Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

17. Crazy Idea

seventeen

Crazy Idea

“I have a crazy idea,” Abby said after she finished eating. She’d pushed aside her plate and was leaning forward on the conference table they were using as a dining table, the position pushing her breasts up just enough to tease them over the collar of her modest shirt.

Ryōma licked his lips and set down his drink. “Please tell me it involves laying you out on this table for dessert.”

She stared at him for a second before rolling her eyes. “It hasn’t even been twelve hours since the last time. Settle down.”

“I can see the next show we put on is gonna have to be in front of a mirror.”

Her cheeks flushed a bright, beautiful red, and Abby leaned back in her seat. “Can you please just focus? On something other than sex?”

Ryōma grinned wider, enjoying the way she was trying to disguise her squirming. “That sounds like less fun, but sure. For you. What’s your crazy idea?”

Abby sat up straighter. “Since you said someone else is going to be wrangling in Cezar Barros—”

Ryōma ground his teeth at the reminder. He understood why Cris wanted to be part of the grab team, considering the way Barros had treated Felicity. But he hated having been told to sit it out. Even if it was important that they split their forces.

Abby kept talking. “Why don’t we go after Silva?”

Her simple, outrageous question hung in the air for a full five seconds while Ryōma worked to process the words.

He stared at her, genuinely stunned. “Do what now?”

She grinned, the expression downright predatory. “To be precise, I’m suggesting I take Rodrigo Silva into custody. Of course, I’ll have to take him to an undisclosed, secure location—I assume you have one of those that’s a little less obviously designed for torture? Like the safehouse.”

Ryōma still felt like he was playing catch-up. “More than one,” he said, distracted. “You want to apprehend the fucking chief of police? How does that not make all this more complicated?” He began gesticulating, arms sweeping outward. “Wouldn’t that reveal to your bosses at the FBI that you’ve turned?” To say nothing for how it would expose her position with the FBI to the police.

Her expression didn’t waver and she sat forward again. Something almost like eagerness emanated from her. “That’s the thing. Special Agent Albert wants me to be looking closer at Silva, anyway. He’s never liked Silva.” She reached over and lifted her phone from where it rested on the table. “Plus, I have that handy picture of the chief of police blatantly ignoring assault on me. Add that to the information from Rush and the guy you caught in front of that bookstore, and we have a series of connections between Irish mob and dirty cops that tie back to those two men.”

Ryōma nodded slowly. “Right…” Miguel had confirmed while they ate that the bookstore bastard was singing like a damn canary, which was useful. Especially since Romeo was the one who’d been stuck running lead on that interrogation and Romeo wasn’t known for his patience with that particular role.

So, in the sense that they had a couple of thin trails to draw connections between the men, Abby wasn’t wrong. Still, her suggestion felt like a leap.

“I know you think it’s too much, too fast,” she said, as if reading his mind. “That’s why it has to be me, and not one of you.”

“I don’t follow. Where’s the difference?”

“You promised I could take a shot at interrogating someone my way, remember?” She barely paused. “I have enough to justify dragging him in for questioning, but it would have to be discreet. Or I’d just straight-up arrest him for misconduct and blow my cover. But that would blow our deal. If I find him, maybe with a guy or two of yours who he’s not likely to recognize, I can drag him away and lock him down. Obviously at that point things get less legal, but what matters is that any witnesses would see someone with a real FBI badge swooping in on a slimeball cop. When my boss inevitably hears about it, I have something I can point to as an explanation.”

Ryōma forced himself to think it over. It did sound crazy. But crazy wasn’t always the wrong move.

Sometimes crazy was exactly the right move.

“Besides,” Abby continued after a moment, “I had the distinct impression Coughlan wasn’t likely to be the only arrest who ends up not making it to sentencing. So it’s more important we get information we can use from Silva than information we can use against him.”

Ryōma chuckled. “It’s probably true Silva would be in the ground before long, no matter how this shakes out.” Rodrigo Silva hadn’t just betrayed the family, he’d betrayed them to the remnants of a group that had spilled literal De Salvo blood decades prior. He’d chosen the wrong side in a blood feud. Ryōma himself hadn’t been around during the original war between the groups—hell, he’d still been living in Japan—but he’d learned the story.

It was the reason Cris had sympathized so well with his own loss, different though their stories were.

“So,” Abby pushed, “what do you say? Do you think you can find me a decent, secure location and a couple of cooperative guys who aren’t allergic to suits?”

Ryōma blew out a breath. She’s right, this is crazy. He felt himself grinning again. “You know you’re not gettin’ away from me that easy. ”

Abby smiled almost sweetly. “I expect you to be just out of sight, unless you decide to be waiting at the safehouse location.”

Miguel leaned into the room, his brow pinched in agitation. “If you’re done eating, can you go ? You’re cleaned up, right?”

Ryōma rolled his eyes. “Make yourself useful. I need two stand-ins who actually follow orders and own suits. No facial tats. All they have to do is look grumpy and play along with a script for an hour or so, small chance it all goes sideways and they’ll need their guns.”

“That’s definitely not preferred,” Abby cut in quickly.

Miguel looked between them. “I’m a shit actor, so count me out.”

Ryōma laughed. “I know. Get me options. We’re working on a plan so we can get out of your hair.”

Miguel sighed dramatically, pushed off the doorframe, and said, “Fine. I’ll make a couple calls. In the meantime, for the love of fucking god, remember there are cameras in there.” He walked away without waiting for a response.

Ryōma shifted his focus back to Abby in time to see her pretty face flare red at the implication. He leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table. “Wouldn’t be the first time we gave a show.”

Somehow, her flush brightened. “Not happening. That was—I’ve never—”

“You fucking loved it, don’t lie.” Ryōma licked his lips at the memory.

Abby averted her gaze and adjusted in her seat once more. “Extenuating circumstances.”

Ryō ma laughed. He enjoyed teasing her and watching her battle with herself, but the truth was, he wasn’t so generous as to put on that kind of show where it would be recorded for multiple eyes to see. Eyes attached to men he would never be allowed to kill. Fucking her and helping her chase an unexpected thrill in front of a man at the end of his life was one thing, but an audience that would continue living? Continue remembering the way she looked, the way she sounded, when she came apart for him? Never.

“Speaking of … him,” Abby said after another minute, her voice quieter, “when do we go back there? No one else has dealt with him or anything, right?”

Ryōma pulled himself together obligingly. “Hopefully we can make a little time tomorrow,” he said. “That’ll depend on how our day goes. If we can’t, someone will be sent to check on him, shove some water into his system and deal with other unpleasant things. Keep him alive.” He waited until her eyes were focused on him again, that beautiful, brilliant blue shining in defiance of the evening hour and artificial lighting. “No one’s going to take his death from you, Abby. You might have to wait a day or two for it, but it’s yours.”

He watched her expression carefully as his words hung in the air, looking for any sign of discomfort or uncertainty. She’d acted in the heat of the moment. She hadn’t been prepared to encounter a man from such a traumatic part of her past at all, let alone at the tail end of another emotionally charged event. Most of the day had since passed, and while it had been a dramatic one, her subconscious would have had time to process everything that had happened involving Corey Wells. There was always a chance, however small, that she had changed her mind.

Abby exhaled slowly and nodded. Her expression softened, as if relaxing. “Okay. I can live with that. As long as you’ll be coming with me when I go back.”

Ryōma leaned back in his seat. “Of course I’ll be with you, baby girl. That’s non-negotiable.”

She smiled, and his insides twisted. She had a beautiful smile.

It was late, dark, and tolerably cooler as Ryōma brought the SUV to a stop and cut the engine. Abigail spotted two more SUVs, already parked, in semi-staggered positions and all angled to face the driveway of the home where she presumed they expected to find Rodrigo Silva.

I’ve lost my mind. She knew it was crazy idea when she’d proposed it, but at the same time, part of her had recognized that they needed to step up their tactics if they wanted to see results. And if she was going to be pretending to still be a real federal agent, she might as well embrace the power of the badge a bit. But now that the moment was upon them, Abigail couldn’t help but see how bad this could go. Not that any raid couldn’t go bad a dozen different ways .

“You good, baby girl?” Ryōma asked, moving his hand to her thigh and squeezing gently. They were alone in the SUV for the moment, but they both knew she needed to get moving.

Still, Abigail gave herself a second to draw from the warm comfort of his touch. Part of her knew it was selfish, but she needed it. “Yeah,” she said. She let her seatbelt slide away and lifted his hand to hold it tightly between her own. “Keep watch for me.”

He leaned over, caught her by the jaw, and covered her lips with his in a brief, shockingly chaste kiss. “I can see the entire path from here to the front door,” he said as he retreated. “If this goes south, my team swoops in and extracts your sexy ass.”

Her lips twitched. The original idea had been a maximum of two men, but it hadn’t taken long for them to see where Silva might feel he could handle such a small group. So they were taking advantage of the darkness—and some questionably acquired vehicular modifications she was choosing to overlook—to provide a larger support team. The support team would keep a distance and be a silently imposing presence. A wordless discouragement for the idea of resistance, and an unspoken promise of reinforcement for her side. In theory.

Abigail swallowed a sigh and popped open her door. “See you at the safehouse.” They’d be playing SUV-hop once Silva was in custody, but that was all pre-arranged. Everyone knew who would go where.

He watched her step from the SUV, but his voice didn’t whisper in her ear until she’d fully crossed the street. “Don’t get shot, sakurasou . ”

She smiled despite herself. She’d never experienced the warm, giddy feeling he elicited in her. It was silly, but she liked it.

“This is definitely not how I thought we’d meet again,” an almost awkward, but somehow friendly voice said as another presence drew Abigail’s attention outward.

Abigail refocused and found herself barely arm’s reach from the man who’d picked her and Ryōma up from the hotel that fateful morning, as well as another man she was certain she didn’t know. And suddenly she understood why the name Benny had sounded familiar. Both males were dressed in classic black suits, as per her request. Benny wore an off-white shirt underneath and a dark green tie. The other man wore a deep blue shirt beneath and no tie. It was imperfect, but in reality, even the FBI didn’t always present perfection. She was a great example, in wrinkled dress pants and a blouse, no blazer in sight.

The male she didn’t know was already scowling. “You really a damn fed?”

Abigail smiled. “Take it up with your boss.” She looked between them and let her expression harden. “All you need to do is stand behind me and look serious. Like you mean business. If Silva recognizes you from somewhere and calls you on it, we’ve been undercover and it’s not his business.” She tipped her head toward the walkway up ahead. “If you’re ready?”

Benny drew a deep breath and nodded. “Ready.”

The other one grunted. “Yeah.”

She wasn’t at all surprised by the lack of enthusiasm. As long as they didn’t turn on her or derail the plan, she didn’t care how they felt about the situation, either. So she stepped forward and took the lead, falling with practiced ease into the power stride she had made an effort to cultivate during her college years. Chin up, eyes forward, arms at her sides and strides long but not unbalancing. As she climbed the small set of wide stone steps, she dipped a hand into her pocket and extracted her identification. The one Cristiano had nearly crumpled.

She paused at the door and glanced to the men on the stoop behind her. “One of you has the cuffs?”

Benny inclined his head and tapped his coat.

Abigail nodded, faced forward, and pressed the doorbell button. No need to do the cliché cop knock on a cop’s door, after all. It only took a few seconds before she spotted movement shuffling behind the warped crystal side window and Abigail found herself biting back a smile. She remembered how much of an asshole Rodrigo Silva had been in front of the pastry shop while his friend had been manhandling her, presumably an innocent civilian female. She couldn’t deny she was going to enjoy this.

The door was pulled halfway open in a sharp swing and their target, Rodrigo Silva, glared out at them. “What’s—” His gaze immediately focused in on Abigail. “You. What the hell is this? What are you doing coming to my house, and so damn late at night?” He seemed to visibly bristle, his T-shirt covered shoulders rising with an intake of breath. “I should have you arrested for harassment.”

Abigail let her lips lift just a bit. “Oh, we’ll get to what you should and shouldn’t do, Silva. But it’s funny you led with that.” She raised her hand and flipped the badge open, letting his brightly burning porch light illuminate the bold, unmistakable lettering. “I’m Special Agent Abigail Fitzgerald, and I’m placing you under arrest. Effective immediately. Keep your hands where we can see them.”

Silva was already sputtering. “Wha-what the hell? This is some kind of joke!” He turned away from the door, reaching for something out of sight.

Before she could even give the command, her fake-FBI backup moved forward and hauled Silva back into view. They wrestled him into submission until the familiar sound of handcuffs being snapped into place filled the air. The locking of the cuffs seemed to sap the fight from their target and Silva slumped, barely staying on his feet.

Keeping up the charade, Abigail laid a hand on his shoulder and, in a clear, no-nonsense tone, fired off the Miranda Rights she was sure he himself had violated on numerous occasions. She had no proof of that, of course. He just struck her as that kind of man.

“What’s going on out here?” Mrs. Silva demanded, rushing to the door as they turned away.

Benny glanced to Abigail before shifting to face the wife, whom he was closest to, and saying, “Your husband’s under arrest. That’s all we can tell you right now.”

Mrs. Silva gaped. “D-do you not know who he is?” she finally screeched.

They were mostly off the slow climb of steps by then, so Abigail motioned for the men to take over handling their grumbling and unsettled target. She turned and faced the wife, raising her badge again without approaching. “This is FBI business, Mrs. Silva. We don’t care who your husband is.” She inclined her head. “My apologies for disturbing your evening.” Probably the wife had some degree of awareness as to her husband’s misbehavior, but Abigail had no proof of that, so she had nothing to leverage against her.

While her back was turned, Silva found his second wind, apparently, because male grunting reached Abigail’s ears before Silva’s pompous voice cried, “You can’t just show up and haul me away like this! I’m the goddamn chief of police!”

Abigail sighed, tucked her badge away, and walked over to help her compatriots. She pulled open the door to the SUV they were using, then took hold of one of Silva’s arms and helped Benny wrangle the man inside unceremoniously. “Then you ought to understand that federal authority trumps local police. But by all means, keep running your mouth.” She smiled too sweetly at him when he lifted his glare to her, stepped back, and let Benny slam the door shut.

As previously agreed, she and Benny hopped into the front seats while their third slipped into the SUV with Ryōma. Abigail glanced at the grate that separated the front and back row of seats, silently questioning why the De Salvos had such a vehicle. Probably she didn’t want to know. Out loud, as they buckled in, and for the sake of the ears still listening, she said, “Let’s take him in.”

Benny nodded and rolled the engine over.

Abigail spotted Mrs. Silva running across the lawn, waving a phone, as they pulled from the curb. She was almost positive she’d read the word ‘lawyer’ on the woman’s lips. Really? Abigail bit back a sigh and shifted her focus forward.

Rodrigo kicked at her seat aggressively. “No fuckin’ way you’re real FBI, bitch. You think I don’t remember you? You’re probably all De Salvo’s fucking morons, right? You went running to your sugar daddy the other day and planned this whole thing to try and ruin me, but it’s not gonna work!”

Abigail’s eyebrows went up and she tipped her head to the side.

Someone snorted in her ear.

“That’s going to be a real interesting statement for the record,” she said. “Care to clarify what it is I could possibly have to complain about in the first place, dear police chief?”

“You’re a slut who got her panties in a wad,” Silva spat. “How should I know why?”

“Wow,” Benny said, chiming in unexpectedly. “He’s more charming than you said.”

Abigail settled in her seat. “His personality medication must wear off over the course of the day.”

Benny chuckled.

“Baby girl,” Ryōma said in her ear, his voice oddly strained, “don’t go flirting with Benny. I like Benny.”

Abigail bit her lips and rolled her eyes. She also noticed the way Benny flexed his hands over the wheel, as if he were suddenly anxious. In the interest of saving face for the next few minutes, Abigail found her voice and projected it for the jerk in the back. “Hey, chief, what’s a dirty cop’s philosophy on brutality? ”

Silva made an inarticulate sound before finally asking, “What the hell kind of question is that?”

She raised her hands and mimicked shrugging so he might be able to see. “Oh, I just thought, if you’re going to keep insulting me like that, maybe I’d take advantage of your obviously lax rules to vent my frustration.”

He scoffed. “Please. A bitch like you definitely gets off on degradation.”

“Jesus,” Benny muttered.

Abigail didn’t bother containing her facial expression. “An asshole like you has no idea what gets me off.” She watched through the windshield as Benny swung the SUV onto a single-wide and deceptively long driveway. There was a house set back, hidden by the darkness of the night and utterly out of sight from the road.

Of course, Silva kept going. “Seems to me you have a thing for Japanese pencil dicks.”

Abigail had no clue who it was that cursed in her ear. She was only mostly sure it wasn’t Benny, though Benny definitely made a choking sound and brought one fist to his lips as if to silence himself. Or restrain himself in some way.

Ryōma was concerningly silent.

Abigail bit her lips until she was sure she could speak without destroying the ruse. It probably no longer mattered, but in her mind, she wanted to keep him thinking he was in federal custody as long as she could. Get him talking willingly if at all possible. She held no delusions that they’d get everything they needed that way. It just felt like a valuable goal.

The SUV pulled into the garage, opened with the press of a button on the dash, and the garage lit up until it was blindingly bright. The garage door rolled shut behind them, obscuring the arrival of multiple SUVs—including Ryōma’s—in their wake and preserving the illusion.

Silva finally shifted focus. “Where the fuck did you take me? This isn’t—”

Abigail popped her door open. “No, it isn’t.” She hopped out, as did Benny, and together they hauled a still-resistant Silva from the SUV. Once Silva’s feet were on the ground, Abigail said, “You’ll be staying here until we’re satisfied that you have cooperated to the extent of your ability. At which point your relocation will depend on how you’ve behaved.” She gave him a pointed jostle as Benny moved ahead, toward the interior door. “You’re not off to a great start.”

Silva moved almost distractedly until they were around the SUV and nearly within reach of the doorway. Then he suddenly regained his fight and jerked against her hold, attempting to wrench himself free. “You can’t hold me! You got nothin’, you fucking whore!” He abruptly shifted his weight and threw one leg up and out in an attempt to kick her off of him.

Abigail was forced to back up to avoid taking a hit that would only make everything worse.

A figure moved across her field of vision, on the other side of Silva, and then Silva was on his knees and heaving as if he were about to vomit. Spittle dribbled from his lips to the floor as his body shook from the force of a blow Abigail hadn’t consciously seen .

Ryōma hauled him up again to his feet and glared into his shocked face. “That’s your only warning, Rod. Talk to her like that again, I don’t hold back.”

Abigail sighed and waited until he’d released Silva, who stumbled backward into Benny’s grip. She walked up and pressed her fingers into Ryōma’s chest. “Hey. We had an agreement.”

Ryōma framed her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, shamelessly, in front of all the men in the garage. “I kept my promise—you got him here. I didn’t demand Benny pull over when that fucker started running his mouth. Best I could do, baby girl.”

She wasn’t flattered. She was not. His overly macho, unnecessarily territorial display did not turn her on. It didn’t.

“Wha—” Silva wheezed. “What the fuck? What the fuck is this ? I saw your badge!”

Ryōma turned in step with her to face the sputtering, spitting man now being physically restrained by two men Abigail had no names for. Before she could speak, Ryōma snapped, “Get his ass inside and locked down.”