Page 34 of Protected By the Mafia

“I want to talk about you,” Cristiano said. “Tell me about your relationship to the Ink Blots. Why’d you join them, specifically?”

Miguel hesitated, flicked his gaze around again, and carefully said, “Wasn’t a choice.”

That was new information. Cristiano frowned. “I’m listening.”

“Look, man, the Blots are … they’re taking over the poor neighborhoods. But they’re doin’ it quiet, slippin’ guys into bigger crews and recruiting right out from under ‘em. So when they come and they say we gotta help each other out, what they really mean is they wanna use you, and whatever your thing is, they’re gonna hold it over you.” Miguel’s voice became more and more desperate, more rattled, as he spoke. This was clearly the most vulnerable thing he’d said so far.

It also matched what Cristiano had heard happened with one of the men on his cleaning crew. Someone’s family had been directly threatened and they’d caved to the pressure. Dante wasn’t thrilled with the answer, but instead of outright killing the guy Dante had opted to move him to a more long-term, degrading position. The demotion would reveal who had been responsible for the breach, and the man’s vulnerable little girl would remain protected. It was a message for both sides.

The De Salvo family values loyalty.

Cristiano drummed his fingers over his knee for a moment, then turned to meet the surprised stare of the other man in the room. One half of the team that had found and caught the boy he was interrogating. “Get Romeo over here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can’t handle me on your own, huh?” Miguel taunted after the other man’s steps faded down the hall.

Cristiano looked back at the boy and smirked. “You’re not that complicated, Miguel. But there are some decisions I can’t make.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Miguel’s throat. “What, you can’t kill without the Dragon’s hand on your shoulder?”

Cristiano’s smirk darkened. “I could kill you in my sleep.” He leaned back. “I’m just not going to. I’ve decided to recommend we let you live, Miguel. How does that sound?”

Miguel’s mouth opened, he sputtered, then snapped his jaw shut. His lips thinned as he stared at Cristiano as if attempting to figure out Cristiano’s angle. Finally, he asked, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because you’re wasted with the Ink Blots. You know it, I can see it, and whoever it is you’re protecting? They know it. Just like you both know neither of you is safe under their thumb.”

Miguel swallowed hard. “My sister,” he said. “My little sister’s sick. Fuckin’ cancer. We can’t afford the treatments. I don’t care if I end up in jail or some shit, I just thought, if I could make the money first … but the Blots are psycho. They don’t really care about kicking out the other gangs, they got an agenda. Doesn’t matter to them who goes down along the way.”

Cristiano frowned. “Who is ‘them’, Miguel? What do you know about their plans?”

Miguel hesitated, staring him down for long seconds. “You asked about Garcia and Ramires,” he said, “but you got it sideways, man. Ramires, yeah, he’s top dog. Him and Barros. Garcia’s just their dancing monkey, you know?”

Barros. That was a name Cristiano couldn’t place yet. He held his tongue, wanting to let Miguel talk a little more.

“Garcia’s the guy they put out front, to get your attention, but the real scary mo-fo is Barros. He’ll fuckin’ slit my throat if he hears I said his name.” Miguel drew a breath. “Rumor is they got some real rich asshole friend, too. Some guys think it’s him callin’ the shots, but I don’t know anything about that shit. I just know we never run out of product, you know?”

He had to be talking about the mysterious benefactor Tristán refused to admit to. Whether that meant Tristán actually hadn’t had an answer, or the fucker was determined not to say, Cristiano could only guess. “Does Barros have a first name?”

Miguel scrunched his face. “Maybe I hold on to that, give you a reason to keep me alive.”

Cristiano’s lips twitched. “When my cousin gets here,” he said, “I’m going to suggest he talk to you. Interview you. If you cooperate, don’t backtalk him, he’ll see what I see. But you aren’t in just because I think you have potential.”

Distrust was plain on Miguel’s face. “How the fuck’s signin’ up with the mob any different than signin’ up with a crazy-ass gang?”

“For exactly the reason that we’re in this war. Because the De Salvo family protects and values its own, all the way to its lowest, newest members. All you’ll have to offer in return is what you know about the Ink Blots, and your loyalty,” Cristiano said.

“Sounds like the same thing with better polish.”

“Do you have a better option you’ve forgotten to mention?”

“Just tryin’ to understand the difference. Like you pointed out, I ain’t all that good at runnin’ drugs. What you gonna do, dress me up and send me out to work a corner?” Miguel’s skepticism couldn’t have been more obvious if it were slathered on him in neon paint.

Cristiano sighed under his breath and nearly missed the sound of approaching steps down the hall. Two sets. Romeo must have already been on the road. He stood and stepped around to the side of the chair he’d been using, but kept his words for the smart-mouthed male in front of him. “We don’t push drugs, we don’t engage in human trafficking, we don’t kill children, and we don’t go on senseless massacres. Jobs are generally assigned based on need, evaluated skill-sets, and personal circumstances. Priority is given to senior and proven loyal members. It’s called incentive. If one man finds himself in a gunfight in the vicinity of another, no matter their ranks, he will find himself with an army at his back. And when one of us is killed, he gets a funeral, his family is cared for, and his death is avenged in blood.”

“Sounds like a pitch,” Romeo said as he entered. His gaze ping-ponged between Cristiano and the wide-eyed Miguel. “He’s a kid, Cris.”

“He’s already a gangster,” Cristiano replied. “It’d be a step up.”

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