow still furrowed when he met her stare. “For precisely the reason you were just explaining to Ryōma, you won’t be hiding away like a prisoner.” He lifted the briefcase he held at his side and set it in the seat of the nearest chair. “You’ll use these. Yes, I have remote access and myself or one of my most capable men will be keeping an eye on your signal at all times. If you expect less than that at this stage, you’re an idiot.” He flipped open the lid of the case and spun it as if he were revealing a great prize.

Nestled inside was a laptop, what looked like a new smartphone, an earpiece, and all the charging cables she might need.

Mikey continued speaking. “The laptop and phone have been pre-programmed with information you’ll inevitably find useful. The laptop has restricted access to my network, you should be able to do what you need with it. If that proves insufficient, we can discuss the situation at that time. Don’t worry about logging on to any secure sites, it won’t be an issue. The only thing you need to be worrying about is getting your job done.”

Abigail gave herself a mental push and found her feet, slowly making her way forward until she could reach the briefcase and the items within. She extracted the phone, running her thumb along the smooth surface. “Thank you,” she said. She looked up at Mikey, who had moved back as she had moved closer. “I assume the tracking is at least partly because you also recognize that I won’t likely succeed if I’m only working on the digital front?”

Mikey inclined his head. “You assume correctly. Ryōma goes where you go, and vice versa. If you have to check in physically at headquarters, he’ll take up a position outside and wait.” Mikey’s expression hardened. “Understand, Ryōma’s job is to protect you while you’re doing what you promised, but his job is also to kill you fast and bloody the instant you decide to break that promise. So feel free to trust him only as much as we can trust you.” He cut his stare to Ryōma. “You know the consequences for disobeying. Don’t make me say it.”

“I know,” Ryōma said, his voice tight.

Abigail held tighter to the phone in her hand, a surge of indignation burning inside her. “Mr. De Salvo,” she said, “I do understand what you’ve said, and I don’t expect you to trust my word, so I won’t ask you to. But please don’t threaten my boyfriend.”

Ryōma made a muted sound, as if she’d caught him off-guard .

Both of Mikey’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead. “Excuse me?”

The feelings tangled and twisted in her chest chose that moment to settle into at least one discernable fact. One simple, complicated thing that she knew was true even though it shouldn’t have been. “Ryōma is the only part of this that makes sense to me right now,” she said, her voice quieter but no less steady. She held Mikey De Salvo’s subtly widened blue eyes. “But you—all of you—are his family. I didn’t set out to destroy families, and I won’t be the reason his falls apart.” If she could help it.

Mikey exhaled harshly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Then make sure we can trust you.” He twisted on his heel and strode from the room without waiting for a response. The door slammed shut seconds later and Abigail wobbled on her feet, as if the pressure had suddenly been let out of her lungs.

Ryōma was there, curving an arm around her back and tipping her into his chest. “You’re a rare breed, Abigail Fitzgerald,” he said gently.

She let her new phone slip back onto the seat of the chair and pressed her forehead closer to the groove of his throat. “I’m not all that special. I’m just tired of this.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you are special, baby girl.” His lips teased her temple. “My little sakurasou .”

Abigail blinked and lifted her head. “Your what? Did you just call me a cherry blossom?” She was only somewhat sure she knew the Japanese word for that flower, and like most, it sounded different properly pronounced .

This time Ryōma laughed outright, his brown eyes sparkling. He lowered a hand to her hip and dipped his other into a pocket to tug out the new phone he had acquired sometime during the night. “No, baby girl. Cherry blossoms are sakura . Sakurasou is the Japanese primrose. The word is similar because someone decided a long time ago that the petals looked similar. Here.” He turned the screen of his phone around to show her an image of a bushel of purple-hued flowers. The flowers seemed to grow in a sort of circle around each stem, and the petals resembled elongated hearts. They were pretty, delicate looking, and definitely not cherry blossoms.

Abigail lifted her gaze from the screen after several seconds. “They’re pretty. But what do they have to do with me?”

He dismissed the image and tucked his phone away. “It wasn’t long ago they were considered endangered. Hence, rare.” His arms folded around her, holding her close. “There are grown men who don’t have the balls to look a single De Salvo in the eye and speak coherent sentences, let alone speak up for anyone else. Maybe you can’t see it yet, but you have something most don’t, Abby. Maybe it’s still growing, maybe it’s still hiding inside you somewhere, but it’s there.” He brushed his lips across her cheeks, over the bridge of her nose. “I find myself wanting to protect it, protect you . That’s not even my nature.”

Abigail scoffed and stretched her arms around his torso, tipping her head back to better find his eyes again. “I think you underestimate yourself. You play that role quite well.”

He grinned. “For you, an’ maybe three other people.”

She rolled her eyes. “There are more than three De Salvos. ”

“Exactly my point.” His expression sobered. “I’m good at doin’ what I’m told, and I’d take a bullet for any of ‘em. But there’s a difference between taking a bullet and jumpin’ in front of a train. I’d only do that for maybe three.”

Abigail stared up at him, an imagined train suddenly blaring through her mind. “That’s…. Why a train? Most people use taking a bullet as their big ultimate example.”

He shrugged. “Always felt more intense. Growin’ up the way I did, gettin’ hurt was guaranteed. I took my first bullet at fifteen. So it doesn’t feel like as big a sacrifice to say I’d take another. But people don’t generally walk away from bein’ run over by a train. That’s a fast, brutal way to go. I saw it happen once and realized real fast I didn’t want to be on that end of things. Guess it stuck with me.”

She inadvertently held him tighter. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry, Ryōma.” She could hardly imagine having to witness something like that. What kind of childhood did he have that he can say that so casually?

He lifted a hand to glide his fingers across her face, cupping her unbruised jaw. “That’s what I’m getting at, Sakurasou . This thing I feel for you … I don’t see myself letting you stare down a train.”

Her heart jumped so hard it nearly burst from her chest. Abigail sucked in a shaky breath. “Is that … something they do?” She hadn’t heard a single rumor about bodies, or body pieces, being found on or adjacent to the train tracks. “The De Salvos, I mean. Do I have to be worried about that? ”

His lips twitched. “No, baby girl. It’s just my own personal metaphor. Though it is something the Harada-kai did a couple times out in California.”

Abigail blinked, spinning as she processed his words. “Harada-kai?”

Ryōma nodded. “The yakuza group I was brought up in. The California branch isn’t—or at least wasn’t—too big, I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t heard the name.”

She should probably not have felt so excited over the notion that he was finally telling her even that little bit about his history. But she couldn’t deny the swell of stupid giddiness that rushed in behind her understanding of his words. Abigail pushed herself up and kissed him firmly. Her lips parted and their tongues clashed, each seeking entry into the others’ mouths. She moaned. He moaned. He tangled a hand in her hair.

The kiss broke.

Abigail licked her lips, breathless and flustered and knowing she had no one else to blame. She moved a hand to let her fingers trail his jaw. “I don’t want you to jump in front of a train for me, okay?”

He snorted. “If it comes to that, I won’t be asking permission.”

She smiled stupidly and shook her head. “So, you used to live in California?”

Warmth softened his expression and his hands resettled on her hips. “We moved to Hawaii when I was nine, but that didn’t stick and the group settled in California by the time I was ten. That’s where I lived until I was exiled when I was twenty-five.”

Abigail adjusted her hands to his chest, allowing herself a moment to feel the strength of his heartbeat beneath her palms as his words settled in her mind. She had so many more questions, but she wanted to earn the story the right way, so she offered him a little of her own truth instead. “I’m actually also from California,” she said. “Sounds like this isn’t the first time we’ve shared a state.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can’t decide if I’m disappointed we didn’t meet back then, or grateful.” He dipped his head and teased the underside of her jaw with his lips. “I probably would’ve dragged you with me when I had to run.”

She swatted at him, pushing from his hold before he could distract them both. “It’s definitely better we didn’t. I was bullheaded about ‘real justice’ ever since I was eleven. We wouldn’t have gotten along.” She couldn’t imagine not being attracted to him, but back in high school she had stubbornly ignored the outside world for the sake of her studies. She would more than likely have used that attraction as fuel for her anger and drive. In retrospect, she probably hadn’t been all that awesome to be around for most of her youth.

Ryōma seemed to think her words were funny. “Maybe not. Can’t say it’d have stopped me.”

Abigail found herself grinning back at him. “So you were always the dangerous one, I see.” She forced herself to take a sobering breath. It was disarmingly easy to get lost in this banter with him, but neither of them could afford that at the moment. She turned toward the chair, adjusted the things resting on the seat, and lowered herself into it. “We should really get started on this. And I need to figure out a way to explain my disappearance over the past twenty-four hours.”

Ryōma moved to lean against the armrest of the chair that matched hers, facing her. “Easy. You were away enjoying your weekend, getting thoroughly railed by your new lover. Very fortuitous.”

Abigail nearly dropped the phone she was attempting to power on. “Absolutely not! I swear, I’ve never met a man with more of a one-track mind.”

He grinned shamelessly. “I usually have more self-control. You’re a bad influence.”

“ I’m the bad influence here?” She tried to bend her face into a glare, she really did. All she managed to do was choke back her laughter.

“Terrible.” Ryōma shrugged. “But, if you want a different kind of option, find a happy medium. You weren’t home when the accident happened—obviously you learned about it later—but your attention got diverted when you found out someone broke into your apartment, too. Rummaged through your things. Stole your car. Destroyed your laptop.”

Her mouth fell open. “Are you telling me those things happened?”

He nodded. “Sometime last night. I was going to tell you when I got back, but you were sleeping so peacefully, I figured it could keep ‘til morning.”

Her hand tightened around the phone she still held. “Why? Why did they do that? I agreed to help take out your enemies. If nothing else—”

“Wasn’t us, baby girl.” His expression was serious. “For exactly that reason. But it has to have been someone who at least suspects you.” He paused, his brow pinching, and she knew she wasn’t going to like his next words. “Coughlan has a habit of planting people in groups he wants to take control of, or take down. That’s been our experience. I may be way overthinkin’ this, but you’ve been undercover. Even the cops don’t know your real identity, right?”

Abigail swallowed hard and nodded. She suspected she knew where he was going and she already didn’t like it. She also had no reason to silence him.

“You should at least consider the possibility that someone on the inside is in league with the Irish,” Ryōma said. “Boss was never able to pick off a local fed, or never found one worth the trouble probably. We’ve got other connections we lean on when we have to. But groups like ours do that. Coughlan won’t be an exception.”

Her gaze dropped to the phone as she rolled his words through her head, her heart hammering. The idea of one of her colleagues working on Brendan Coughlan’s payroll should have been so absurd it was insulting. She wanted it to be, but she had to admit she didn’t know most of them. That had been by design. There could easily be a turned agent walking those halls and she wouldn’t know. That was the problem. There were too many unknowns. It wasn’t fair of her to condemn anyone at this stage, either—not without further information.

Abigail dragged in a breath. No, the real issue was, if Ryōma’s theory was true, that person knew more than they were supposed to. Her true identity and her location were not readily available details. No simple Google search would have offered up those answers. Someone had to have hacked into a file without permission … or it was one of two people.

No. There was just no way Special Agent in Charge Julian Albert was a bad guy. She would die of shock if he ever did anything worse than jaywalk. He still said drat , for crying out loud.

Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Paige Mercer, on the other hand, was a harder woman. Harder to speak to, harder to get along with, harder to get a read on. Would that make her a more likely suspect, or a poor choice of one? Abigail couldn’t decide. She would have to pay more attention to their future conversations.

“Abby?”

Abigail exhaled and met Ryōma’s gaze again. “I haven’t done a lot of socializing within the bureau since I got here,” she admitted, “but I do see the point you’re making. And if my apartment was ransacked, an insider makes the most sense.” Her brow pinched. “The mobsters who crashed into us yesterday outside my complex, we assumed Silva had procured my address, didn’t we?”

Ryōma’s brow furrowed almost in imitation. “Yeah.”

Abigail nodded. “And does someone still have those helpful photos I snagged outside the pastry shop?”

“Mikey probably has more copies than he’ll ever need by now,” Ryōma replied.

“Good. I’ll need a copy of each. If they’re forwarded to my laptop and I’ve obviously had to change phones, that will account for them not being original.” Abigail reached into the case again and realized what she’d seen as a single earpiece was actually a set of earpieces. Not a connected pair, but two individual units. Realization dawned, with a mild flicker of annoyance, and she tossed one to Ryōma before slipping the other into her ear. “Given everything that’s happened, I think I’m going to need to report in.”