Consumed by the Mafia (De Salvo Family #5)

21. Joint Interrogation

twenty-one

Joint Interrogation

“I wondered when you were going to get around to calling me.” Paige Mercer’s clipped tone was about as approachable as a barbed wire fence.

Abigail winced. “I apologize, ma’am,” she said. She knew she should have called the night before. She’d been instructed to, after all.

“I don’t want your apology,” Mercer said. “I also don’t want your bullshit. We both know Albert ordered you to call me last night.” She barely paused long enough to breathe. “Where did you get the resources to apprehend and detain Chief Silva?”

The accusatory question shouldn’t have been a surprise, but Abigail hadn’t expected Mercer to lead with it. She blinked stupidly down at the peninsula countertop where her coffee sat. “If I may be frank, ma’am, perhaps I’m simply more resourceful than you gave me credit for.”

Mercer drew a sharp breath.

Abigail pushed on. “You made it clear from the onset I was on my own unless or until I basically solved the case. Last time we talked, you were already signing my transfer papers. So, yes, procedure dictates I should have called and informed you I was making a high-profile arrest. But given how deep I believe the conspiracy runs, I couldn’t afford to do that. I made a call and I made arrangements. I promise, Agent Mercer, as soon as I acquire actionable information on organized crime in the area, I’ll pass it up the chain.”

“You have a lot of nerve speaking to me that way, Fitzgerald.”

Abigail distinctly heard Ryōma shift his weight from where he leaned against the side of a chair. She didn’t allow herself to look at him. “Did you know my apartment was ransacked—raided—over the weekend? Did you know there’s reason to believe the FBI’s been compromised, and that Silva had someone stalking me long before I knocked on his door last night?”

“Hazards of the job,” Mercer said, her voice like ice even through the phone.

Abigail took a long drink of her coffee, set the mug down, and pushed from the barstool. “Well. I’m going to do my job, ma’am. That might mean arresting people. It will mean collecting information. Once I have what we need, I’ll be in touch.” She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call.

The breath rushed from her lungs as the screen flashed to neutral. Talking to Mercer was supremely stressful.

“Well she’s a bitch,” Ryōma declared as he stepped up to her side. He looped an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss to her hair. “She always talk to you like that?”

Abigail let her eyes close and soaked in the sweet embrace. “Sometimes she starts off in a better mood,” she said eventually. “Those conversations usually end worse.” For whatever reason, they just did not seem able to communicate well. That was the best way she could describe it.

Ryōma rumbled thoughtfully, gave her a squeeze, and said, “We should get goin’, baby girl. Lots of shit to wade through today.”

Her lips twitched and she tilted her head back to find his gaze. “We need to focus on Silva. For as much as I would love to deal with Corey Wells, that would be selfish.” She hesitated a beat. “Is it possible to hold him another day or so?”

“Of course it is,” Ryōma said. His response was arguably too easy, but it was the answer she needed. He pulled her in for a proper kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth and making her toes curl, then stepped back. “Let’s see what we can learn.”

Abigail nodded and let him lead the way through the quaint little guest house they’d been assigned to. All their devices were charged, they’d double-checked their guns, and most importantly, they’d finally pulled clothes on. He was right. It was time to get going .

She was mildly startled to see Mikey walking toward them on the path just outside the door.

Ryōma raised his free arm in greeting, as if they were merely neighbors running into each other by happenstance. “Morning.”

Mikey came to a stop and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Headed out to work on Silva?”

Abigail nodded. “He’s been in there long enough to see that no grand rescue is coming. If he’s going to talk, it’ll be today.”

Mikey inclined his head. “Make sure you don’t kill him.” He turned to stride away and called over his shoulder, as casually as if they were discussing the weather, “We’ll relocate him for that.”

Ryōma chuckled. “Got it.”

It wasn’t until they were halfway up the drive, the garage in sight, that Abigail realized she hadn’t yet been glared at. Not by Mikey, and not by either member of the security detail that had just nodded in their direction. Was that … a good thing?

She tried not to think too hard about that, or what it might or might not mean.

“Any particular tactic you wanna try when we get there?” Ryōma asked as he pulled into traffic.

Abigail released a breath and forced her mind onto the less-favorable subject at hand. It wouldn’t be a standard interrogation by any means. But until she sat down across that table from him again and saw how well—or otherwise—he’d handled his night of veritable isolation, she wouldn’t know for sure the best angle of approach. “No torture. Romeo’s mind games aside, there’s still a chance a more traditional method will work on him.”

Ryōma drummed his fingers on the steering wheel once before adjusting his grip in order to move one hand to her thigh. He curved his palm inward, gripping possessively, and said, “I’ll keep my hands off as long as he does, how about that?”

Abigail pushed out a fake-dramatic sigh. “He’ll be cuffed and chained, baby. He’s not the one with the handsy problem.” She trailed her fingers along his exposed forearm for emphasis.

“Oh, it’s a problem, is it?”

She felt his arm shift, beginning to move, and hurriedly shoved his hand from her leg before he could do something stupidly distracting. “It is when you’re driving!”

The bastard only laughed. Though he did obligingly return his teasing hand to the wheel.

It took several minutes for them to reach their destination, during which time Abigail found herself pulled into the strangest of conversations. Strange in that it was one of the most objectively normal conversations they’d ever had—she, at least, had no ulterior motive and as far as she knew their cards were pretty much all on the table. Which meant they were actually just talking about … life. Little, everyday things.

As people, beyond what they did for work, they were startlingly compatible. Despite that they came from different starting points and looked at nearly everything from different angles, everything they talked about only seemed to drive that realization home. It seemed illogical .

She couldn’t help but wonder if it also explained why she found it so hard to pull away.

There was an SUV already in the garage when they arrived. Abigail wasn’t sure if there was an on-site team keeping the location secure or if they were expecting someone, so she didn’t know how to feel about that. She did know that the man they found sitting in the front room, angled to easily see both entrances, looked somewhat familiar. And he definitely had not been part of the team the night before.

Ryōma inclined his head to the man. “Morning. This mean the boss is in?”

Abigail felt her mouth drop open. Boss? “Wait, does that mean—”

The man in the chair pushed to his feet as someone else strode in from the hall.

Dante De Salvo swept his cold gaze over both of them, his face unreadable. “Excellent timing,” he said after a long second. He passed his cell phone over to the other man. “Remember to come get me if Iris calls.”

The man nodded. “Of course, Boss.”

Abigail struggled to keep her breathing steady. She had not been prepared for this. How was she supposed to interrogate someone when her nerves felt like she was doing a salsa dance through a minefield?

“Are you coming in with us, Boss?” Ryōma asked.

A cruel smile lifted the Dragon’s lips. “We’re working in allegiance with the FBI on this, aren’t we? It would be remiss of me to do anything less. ”

Fuck. Me. She had no one to blame for her newfound discomfort but herself, then.

He turned. “Rodrigo’s already been cleaned up and transferred back to the interrogation room,” he said as he walked.

Ryōma slipped a hand around her back and gave Abigail a nudge to prompt her forward, letting her step ahead of him. It was probably gentlemanly, but she really wanted to do anything other than be within arm’s reach of his boss. Who, in a way, was currently also her boss. When they reached the room, Ryōma finally angled ahead and pulled open the door for them.

Abigail nearly fainted when the Dragon indicated for her to enter first. She consciously squared her shoulders and raised her chin, willing herself to look confident and strong.

Rodrigo Silva was, as before, cuffed and chained to the table, and his seat chained to the floor. His clothes were more wrinkled than before, his hair mussed, and he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days. There was also a faint odor surrounding him that she hadn’t smelled at the precipice of the room. He locked his glare on her immediately. “You actually came back, you fake FBI whore.”

Strangely, his ire helped settle her. Abigail dragged out the far chair, the same chair she’d claimed before, and said, “From here on out you will address me as Agent or Agent Fitzgerald. Childish insults only make you look worse, and I hate to tell you, that’s saying something.”

Silva’s lip started to curl, but then his attention shifted to the man striding in behind her and all the fight drained from his face. As did most of the color. If he’d looked disquieted by Romeo’s arrival the night before, he was indisputably petrified now. “Y-you…”

“Yes,” the Dragon said as he drew the other chair out and lowered into it. “Me.” He leaned back, the motion somehow broadening his half-exposed chest, and let one loosely curled fist rest on the table. “It wouldn’t be very polite of me to leave Agent Fitzgerald to deal with you by herself, now, would it?”

As he spoke, Ryōma stepped into the room and pulled the door quietly shut. The click seemed to echo around them. This time he remained at the door, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes forward.

Abigail took her cue from the hard mask on his face and returned her focus to her target. “You’ve had some time to think, Silva. Now it’s time to talk.”

The chief of police looked over at her, eyes wide, then snapped his gaze back to the man beside her. He swallowed visibly. “L-let’s not pretend this is on the up-and-up.”

Abigail bit back a sigh. That is definitely out the window. And probably for the best, really. She opened her mouth to respond, but an eerie, deep-throated chuckle drifted over the table, drawing her attention.

The Dragon hadn’t moved a muscle, other than the raised edge of his lips, but the sound was definitely emanating from him. Without taking his eyes from Silva, he said, “That could describe no less than half your career, Rodrigo. I think we’re well past that.”

Silva drew back, as if attempting to retreat. He looked sharply over at her, suddenly imploring. “Protection. Promise me protective custody—the fucking best you’ve got—and I’ll tell you everything.”

That couldn’t be all it took. She knew some men were all bluster, but she’d honestly thought he’d resist more. She kept that to herself, of course, and crossed one leg over the other. Settling in. “The FBI doesn’t promise protective custody for nothing,” she said calmly. “Give me something worth protecting, and we’ll talk.” The lie rolled too easily off her tongue. She knew he was destined for death.

“What kind of bullshit is that?” Silva demanded, yanking in protest at his restraints.

Abigail only blinked at him. “No blank checks, Silva.” She paused for a second. “Why don’t we start with something small, hm?” She glanced over at the man beside her, telling herself to include him as she would anyone she normally shared interrogations with. Not that this was a normal situation. “Do you have a softball for him, or should I?”

Their eyes clashed for a moment and her nerves spiked again. He was sitting less than two feet from her—close enough that she could smell him—but she was no fool. Their show of allegiance was exactly that. A show. He was still testing her, gauging her worth. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he wasn’t at least considering leaving her as dead as Silva when this interrogation was done.

“I do have a question for him.” The Dragon’s stare shifted back to Silva and even from her angle Abigail could see the chill in the glare. “Who told you about my son? ”

Abigail held as much of the confusion off her face as she could and instead watched a similar feeling cross Silva’s eyes as a heavy silence consumed the room.

Silva’s chest expanded. For the first time, he cut a glare in Ryōma’s direction. Then he sighed as if relenting to something, shoulders drooping, and said, “A friend of mine at the hospital passed along the news.”

“That’s not something they do,” the Dragon said, voice tight. Controlled.

Abigail watched the other man shift, pulling his arms as much into his lap as he could. She thought she saw a bead of sweat roll down his face. If he’s nervous about this, we might be done by noon.

“Obviously I knew your wife was due soon,” Silva said, not daring to look up. “I … had it on good authority which hospital you were planning to go to, so I blackmailed a couple of the nurses in the maternity ward.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. That was obviously an over-simplified answer, and even that was appalling.

The hand the Dragon had rested on the table closed into a tight fist. “You expect me to believe you blackmailed hardworking nurses merely to learn when my son was born?”

Realization dawned and Abigail almost gasped. He didn’t.

Silva licked his lips. “It’s not like they were all that innocent , you know—”

“That’s not his point,” Abigail said sharply. She shouldn’t have, but the implication already hanging in the room unsettled her too much to keep her mouth shut .

Silva scowled at her briefly, then dropped his gaze altogether and said, “The plan was for me to pass along that information as soon as I learned it.”

Abigail wasn’t even bothered by the next chill that swept through the room when the Dragon growled again. If he’d had any calmer reaction, she might have questioned everything she thought she was coming to learn about him and his family.

“To whom ?”

The man who’d as good as confessed to participating in a trap designed to murder a newborn and his exhausted mother had the gall to lift pleading eyes up to her. “Promise me, dammit!”

Abigail dug her fingers into her own arms to keep herself still. She wanted to slam his face into the table until something broke. “You want protection because you blackmailed some nurses so you could have the privilege of playing messenger? Give us more, Silva. I haven’t even heard enough for a warrant.”

“You don’t understand!”

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand,” the Dragon said, voice hard. “If you don’t make yourself useful to them, Agent Fitzgerald will hand you over to me. And I promise you, whatever my brother threatened you with, you won’t survive to see it.”

Silva made a jerkish movement as if trying to gesture in De Salvo’s direction with his shoulder. “See? He’s threatening me! That psycho fucker just threatened me, right in front of you!”

Abigail narrowed her eyes at him. “If he hadn’t threatened you after you implied a threat to his newborn son, I would be much more concerned.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, folding her hands together on the table. “Now, get talking. Unless you don’t actually want that protection.”

Still, Silva hesitated. Sweat rolled down his skin and his chest heaved once more as his eyes darted between them, uncertainty blatant on his face.

“Who are you more afraid of, Rodrigo?”

Silva rested his manacled hands again on the table, fingers threaded together and fists shaking visibly. “Coughlan,” he whispered.

Abigail blinked and glanced over at her companions.

Ryōma’s brow had dipped but he hadn’t otherwise moved as far as she could tell.

Dante still looked deadly, like his projected patience was a lie they could all see through and he didn’t care.

Abigail drew a breath and faced forward. “You’re more afraid of Brendan Coughlan?”

Silva gave a sharp shake of his head. “No.” His brow twitched. “Fuck. Yes, I might be.” He cleared his throat. “I meant, Coughlan is the one I was supposed to call … with the news.”

“You motherfucking snake,” Dante said with a low snarl.

Not wanting to lose their momentum now that Silva had finally admitted to knowing Coughlan, Abigail hurriedly voiced her own observation. “You said supposed to. Does that mean you didn’t?” Every set of eyes in the room shifted to her that time, but she didn’t look away from the uprooted police chief.

Silva swallowed again and nodded, slowly. “Nurse didn’t call me ‘til the next day,” he said. “She claimed they miscommunicated who’d make the call, but it didn’t matter. The window was lost, so I didn’t rush it.” He dropped his gaze. “I never liked De Salvo, but fuck, now that he thinks he has a foothold, I’m seein’ what a whacko Coughlan is.”

Dante drummed his fingers on the table. “Then you might have some idea as to why we want him out of the equation, as quickly as possible.”

Silva looked over at Dante, wide-eyed and half-panicked. “He’s—”

“We are more than aware of what he’s capable of.” Dante finally leaned forward enough to hook his elbow onto the table and lowered his voice just a little, surely for effect. “You couldn’t have picked a worse man to betray me for, Rodrigo. Consider that.”

Silva’s regained color drained again from his face.

Abigail spoke up once more. “It’s protection you want?” She waited until he’d dragged his gaze back around to her. “Consider that on the table. But we need more than an illicit agreement to make a phone call to a third party to make that happen. Tell me everything you know about Coughlan, how you came into contact with him, what he wants, and what his plan is. Give me names of people in his pocket, groups in his affiliation, and locations of where to find them.” She pressed one palm flat, not looking away. “We’re shutting them all down. You could be a goddamn hero if you play this right.”

The room was silent for several seconds as Silva seemed to weigh her words with whatever fear and pride he held inside .

Finally, he licked his lips, looked between her and Dante, and settled on Dante. “Is it true … your guys nabbed Cezar Barros last night?”

Abigail blinked and arched a brow at the question.

Dante’s had furrowed. “Would it make a difference if we had?”

“Barros,” Silva said, nerves slipping into his voice, “was a trigger for Coughlan. Since he was the last Ink Blot boss on the board. Coughlan figured sooner or later they’d be wiped out, so he planned to wait ‘til that happened, and when the last one was grabbed—when you were distracted with that, and probably looking for him —he’d have his own guys slip in.”

Warning bells fired off in Abigail’s head.

“So Barros was as much a pawn as a soldier,” Dante said. “What’s the counter-plan?”

Silva shifted in his seat, the chain under the table clanking on the hard floor. “Eleonora De Salvo.”

Abigail’s stomach clenched. Eleonora De Salvo was Dante’s mother. Romeo’s mother, and therefore Mikey’s mother. She might as well have been Cristiano’s mother as far as Abigail understood. She was a grandmother, and a widow.

Brendan Coughlan was a real bastard.

Dante dipped a hand into his pocket and proceeded to slam a lighter on the table. He moved his hand far enough off of the lighter to reveal what it was, but not so far that he couldn’t snatch it up in the blink of an eye. As his hand moved away, he rumbled a single, fearsome word. “When? ”

Silva couldn’t tear his gaze from the lighter, his eyes blown wide. His voice shook for a second when he answered. “Tw-twelve hours after.”

Abigail turned her focus away from Silva. She wasn’t sure what time, exactly, anyone would have been sent after Barros. But she knew the twelve-hour mark had to be approaching.

Dante grabbed up his lighter and shoved to his feet, raw anger visible on his face. “Cooperate with Agent Fitzgerald if you value your miserable life, Rodrigo.” He twisted on his heel even as the words left his mouth.

Ryōma pulled open the door without being asked, and in the silence, his low question carried through the room. “Boss…?”

“Stay.” Dante strode through, projecting his voice as he entered the hall. “Enzo. We’re leaving!”

Ryōma pushed the door shut, and this time stepped into the room. Instead of claiming the vacated chair, he opted to lean against the wall behind Abigail. “You better hope that’s not a giant fucking lie. That little lighter would be merciful compared to what he’d do if it was.”

Abigail frowned, whispers of Peter Marchesi’s words from their previous interviews coming back to her. Peter had mentioned how his boss, the Dragon, used fire to maim, torture, and kill. How horrible and scarring it was even for those who only watched. Those he forced to watch. Guess that wasn’t a lie. She kind of wished it had been.

Silva made a weak grunting sound. “That was the plan last I heard,” he said. “Nothing I can do if they changed it after I was grabbed.” He narrowed his eyes at Abigail .

She pulled herself together and tilted her head. “If you’d rather I let you free at this point, I can arrange that. You’ll walk and we’ll act on what you’ve told us. Publicly.”

“You promised!”

Abigail shrugged. “I said it was on the table. If you cease all cooperation now, then the deal’s off.”

He slammed his fists on the table again. “You’re a real bitch, you know that?”

“Keep that up,” Ryōma said, his voice tight with anger, “and I’ll break your fucking nose on that table.”

“The fuck?” Silva exclaimed.

Abigail was genuinely torn on whether she wanted to roll her eyes or grin like an idiot. “Ryōma, we had a deal.”

“It’s in his hands,” Ryōma said calmly. “All he has to do is not , and it doesn’t happen.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Silva demanded. He gestured between them, the chain rattling. “You’re supposed to protect me from nutjobs like this!”

Irritation flashed through her and Abigail thought maybe she understood her boyfriend’s perspective better than she should. “You heard him. All you have to do is refrain from the insults and he won’t get violent. It’s not as if I have him on a leash.”

Silva scoffed.

Abigail leaned back in her seat. “Why don’t we get back to the topic at hand? You have information to be sharing.”

Silva hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “I’d rather he left.”

Abigail re-crossed her legs. “I’d rather you talk.” She let her words hang for only a second. “You were much chattier with Mr. De Salvo in the room. Should I wait for him to be done with his family crisis and return when he’s available again?”

Silva cursed. “No. No, fuck, I’ll talk.” He sighed. “You … might wanna take notes, or something. I paid attention.”