Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

18. In Too Deep

eighteen

In Too Deep

Ryōma held her at his side as the garage emptied, Benny and the others wasting no time hauling Chief Silva into the safehouse. For some reason, the quiet click of the door sent a shot of nerves spiking through her system. It was just the two of them, but the atmosphere was charged. Abigail could sense the tension in the man next to her and she wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do with it.

Was he angry? Did he have something he needed to say?

Abigail adjusted to face him again. “Ryōma—”

He laid a thumb over her lips, silencing her, and reached out with his other hand to remove the earpiece from her ear. He tucked it into her pocket, then proceeded to remove his own, before finally retracting his thumb with a deliberately provocative motion. “I ought to cut out his tongue for talking to you like that,” he said, voice low, as he leaned into her space.

Abigail let her hands settle on his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. “We knew he’d be unhappy. It wasn’t altogether unexpected.”

Ryōma grunted and hauled her up without warning, hands under her thighs, moving until she was seated on the hood of the SUV and he was nestled between her legs. His hands dragged up to her hips, his touch burning even through the fabric of her clothes. “You don’t understand, Abby. There’s not much in this world that’s really mine . I’m not the kind of man who sits quietly when those exceptions are insulted.”

Her heart slammed almost painfully in her chest and Abigail slid her hands up to frame his jaw, unable to break his intense stare. “Am I yours?” She knew she shouldn’t have asked the question. She understood it was stupid, dangerous even, to indulge the thought. But if her own reaction was any indication, she was already in too deep to make a clean break when this whole mess was over.

Ryōma rested his forehead against hers, their noses nearly touching, their breath mingling. Still, he didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

It was the wrong answer. It was a terrible answer. It was exactly the answer she wanted to hear.

Abigail tilted her face up and brushed her lips over his.

Ryōma grunted, sealing the kiss as his tongue pushed into her mouth. He pulled her forward and rocked his hips into hers, grinding his awakening erection against her core. His hands slid around to her back, holding her tight.

Abigail moaned and wound her arms properly around his neck. She lifted her legs to latch her ankles over the small of his back. He was too tempting, too addictive. Every time he kissed her, or even simply touched her, all her rational thought went out the window. She became a slave to her hormones and her carnal desires—and that part of her craved him like some kind of drug.

Ryōma dipped his fingers past the waistband of her pants, reaching between them to pop the button on her slacks and give himself access. The kiss turned sloppy as his fingers slipped into her panties. His low, throaty groan vibrated over her lips and his fingers stroked through her folds.

She didn’t need him to say the words to tell her how wet she was. Abigail clung to him, panting against his lips as he set to work riling her up with his hand. He held her more or less in place with his other hand, raised higher again and locked over her spine. Her nails dug into the back of his neck and his scalp as he fingered her, teasing her clit and her opening in alternating strokes. She would come on his hand, without ever taking off her pants, if he kept that rhythm up much longer. But she couldn’t bring herself to break away enough to warn him.

He sank two fingers inside her, curled enough to drag along her walls as he pumped, and stretched his thumb up to her clit. The angle was probably awkward on his wrist but it felt amazing to her and Abigail whined into his mouth in an effort not to scream. She was so, so close.

Ryōma withdrew his hand, broke the kiss, and met her hazy stare. He held her gaze as he brought his soaked fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, then proceeded to reach down and put her clothes back in order.

What…? Her brain was foggy with lust that still burned through her system. Her body ached with need.

He guided her legs off his hips and helped her find her feet, not fully letting go until she was steady. Then he leaned in and whispered against her ear, “This is your punishment. You don’t get to come yet.”

“Punishment?” Abigail frowned at him. She sucked in a long, brain-clearing breath, and the memory resurfaced. Hours earlier he had threatened her with some unspecified punishment after she’d put those zip-ties in her mouth. She’d completely forgotten.

Ryōma smirked. “I’m a man of my word, baby girl.”

Someone knocked on the interior door and a voice called from the other side. “Ryōma, quit foolin’ around!”

Ryōma rolled his eyes and turned enough not to be shouting in her face. “Don’t bark at me. I’ll be right there.”

Abigail brought her hands to her face. She could feel her cheeks were still warm. Surely, she was flushed. How embarrassing. But then, most of those men were going to assume they’d just full-on fucked. She honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.

Ryōma pressed a kiss to her head and pulled one of her hands into his. “C’mon. You’ve got a prisoner to interrogate.”

His words helped ground her and Abigail let him lead them to the door. She did, and she needed to scramble a little now that he’d gone and revealed the De Salvo family’s involvement. That definitely blew her original intention out of the water.

“We got Chief Asshole settled like you asked,” the man who’d played third with her and Benny said, speaking to Ryōma.

Abigail chewed the inside of her lip for a beat, her gaze drifting momentarily in the direction he’d indicated. Maybe Ryōma’s interjection didn’t thoroughly derail her plan. Maybe it just changed the scenery. I need to work on my metaphors. She gave herself a shake and waited a moment to be sure she wasn’t interrupting before she spoke. “I have a thought.”

Both men shifted their attention to her, and to her surprise, she saw no distrustful scowls or barely restrained glares. Ryōma, of course, looked mostly amused. “Last time you said something like that, it was followed with suggesting we arrest the chief of police.”

She arched a brow at him. “And look where we are.”

He chuckled. “So?”

Abigail settled her expression. “Obviously Silva’s figured out there’s some De Salvo involvement in this ‘arrest’ now. ”

“Don’t expect me to apologize for that,” Ryōma said.

She elbowed him lightly and continued. “I was thinking we play into it, actually.”

The man whose name she still needed to learn finally scowled. “What’s that mean?”

Abigail glanced between him and Ryōma, who nodded silently, and said, “Silva himself was until recently one of the family’s connections to law enforcement, right? So he understands, personally, that the De Salvos have that sort of power. He’d be a fool to think he was the only one, or the highest end of that ladder.” She saw realization start to dawn on Ryōma’s face, but she kept going. “I am a real FBI agent, anyway, so what if we just play that up a little more than it is? Silva betrayed the De Salvos, so the De Salvos turned to their federal connection to smack him down and deal with this Irish problem once and for all. It has to be plausible to him.”

“Fuck.” The guy facing them scrubbed at his jaw and met Ryōma’s gaze. “Not my call, anyway, but what do you think?”

“I think she’s got a point,” Ryōma said. “But I will admit I have a bias.” He jerked his chin outward in that ingrained nod motion only men did. “I’ll go in with her, you let the team know the game plan and call it in up the chain. If there’s a problem, signal me.” As he spoke, Ryōma dug his earpiece from his pocket and popped it back into his ear.

Abigail took his cue and did the same before leading the way to the previously indicated room. It was easy enough to find, since another man was standing guard by the door.

The guy ignored her and nodded to Ryōma before stepping aside.

Abigail told herself not to take it personally, allowed her overprotective maybe-for-real-boyfriend to pull open the door, and entered the room. The room itself had been set up to nicely mimic an interrogation room, at least like what might normally be portrayed on most cop shows. It was spacious enough that there was plenty of room to walk around the rectangular table, which had three chairs. One of those was occupied by Rodrigo Silva, who had been chained to the floor and his cuffs anchored to the table.

Abigail took one seat and Ryōma settled into the other, both of them lowering into their chairs simultaneously.

Silva glared at them in turn, his lips curling. “This is so goddamn illegal,” he said. “I’ll have your asses fried for this.”

Ryōma whistled. “That really would be a feat, seein’ as how New Jersey doesn’t have a death penalty.”

Silva banged his manacled fists on the table. “What do you know?”

“Give me a little credit,” Ryōma said, his grin becoming menacing. “I studied my modern American history. Plus, I think any man who seriously takes up this kind of life makes it a point to know what potential penalties he’s facing.”

When Silva opened his mouth again, hatred darkening his brown eyes, Abigail made a point of talking over him. “I could chime in,” she said. “If we’re really arguing over which states do and don’t have death penalties. Although I think anyone as high up the law enforcement ladder as police chief actually knows the answer for his own jurisdiction.”

Silva shifted his glare to her. “Don’t pretend you’re anything more than some cleaned-up street whore. I bet you made that stupid badge with one of those 3D printers.”

She choked on a laugh. “Seriously?”

Ryōma sat back. “No one accused him of earning his position because of his cunning intellect.”

“You filthy—”

Abigail smacked her palm on the table to cut off the crap spewing from Silva’s mouth. “You know what? You can believe my credentials or not. That doesn’t matter.” She reached behind her and pulled out her gun, setting it with the barrel aimed in Silva’s direction on the table. Well out of his reach, of course. It wasn’t a tactic she’d ever have employed in an official interrogation, but since this wasn’t one, that hardly mattered. “I bet you believe this .”

Silva’s eyes widened and he stared at the gun for a long second before forcing a scoff. “You expect me to believe you went to all this trouble just to shoot me?”

“No,” Abigail said. She left the gun to rest at her elbow and threaded her fingers together. “I hauled you in so we could have a nice, long chat. You have information that both mine and Ryōma’s employers are highly interested in, and you’re going to cough it up. That’s the only way you get the mercy of jail time. Am I clear?”

“You—” Silva’s eyes snapped between the two of them wildly, as if he couldn’t hold on to a thought long enough to settle. Several seconds passed and he swallowed heavily. His fingers curled again into tight fists and the chain of his cuffs rattled. “De Salvo has fucking federal connections?”

Ryōma cocked his head. “You assumed we didn’t?”

Abigail bit back her smile. He said the words so smoothly she almost wondered if they hadn’t exaggerated their lack of inroads in the FBI. It ought to have been concerning.

“I thought you were just fucking her,” Silva said, lips curling again in distaste.

“Yes,” Abigail said tightly, “you’ve made that abundantly clear. What you fail to grasp is that this has nothing to do with who I may or may not be sleeping with, or my sexual preferences at all. This conversation has everything to do with your bad choices. We wouldn’t be here if you’d been loyal.” Or even a better actor.

Silva’s eyes blew wide and he lurched forward. “ My bad choices? What fucking bad—”

“Coughlan,” Ryōma said firmly. “We know you’re in league with him, you disloyal little fucking rat, and you’re going to tell us everything. Including where and how to find him.”

Silva dropped back into his seat and furrowed his brow. Sweat reflected off his forehead. “I don’t recognize the name.”

Ryōma drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Don’t play that game with me.”

Abigail watched Silva’s chest rise with a deeply drawn breath and a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face. She watched another denial build in his eyes. She pulled out her phone and opened the picture Mikey had previously forwarded back to her at her request. “Let’s skip that bullshit, shall we?” She tapped the screen, emphasizing the man who’d put hands on her. The man Silva had been meeting with outside the bakery the morning all this had gone off the rails. “You and I both know you were meeting with this man that day, and you were the one who called him by name. So let’s not play stupid.”

Silva’s eyes dropped to the photo and he paled. “I didn’t,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I definitely didn’t….”

“‘Bren,’” Abigail repeated. “As in Brenden Coughlan. Not a hard leap to make.”

Silva’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a moment of heavy silence. “Brent! His name is Brent.”

Ryōma scoffed. “Right. An abusive, bastard Irish man with no fear of the law and a name that starts with ‘Bren’, who also has mob-like affiliates and is taking action in De Salvo territory. But we’re supposed to believe it’s not Brenden Coughlan.” He leaned forward and his tone dropped, darkening. “You threw in with the wrong family, Rod. This is your last chance to save yourself.”

The anger returned to Silva’s eyes and he glared right back at Ryōma. “Like I’m supposed to believe you’d let me live at this point, no matter what I say.”

Abigail looked up even as Silva spoke, realizing she’d heard the door open, and her eyes widened at the sight of the one De Salvo she hadn’t yet come face-to-face with stepping into the room. This was a curveball she hadn’t anticipated.

Romeo De Salvo narrowed his eyes at her briefly but quickly swept his glare out toward their captive. “You’re not seeing the big picture, Rodrigo,” he said, drawing everyone else’s attention.

Silva’s head snapped up, his eyes again going wide and his face draining of all regained color.

Ryōma also straightened, flattened his hand on the table, and pushed to his feet. He stepped aside and pulled his vacated chair out in offering, moving to stand centered behind the table. The position looked like unity and subservience, but somehow it felt like a different kind of statement to Abigail. Like he was keeping himself close to her.

Instead of sitting directly at her side, Romeo dragged the chair toward the far side of the table before lowering into it. He sat at an angle, leaned an elbow on the table, and coldly, “It’s not about whether you live or die. We all know that. It’s about how much blood you owe.” He stared across the table with a hard frown. “This isn’t the sort of betrayal we can ignore. It’s not a betrayal that’s settled with your measly little death. If you don’t put some effort into making things right, we might have to wipe a few more Silvas off this earth. You don’t want that. We don’t really want that.”

Abigail felt something in her chest constrict. Is this what working with the mafia looks like? Coming at the men who did the crime was one thing. She was learning she could live with that. But innocent associates? She flashed back to Mrs. Silva running toward them, saying something that looked like ‘lawyer.’ Maybe the wife was aware of some things, had some degree of knowledge, but did that warrant including her in the vengeance and torture? And how far did Romeo mean to take it?

Silva twisted his hands for a single second, visibly sweating. “I-I have a son—”

“Yes,” Romeo said, his voice still unreadable. “We’re aware your youngest boy is in high school. He’s fifteen now. That’s old enough to be a complication if he put his mind to it, but fortunately for you we have a very strict policy against laying hands on minors. He would be relocated, unharmed.”

Silva’s hands curled back into two trembling fists. “Stay the hell away from my family, you lunatic!”

Romeo tapped his knuckles once on the table, the sound sharp. “Whether or not your older two, your wife, or your brother survive the week is entirely up to you.”

Abigail released a quiet breath. She didn’t like going after family as a concept, but the knowledge that the most innocent would be spared was a start. If it came to it, she would just have to hope she could find a way to spare the others. As many as she could.

Silva leaned as far back in his chair as he was able, pulling his fists to the edge of the table as if to try and retreat from them. His stare suddenly snapped back to her. “Nothing to add, Ms. FBI?”

Abigail narrowed her eyes. “It’s Special Agent Fitzgerald,” she said firmly. “And I don’t know what you mean.”

Silva’s eyes widened again and his nostrils flared. “This monster’s threatening my family! You’re just gonna let that happen?”

A surreal sense of déjà vu washed over her and Abigail slowly, deliberately, reached forward and lifted her phone off the table. She woke up the screen as she said, “Damn. I must’ve tuned that part out.” She turned the device outward, reminding him of the photograph on display and the assault he himself had openly ignored, and held his rage-filled stare. “It’s a horrible feeling, isn’t it?” Then she pulled her phone away, gathered her gun, and stood. “I’ll let you two have a chat. If I were you, chief, I’d consider option one.”

“No chat,” Romeo said, standing as soon as she’d stepped away. His chair scraped loudly on the floor. “Agent Fitzgerald will return for your answer in the morning. You get one opportunity to declare your choice, Rodrigo. Decide wisely.”

“Y-you can’t just leave me here!”

Ryōma slipped in front of them all and pulled open the door. “Of course not,” he said, tossing a taunting grin in the chief’s direction. “Someone will be in shortly to transport you to the other room. ”

Abigail took the initiative to lead the way out, her heart pounding far too fast for everything that hadn’t happened. She’d hoped for a more productive interrogation, though she supposed she’d known such an outcome was unlikely. Truthfully, it was Romeo De Salvo’s arrival that had rattled her.

They filed down the hall in silence, making room for two other men to squeeze by in order to move Silva as promised, before Romeo’s sharp voice pierced the air. “A word, Agent Fitzgerald .”

Abigail drew a steadying breath. There was no avoiding this. She turned obligingly, sidestepping as she did into the sitting room that opened off to the left. Both men followed her, Ryōma remaining in the entryway as if to bar any others from joining them. Or her from fleeing.

Romeo stepped right into her face, glaring down at her. “I’ll pass along the idea you had tonight, if he bites, but don’t think this makes you more valuable. If hauling Silva out of his home blows up, we’ll cut you loose without a second’s hesitation. Thanks to you, we’ll be forced to do the same to every other man who took part in this fiasco.” His lips curled with visible displeasure. “And I don’t mean leaving you to fend for your fucking selves.”

Abigail flexed her hands at her sides but successfully resisted the instinct to shrink away or duck her head. It was there, in spades, but his words managed to spark a strong enough anger that her own inner fire pushed against the fear Romeo was no doubt used to inspiring. She even managed to furrow her brow. “I understand this tactic feels reckless,” she said, making an effort to keep her tone low and steady. “I can even understand why you’d use its failure as an excuse to put a bullet in my head. I’m not under the delusion that your men are fond of me.” Except for the one she thought she saw shift his weight at her choice of words. “But you would discard all of them if this falls apart? That’s a lot extreme, seeing as it was your brother who rounded up the bodies that helped here.”

Romeo’s brow pinched tighter. “Like I said, if this blows up—”

“And what about you?” Abigail pushed. She hated even putting it out there. She knew he had a young daughter, as well as a pregnant wife. But he was the one being the asshole about it. “You’ve been here. You inserted yourself. So why would you be spared, but not the guys who keep glaring at me?”

For a single moment, she thought he might strike her. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t flinch or raise a hand. It was just something in his eyes that made her think the impulse was there. The moment passed.

More calmly than she expected, Romeo said, “Silva’s death is only a matter of time now. I don’t intend to come back, which means he’s the only one who can place me here.”

Of course. Abigail inclined her head in a partial nod. “All right, then. You’d only need to kill three of us using that logic. Me, of course, and the two who came with me to do the arrest. They’re the only ones his wife saw. Yes, she can say there were other SUVs, but you know as well as I do those vehicles are unidentifiable. So the rest of this team should be spared, unless they fuck up.”

In the beat of silence that followed, she was sure she heard Ryōma push out a breath. She couldn’t tell what the sound was supposed to mean, exactly, and she didn’t get a lot of time to dwell on it.

One of Romeo’s brows kicked up as his expression changed, just briefly. He tucked his hands into his pockets. “Interesting. I expected you to push back against the killing, the targeting of his family, not against our in-house fallout.”

“I do have issue with the targeting of his family,” Abigail said. “I also recognize that we aren’t looking at this from the same perspective. I’m still hoping your threat won’t need to come to fruition at all. The threat toward your own men seemed like something I could address.”

Romeo finally took a step back from her, giving her room to breathe, and cast his gaze around the room. “If you’re still looking at this like you’re the law and we’re criminals, this whole idea of an alliance is fucked.” He met her stare again. “Consider that.”

His words rang like reverberating bells in her head. Yet still she blurted, “Isn’t that the point?”

Romeo snorted. “We need your legitimacy, Fitzgerald. Not your morals.”

She barely noticed him turn away. Her gaze had already shifted to Ryōma, who stared intently back at her. There was an undefinable anguish in his eyes that made her chest ache.