Page 26 of Protected By the Mafia

“I could punch you in the head without even swerving.”

“Ah, but even then, you can’t un-miss your turn.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “’Cause it’s too late for that.”

Cristiano glanced at the GPS on the display of the dashboard. “Son of a bitch.”

Ryoma was still snickering when they were straightened on the correct street, their SUV tail swinging into position behind them. “Please, please tell me you were thinking about pussy.”

“You want me to be thinking about pussy so distracting I can’t drive right while you’re in the car with me?”

That seemed to sober the other man. “Fuck. No. That makes it awkward. Keep your head in the game until you’re off the clock, or at least off the road.”

Cristiano slid a sidelong glare at his friend before returning his attention to the residential streets he needed to be navigating. It only took a minute more to reach the address on file, and he pulled up at the curb in front of the rental home. The SUV parked directly behind him. “All right, let’s send a message.” Or two.

There was the off-chance that dumb-shit Tristán had come this way, despite that the boy knew his parents were compromised, so Cristiano had Ryoma take two of the three from the SUV around back. Then he moved up to the old, already busted front door and kicked it in. It didn’t matter to him who was inside that building. Based on the single, older model Chevrolet in the gravel driveway, he doubted they had guests. It did satisfy something in him, however, when the screaming started.

The backdoor came half off its hinges when Ryoma made his entrance seconds later, and Aracely Garcia’s scream came to a stuttering halt as she twisted in place. Her eyes got somehow bigger and she let loose a fresh, shrill shriek with the vocals of a woman half her age. Ironic, since she was barely more than twice her daughter’s age.

Armando Sr. came storming out from what was probably a bedroom on the forward end of the house, carrying a walking stick he didn’t seem to need. “What the hell’s going on here?” he demanded. He spoke in a heavy Spanish accent, though his words were English.

Cristiano swept his gaze around the spaces he could see. It was a shotgun style home, which meant he could see through the living room and kitchen, all the way to where Ryoma’s half of the team was clearing another room. Cristiano knew the house held two bedrooms, one bath, and guessed it contained at least a laundry closet if not a proper room. All of which would be behind doors.

He lifted a hand to draw his men’s attention. “Contain them and shut her up.”

“Get out!” Aracely suddenly exclaimed, somehow neither out of breath or voice. She lifted a book—a hardcover, historical looking thing—and raced for him. “You get out of my house, you filthy, no-good policeman!” She tried to swing the book like a baseball bat at his body, not seeming to care where she hit.

The guy who’d made entry with him stepped forward and caught her nearest wrist, jerking her to a stop and forcing her back several paces. He grunted when she smacked him with the book instead.

“Well, shit,” Ryoma said, coming to lean against the wall between the living room and kitchen. He crossed his arms and his ankles, a misleadingly playful smile on his lips. “We look like cops now?”

Cristiano grinned at him before turning toward the couple doing their best to struggle against his team. “We’re not police.” He stepped closer, wanting both Garcias to be able to see him as they were shoved—wrists and ankles bound—onto their own sofa. “My name is Cristiano De Salvo, and I’m here for Tristán. If you don’t know where he’s gone running to, then your only use to me is as a message to him.”

Aracely’s eyes went wide again and she paled. It struck Cristiano how little Felicity actually looked like her mother. Her mother was shorter, skinny as a rail, and Aracely’s hair was the color of mud and frizzy. Their eyes were dramatically different. All of this was good. It meant seeing this woman dead wouldn’t haunt him. “De Salvo?” Aracely repeated, finally whispering. “What do those monsters want with my boy?”

It was all he could do not to growl.

Armando Sr. curled his lips back and spat as violently as he could. Right on Cristiano’s shirt. It was practically a gut shot.

Cristiano looked down, moving slowly and saying nothing.

The men in Cristiano’s peripheral vision stepped back as the tension in the room skyrocketed.

“He would pick up a belt and strike me with it. Across the face, across the butt … it didn’t matter.” Felicity’s words reverberated through his mind.

Cristiano held out his hand. “Get me his belt.” This fucker would be the one he bled himself. But first, Cristiano would give him a little well-deserved retribution.

nine

All About Perspective

She didn’t like any of her test pictures. Originally, Felicity had tried simply imitating the picture Cristiano had taken of himself, as best she could manage, but her much flabbier and more feminine figure did not agree with that angle. So she’d tried other teasing, almost scandalous angles—bare torso with some side boob, no nipple, or curling an arm around her front and sucking in her belly, or even holding the phone lower to get an under boob shot. That last one was more awkward looking than gross, but the rest only emphasized her body fat.

Felicity dropped the phone beside her on the couch in disappointment. Maybe I’ll ask him to buy me some nail polish and just take a foot pic. Was he the kind of guy who would be into that? She had good toes.

She didn’t even hear the door click until his voice filled the air. “What’s wrong, Foxglove?”

Felicity smiled at his silly new nickname and looked over, seeing him striding for her. She hopped to her feet, meeting him just past the sofa and reaching for him like she hadn’t seen him only a handful of hours earlier. “Welcome home.”

Cristiano scooped her up with a hand beneath her ass, continued toward the couch, and dropped onto the middle seat. He settled her so she was straddling him and ran both hands up, under the hem of her shirt. With a press of fingers to her spine he encouraged her to lean into him and caught her lips in a hard kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth.

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