Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

19. Dragon & Tiger

nineteen

Dragon & Tiger

Abigail watched Romeo drop a hand to Ryōma’s shoulder and heard the low tone of his voice as he said something to her lover, something that didn’t quite carry. Or maybe it was just that her ears were incapable of hearing more while her brain buzzed with the simple, shattering thing he’d said seconds before.

The De Salvos needed her to arrest—effectively remove and in the process humiliate—as many of their enemies as possible. They did not need her to approve of the way those enemies fell in defeat. From the start, she had been made aware that not all of her convictions would survive. It was implicitly clear she was expected to keep her mouth shut about any and everything she saw and learned behind-the-scenes. That was what she’d agreed to.

She knew that. But sidelining her morals was easier said than done. Abigail realized she did keep looking for ways to make things ‘right’—by her definition. That in itself was working against the grand agenda.

She drew a breath, reflexively reaching for the vibrating thing in her pocket before she even registered what it was or what it meant. It wasn’t until she noticed both men had returned their stares to her that she realized her phone was again in her hand.

Abigail dropped her stare to the screen in an effort to hide her embarrassment. The action only worked because the name of the caller made her lungs seize. Crap. She’d been hoping to put this off until at least morning. Her gaze snapped up. “It’s Albert.”

Ryōma cursed.

“Answer it,” Romeo said. “You know the game.”

She supposed she did. Most of the story had been hashed out in the couple of hours since she’d come up with the original, semi-ludicrous plan. She watched Ryōma swap earbuds and waited a few seconds before sliding her thumb across the screen. “Sir—”

“Why did I just get a call about one of my teams apprehending the chief of police?” Special Agent in Charge Julian Albert demanded immediately. “What the heck is going on, Agent Fitzgerald? ”

“I apologize for the blindside, sir,” Abigail said carefully. “Given my approaching deadline and our recent concern about internal integrity, I decided to take a risk with a recent development.”

“And how does that lead to arresting Rodrigo Silva?”

“He happened to be involved with a misconduct issue involving me, which I have evidence of, so I’m using that as leverage. I have strong reason now to believe your original hunch of Silva’s connection to the local criminal organization was right. I’m planning to put pressure on him, convince him to talk.” Abigail put as much truth into her words as she could, because it would help sell the story. What actually happened to Silva at the end was irrelevant. She could never, and would never, admit to knowing or agreeing to that part of the plan.

It worked in her favor that Albert had always been suspicious of Silva. She’d been banking on that, even, and she knew her gamble had paid off when he blew out a sigh. “You should have called me, Fitzgerald. Or at least notified your handler. Do you have any idea how angry Agent Mercer is?”

Abigail winced. “I’ll talk to her in the morning, sir.” As much as she didn’t want to.

“You’ll call her as soon as we’re done,” Albert said. “I understand your hesitancy, but for now, we proceed as if the three of us are trustworthy on this until or unless we discover solid evidence of the contrary. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” She actually felt like pouting. Getting away from Paige Mercer had been one of the highlights of this new, twisted deal .

“Good. Now, what’s this I hear you performed the arrest with a three-man team? You didn’t clear it through the proper channels, I know I didn’t assign you backup.”

Abigail pulled in a quiet breath and repeated the story that had been agreed upon, the story Miguel had assured her their team could make work. “I might have gone a little out of the box on that, and I’m sorry. I knew I couldn’t take Chief Silva in by myself, and I wasn’t comfortable trusting the job to local agents when we haven’t had time to re-vet them. So I made some desperate calls and found a couple of overeager graduates who weren’t too far away and were more than happy for some on-the-job experience.” It was such bullshit. But all they needed was a traceable digital trail to back it up.

Albert was silent for several seconds. “You did what?”

Abigail rolled her lips together for a beat and did her best to sound apologetic, letting some guilt mix into her voice, too. “They’re fully legitimized.” Complete lie, of course. “Just green. And I know it was crazy, but I really felt all I needed was a show of support. Silva’s not as aggressive as he wants people to think. Plus we caught him off-guard, so he was slow to react. He might have been reaching for a weapon, but we got him secured before it ever came to that. I only needed the help as far as to get him settled. They know they aren’t being fully pulled in.”

“Do you realize how dangerous that was?” Albert asked, his tone sharp.

“Objectively, yes,” Abigail said. She could say that honestly as long as she didn’t explain why it had felt dangerous to her. “ But it still felt less dangerous than going in with agents who might have been compromised.”

Albert sighed, exasperation heavy in his voice. “You can’t hold him forever because you had an argument.”

Abigail firmed up her voice. “I can hold him long enough.”

Again, Albert was quiet for a second. “You think you can get him to connect the dots back to the De Salvos?”

There it was. The first form of the question, or series of question, she had known would soon be lobbied at her. Abigail let herself hesitate, let him hear her intake of breath, and carefully said, “Actually, sir … I learned some new things. Namely that my informant’s been manipulating us on behalf of a different power. I don’t have all that information yet, in particular I’m not clear why he was aiming his accusations at Mr. De Salvo, but I am sure that there’s a connection between my informant and the man I caught Chief Silva with on the day my apartment was ransacked.”

Albert sucked in a breath. “Dang it.” He paused for barely a beat. “This is a big shift, Fitzgerald. We’ve spent months on this case already, and you’re saying most of it’s been a waste.”

She winced. “It may not have been a waste, per say. My informant ran when he realized he’d slipped up, but as soon as I can find him, we can use his dishonesty in our favor. In the meantime, I’ll comb through everything he said before and take off the De Salvo filter. See what pops.” She wasn’t watching either of the men in the room, but she could feel at least one glare burning into her skin .

“Fine. That’s the best we can do right now.” Albert sighed again. “Do you even have a name for the new lead? What group are we actually looking for?”

Abigail debated for a moment. “The man I saw with Silva has a name that starts with ‘Bren.’ Silva started to call him that but was cut off. And whoever Bren is, I’m hearing there’s a strong chance he’s got connections to that wild gang that sprouted up last summer—the Ink Blots.” She doubted she could justify tossing the Irish mob into the conversation yet. Mentioning the Ink Blots was risky enough. But she wanted to get all the balls rolling, if she could.

“Bren,” Albert repeated slowly. “And the Ink Blots? That’s a big leap.”

“I’m still working on proof,” she admitted, “but it’s come up. I can’t ignore it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call them organized,” Albert said, “but if we could squash them, that would be good for everyone.”

She bit back a smile. “Silva’s connected to it all. I know he is. I’ll get it out of him, sir.”

She thought she heard a chair creak. “Just don’t get us in more trouble than this is worth, Fitzgerald.” He paused. “Do you have a description of this Bren guy?”

“I have a photo.”

“Even better. Get it to me. And don’t forget to call Mercer.” He disconnected before she could respond.

Abigail sagged against the wall she didn’t even remember moving to, letting her arm and the phone drop to her side. It always felt like she’d walked into an exam room and realized she’d forgotten to study when she had to talk to him. A sensation that was, apparently, ten times worse now that she was effectively betraying the agency.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Romeo snapped. Despite the bite in his question, his tone was still somehow quiet, as if he didn’t want his voice to carry. He stepped forward again, but didn’t crowd her this time. “You promised him Marchesi now? Newsflash, Fitzgerald, we already have that fucking traitor. And he’s not in a condition to be going anywhere other than Hell.”

Abigail blinked up at him, rewinding her conversation with her boss in order to remember the part that Romeo was mad about. Oh. Right. She’d expected this. “He’s still alive?”

Romeo frowned.

She waved a hand. “That isn’t what I meant.” The realization of his implication had surprised her, and her brain was tired. “I should have said, I don’t actually expect to hand him over to the FBI. I’m setting up a story of him having been lying to me and getting caught, so we can let him dying be blamed on the Irish or the Blots or something, claim he was punished for his failure.” She let her arm fall. “I just need a temporary justification. That’s why I mentioned him.”

Romeo didn’t look convinced.

Ryōma angled around his boss. “It’s been a long day, sir. I think we all know we have to take some risks and ruffle feathers if we want to lure Coughlan into a vulnerable position. But risk is uncomfortable. The way I see it, that’s where we are.”

“Risk.” Romeo repeated the word as if it were sour. He narrowed his eyes at Ryōma. “You already belong to us, so what exactly are you risking? Another name? ”

Abigail saw Ryōma’s hands flinch at his sides before curling into fists and she blacked out. Or, at least, that was an easier way to describe the sense of the thing that possessed her—compelled her—to push from the wall. She didn’t think at all, let alone about her movements.

The crack of her palm smacking across Romeo’s cheek with enough force to toss his head to the side seemed to split the air.

Her palm stung and her every sharp breath felt like shards of hot ice slicing down her throat as her chest heaved. Adrenaline shot through her, her body tense and somehow already overexerted, as if she’d just finished a hard workout.

“Abby!” Ryōma hissed, reaching out to pull her away. His tone sounded like a reprimand, but that wasn’t what she saw on his face. That might have been the only thing she couldn’t see on his face.

Romeo rolled his jaw, his dark blue eyes narrowing in another hard glare. “You either have nerves of steel or you’re a fucking idiot.”

Abigail twisted out of Ryōma’s grip and glared right back at Romeo De Salvo. All she could really hear were the confusing, still unexplained and obviously too personal words Gerardo had said while he’d had them trapped in the SUV before. Something about Ryōma having once been a nameless mutt. But she wasn’t an idiot, which meant she knew a low-blow when she heard one. “If you want to come at me, then come at me,” she said, “but don’t you dare treat Ryōma like he’s trash beneath your shoes all of a sudden. You call yourselves a family , but you don’t hesitate to cut as deep as you ca—”

Ryōma clamped a hand around her mouth and locked her against his broad chest. “Stop. That’s enough.” He stepped backward, hauling her with him, until there were several feet of space between the two of them and Romeo. “I apologize, sir. Please take any retribution out on me.”

Her eyes flew wide and she had to fight to stop from jabbing an elbow into his chest to get him to release her. It would sort of defeat the purpose of turning around and yelling at him for that macho nonsense.

Romeo’s expression was hard, angry, and otherwise unreadable for a long minute. Finally, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “Fitzgerald. Understand that if you ever lay hands on one of us for any reason that isn’t to immediately defend another one of us, it will be the last goddamn thing you ever do. No matter who’s standing beside you.” His jaw tightened some more, briefly, and his stare shifted over her shoulder. “She isn’t wrong. I was out of line that time. So we’re all going to let this go and call it a night.”

Abigail blinked, her head spinning. He still looked strung tight, but his words indicated he’d taken a breath—if only of the metaphorical variety—and cleared his head. Kind of a lousy apology, though. Then again, did mafia men offer real apologies?

Ryōma’s grip loosened, marginally, and she saw him incline his head in her peripheral vision. “Thank you.”

Nothing more was said before Romeo spun no his heel and strode away.

Ryōma dropped his hand from her mouth and pressed his lips to her temple. His voice was low and gruff as he whispered above her ear, “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Never do that again.”

Abigail leaned aside and frowned up at him. She opened her mouth to respond, because even though she hadn’t at all consciously meant to do what she’d done, she had no regrets about it, but someone cleared their throat from the hall opening. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she considered what their position probably looked like.

Ryōma turned his gaze outward without removing his hands from where they’d settled on her hips or letting her pull away from him.

“Uh,” Benny said, “night guard’s on its way. We can clear out.” He dangled a set of keys. “You want the SUV that’s in the garage? Or the one you drove over?”

Ryōma adjusted his hold until he had a single arm curved almost loosely around her back and started them forward. “I’ll stick with the one I drove. Get home, Benny.”

Ryōma’s ears continued to ring with the startling slap of Abby’s hand connecting with Romeo’s face. He felt as though he were sitting on a live wire for all the adrenaline still firing through him. Romeo’s biting words had been unexpected, and Ryōma told himself it was the shock more than the words themselves that had struck him. But if those words had surprised him, then he’d been even less prepared for Abby’s response—for the way she’d lashed out in defense of him. Her immediate counter had stunned him, and that was when Ryōma knew.

He didn’t yet know how the fucking hell he was going to make it work. If he even could. He only knew that he’d been absolutely right about Abby being a rare kind of woman. As strong as she was beautiful, and fearless in a wild way that would keep him on his toes.

He’d fucking fallen in love with her.

The family was going to rip out his insides for that.

“Make sure you find a nice quiet, obedient woman. One who respects the way things should be,” his father’s voice dragged up from his memory, taunting and challenging as it so often did.

Ryōma shoved the memory back down with an internal snarl. Even as a teen he’d known he had little interest in some traditional, demure housewife. He’d never been blind to the way his mother was treated. He’d only believed himself powerless to stop it.

His gaze dropped to one of the visible peonies on his arm as he idled at an intersection, the red from the traffic light making the painted flower glow in his mind’s eye. He’d made too many mistakes in his youth. There were things he could never make right. Scars that would never heal. But he didn’t have to keep making mistakes, or letting the wounds of his past guide his choices.

“Did I make things worse?” Abby asked, her voice suddenly penetrating the quiet of the SUV .

Ryōma blinked, her quiet words drawing him back into focus. “Why would you think that?”

She released a humorless laugh. “I smacked Romeo De Salvo. I’m sort of surprised he didn’t shoot me.”

Ryōma doubted she had any idea how accurate that fear was. “Yeah, I’d recommend you not do that again. Ever.”

“So I did.” Abby sighed and slumped against the passenger window.

He moved a hand from the wheel and curled his fingers over her thigh. “No, baby girl. I just meant that was dangerous and you probably shaved a decade off my life, so for both our sakes, you shouldn’t do it again.” He squeezed gently. “You didn’t make anything worse.”

She was silent long enough for him to turn onto Mikey’s street. “I know I don’t know the story,” she finally whispered, “but he shouldn’t have said that. I don’t care if they hate me. I can’t stand them taking it out on you.”

Ryōma slowed as he approached the driveway. “Abby. I’m the reason you’re in their life. They’re still mad.”

“It’s stupid. You’re actually not.”

His lips twitched and he retracted his hand in order to make the tighter turn. Security buzzed him in and within a couple of minutes they’d parked and were once again on foot, walking up to Mikey’s guest house. He pulled the door open for her, locked it behind them for all the good that did, and trailed after her into the main sitting room. An unusual, foreign impulse had sparked inside him. It was probably only fair, but he didn’t know how to embrace it .

Abby dug her phone charger out of the case Mikey had delivered that morning and proceeded toward the kitchen to plug it in.

Ryōma arched a brow. “Aren’t you supposed to be making a call?”

She paused, her shoulders tightening for a moment, and set everything down. “No way I’m calling her this late for anything non-monumental. I’ll deal with that headache in the morning, over coffee.”

He moved up and pulled her into the circle of his arms, turning her into his chest. “This Mercer woman’s a pain in the ass, I take it?”

Abby made a face. “Let’s just say we don’t get along.”

Ryōma rumbled and lowered his lips to her forehead. “Can’t say I understand.”

She swatted his chest. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said, her tone light.

He grinned against her skin and straightened a little. Her eyes were such a bright, striking shade of blue. A beautiful pop of color against the contrast of her paler skin and her dark hair. The flush that so easily bloomed across her cheeks—the one he knew carried down her neck and onto her chest—only added to her appeal. His hands spread over her back. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

Abby tilted her head back, her flush darkening. “Ryōma…”

He kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered into her skin. He felt her breath hitch and lifted a hand to her nape. “You shouldn’t have done it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the gesture. ”

She exhaled slowly and stretched her arms around his torso. “He shouldn’t have said what he said. Whatever he was referencing … obviously that’s a sore subject.” Her grip tightened and she adjusted to lean her head against his shoulder. “I don’t know how they can claim to care about you and turn around and talk about you like that.”

Fuck. Ryōma tightened his arm around her waist, his other hand lifting into her hair. “These aren’t the kind of people who get warm and fuzzy with very many people,” he said. “Being mad or disappointed with me doesn’t help.” He pressed his lips into her hair, inhaled her scent, and felt the hesitation inside him unlock.

“That’s still not right.”

Ryōma grinned, just for a second, then eased back enough to catch her gaze again. “Do you want to know my story?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course,” she said. “I didn’t really think you wanted to tell it.”

He didn’t hide the bitter twist to his lips. “It’s not my favorite subject.” He pulled his hand from her hair and stroked his thumb over her jaw. “For you, I’ll make an exception tonight. It’s not like no one else knows.”

Abby drew a breath, framed his jaw in her hands, and pulled him down for a brief, wet kiss. With her lips still against his, she murmured, “I want to know. But only if you’re comfortable talking to me.”

Ryōma dropped his hands to her hips. “It’s either that or I strip you naked and fuck you until we both pass out. ”

Amusement flashed through her eyes. “You have such a one-track mind.” She pushed from his hold, took his hand, and dragged him to the sofa. “At least woo me with a story first.”

He chuckled, letting her lead him, and settled at her side on the overstuffed leather furniture. It was hard not to haul her into his lap and find more of her skin with his lips. She wasn’t wrong about his obsessive focus where she was concerned, she only didn’t know how unlike him it was. Still, he’d resolved to tell her his story, so he resisted the temptation.

Ryōma closed his eyes for a second, faces and snippets of voices from years past rolling through him.

Abby laced her fingers with his and snuggled up tight to his side, her other hand curving around his arm as she laid her head on his shoulder. “Whatever’s easiest to start with,” she said softly.

He released a breath. None of it was easy, so he started with what he figured she was most curious about. “When I was exiled from the Harada-kai, part of my banishment included abandoning everything about my life and identity. So when I met Cris, I had nothing. When he brought me back to Jersey with him, the boss was the one who decided my new name. That’s how Ryōma Satō was born.”

He saw Abby gaping at him, her eyes shining with sympathetic hurt. It was maybe the first time such an expression hadn’t immediately pissed him off.

Ryōma grinned faintly. “Did you know one translation of ‘ryō’ is ‘dragon’?”

Abby snorted. “Are you saying … the Dragon named you … dragon ?”

“The specific kanji I settled on basically translate to ‘dragon and tiger,’ actually.” He watched her gaze drop to the exposed ink curving over his shoulder, because of course she’d seen the tiger forever climbing up his back.

Abby dragged her eyes back to his. “And your surname?” He noted—and appreciated—that she didn’t label it his family name.

He shrugged. “Satō is common. I named it as an option, and he approved it.” Technically he’d provided options for both names and Dante had selected the combination he’d most liked. The result was the same.

She nodded slowly. “Will you tell me how you ended up in that position?” Her hands tightened around his arm. “How could your family … throw you away like that?”

Ryōma smiled at the pain on her face. “Short answer? Because I betrayed them.”