Page 23 of Protected By the Mafia

She leaned into him, squeezing the sponge against his skin. “I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to ever see him.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “But is it bad if I … want him to hurt, before he dies?”

Cristiano offered her a sad smile and kissed her lightly, lowering his hands to her hips. “After what he’s done to all of us, that’s the only option he has left.” But now that he knew what Tristán had done to Felicity, Cristiano was going to have to cross one more line. Because Dante had already called dibs on the bastard when the time came to deliver the final blow, and for as much as Cristiano respected Dante’s reasons, Cristiano couldn’t ignore his own. On that, Dante was just going to have to understand.

When Felicity woke the next morning, she felt like she’d slept for days. It wasn’t until after she’d stretched almost to the point of inducing a muscle cramp that she realized the bed was empty, and when she sat up, she saw the door was open. The sleep haze drifted from her mind and she rolled her lip between her teeth, remembering everything she’d told Cristiano the night before. Everything she’d given him. She remembered showering with him after her emotional story, and she vaguely remembered them migrating back to bed.

She definitely remembered Cristiano curling around her, tucking her against him with an arm around her waist. She’d felt so petite and feminine in that embrace it had nearly made her cry again. She was a small woman in stature, sure, but she’d been overweight for years. She rarely felt delicate or feminine. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt treasured.

Felicity looked down at herself. She still wore the shirt she’d pilfered from his collection, the shirt he’d peeled off her to get her into the shower and eventually helped her back into. Except this time the shirt was all she wore.

The smell of coffee drifted down the hall and drew her attention outward. Is he making breakfast again? Had she managed to land herself a technically dangerous, arguably possessive, amazing lover who also cooked on a regular basis? She hurried to her feet and nearly stumbled when she spotted the phone plugged in and resting on the bedside table. Her new phone.

She tapped the screen and it lit up, fully charged and indicating it was on silent. And he’s thoughtful, too. It didn’t seem possible. She made a mental note to iron out a story so she could reach out to Taylor, then continued her intended trajectory into the kitchen. It wasn’t until she registered the faint thrum of a laundry machine that she realized he’d also taken the soiled sheets out of the bedroom.

“Just in time,” Cristiano said as he set out two steaming plates. “I made omelets and potatoes this morning.”

She barely heard him, despite the delicious smell of the food blending with the aroma of coffee. She was certain he’d slept in boxers, but apparently that wasn’t what he cooked in. He stood in front of her wearing honest-to-God gray sweatpants. She knew what was underneath those pants, and that only made the low-hanging material look sexier. Is this really my life?

eight

Lies They Tell

“I’ll fucking kill all of them,” Dante said in a low growl.

Cristiano cut his gaze quickly around the room, well aware that there wasn’t a single man in the family who didn’t prefer to be under a different roof when Dante’s temper peaked. And the news Mikey had brought them pretty much guaranteed that unpleasant outcome.

Romeo was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “While I’m absolutely on board with killing the bastards who deserve it, killing the guys who had no clue who they were working with will really only cause unrest in the what’s left of the family. That kind of unrest will turn into distrust, and from there….”

Dante aimed his glare at his brother. “I am well aware how that psychology works, thank you very fucking much.”

“You did just say you wanted to kill the entire team,” Mikey said.

Cristiano bit back a grin. He tended to still remember Mikey as a sullen, moody teenager hiding in what everyone thought were computer games. That made Mikey’s snarky quips all the more enjoyable when he let one fly.

“And that’s still an option,” Dante said sharply. He curled one hand into a fist over the armrest of his chair. “Cris. You’re sure only three people knew who was being held at that specific location?”

The question sobered his flare of amusement and Cristiano met Dante’s narrowed gaze. To say he feared his cousin was an overstatement. He had a great deal of respect for his cousin, and for the positions both within the family and the public eye which his cousin held. He didn’t envy the weight those responsibilities undoubtedly carried. Having been born the eldest son of the family’s previous boss meant Dante was naturally expected to become the next, as he had. Cristiano knew first-hand that hadn’t always been easy to live up to. So he didn’t blink or bend his head, because he also understood the honor that came with being allowed in the boss’s private office. “I only told three people,” he said. “I used the same clean-up crew every time. It’s the same system I always use—one crew per location, per guest.”

Dante would hear the unspoken point behind Cristiano’s words. No matter a man’s loyalty, it was impossible to know for sure what was said behind closed doors. Cristiano had only told three people, that did not for absolute certain mean only three other people knew what he’d told them. One of those people might have gotten a little too drunk and babbled to a sibling or a spouse. One might have accepted a wad of cash in exchange for information.

“I am not in the mood for another traitor in my goddamn house,” Dante said. He glared around the room. “Put pressure on them, find out who talked. I want to know who they said what to, where, and why. And even if it means killing all fucking three of them and every adult in their families, we plug the fucking holes. Is that clear?”

“Yep,” Romeo said.

“Crystal,” Mikey said.

Cristiano inclined his head. “Understood.” It wasn’t the order he wanted to be following, but he did understand the need for it. If they had a traitor in their midst who was actively talking to the Ink Blots, or even just allowing themselves to be bought off, they couldn’t let that stand. He just personally had an itch to slit a few very specific throats.

“Cristiano,” Dante called as the men stood to take their leave, “stay. I have something else to talk to you about.”

Nerves twisted his stomach for a split-second, but Cristiano lowered back to his seat obligingly. He nodded farewell to his other cousins as they filed from the room, and neither man spoke until after Mikey had pulled the door shut again. He turned his gaze back to Dante. “What’s on your mind, cousin?”

Dante folded his hands over his lap, brow still creased in frustration. “I wanted to thank you for helping get Iris home safely yesterday. It gave me peace of mind when Mikey told me you were with her.”

Cristiano lifted his lips in a partial smile. “Of course. You don’t need to thank me for that.”

Dante inclined his head. “Determining the source of this leak is important,” he said, “but so is finding that fucker who got away. I know we put icing his family on a back-burner while we had him in our grasp, but using them now might flush him out. You know him best out of all of us, so I want you focused on that. We can handle the traitor hunt.”

It was hard not to let his enthusiasm show with that instruction. Finding Tristán and ending the rest of his miserable family was at the top of Cristiano’s personal to-do list, so that was music to his ears. “Happy to. We still have a man on payroll in New Jersey State?”

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