Page 8 of Protected By the Mafia

Cristiano strode forward and let himself lean against the side of the old desk closest to his cousin. “I’m listening.” It was hard tracking down men when you didn’t know who the fuck they were to start with, so finding out who was anyone with the Ink Blots had proven slow work.

Romeo spun the laptop around and indicated the screen, which showed a blurry, freeze-framed image of two men. “This guy, Gustavo Ramires. He’s popped up a couple times in our surveillance, so Mikey ran a search. It turns out he used to run with Garcia’s older brother in one of those defunct gangs.”

Cristiano let his brow furrow. Felicity had said that her eldest brother, Manny, was the only one who might know anything important. If she thought the two were close, and Tristán had reacted the way he had to the sight of her picture, then this wasn’t a connection they could ignore. “Ramires is making regular contact with Blot runners?”

“Regular might be an overstatement,” Romeo said, “but definitely repeated. And he’s not buying. He’s either a trusted messenger or top-dog.”

Cristiano straightened. “Either way, it looks like he’s about to make my acquaintance.”

Romeo pulled the laptop back to him. “You know what we want. Dante said to leave you to it. I’ll email you the clearer shot Mikey grabbed; in case you want to forward it to another pair of legs.”

Cristiano nodded. That wasn’t a terrible idea, seeing as he also wanted to pay another visit to Tristán, too. The sooner they could crush the Ink Blots, the sooner Felicity would be safe. He didn’t waste time dawdling around the house, and by the time he was back in his car, the picture was in his secure inbox. He forwarded a copy of the image, then dialed another number.

“Looks like a new job,” the man on the other end answered.

“New information on the current job,” Cristiano corrected. “Gustavo Ramires. He’s someone who matters to the Ink Blots, which means he matters to us. I need you to get hunting, Ryoma.”

“Not a problem. I’ll be in touch.”

Cristiano disconnected and put his car in drive. Ryoma was as close to a right-hand as he would ever have in this business, though their semi-partnership had started out stranger than most. He almost felt bad for leaving the man in the dark. But if he wasn’t telling his actual family, he couldn’t justify telling his only friend. He’d known all of that before he’d gone through with the idea to grab Felicity out of her situation.

It was time to get a little dirty with Tristán again.

He’d left. He took their breakfast dishes, came back with a big bottle of cold water, and revealed that the pretty framed photograph on the wall facing the bed was actually a large television. Then he had promised to be back sometime that afternoon and disappeared, locking her in the oversized bedroom by herself. She had no phone, no usable internet access, and no way out.

What she did have, she slowly discovered, was a selection of streaming services, a bedside table filled with paperback romance and fantasy novels, and a bathroom with a soaker tub. Arguably, it was plenty to keep a person occupied—even comfy—for a few hours. But she wasn’t used to lazing about for an entire day, even if she’d chosen to do so voluntarily. That made it hard to appreciate the offerings left to her.

Nothing appealed on TV. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick up one of the books, and so she spent at least an hour staring around the room and fuming. In silence. Absolute silence.

It was that absence of white noise that finally broke through her angry, internal rants. There was no sense raging at her half-siblings or her parents or even herself, let alone raging only in her mind where only she could hear. And that was when she realized those rageful thoughts were all she could hear. There was nothing coming through the walls. No sounds indicative of a big city. No traffic, no people, not even a plane.

In her confounded state, Felicity found her feet again and moved to the window. It was still covered, so she carefully pushed aside the curtain enough to see out. This time bright daylight poured in, brighter than she was used to, and she realized what she hadn’t fully processed before. It wasn’t just that she was in a penthouse. She was so many stories off the ground, the world below may as well have been a moving picture for all the difference it made. She could stand and pound on the glass, scream her heart out, and not a soul would know.

Cristiano had spoken the truth.

Felicity stepped back, but instead of hiding away from the reality of her situation again, she abruptly yanked the drapery open until the entire window was visible. Then she backed further away, all the way to the other side of the bed, and stared out. “Wow…”

Even if she found some underground market with a virgin fetish and sold herself off, she’d never be able to afford something like this.

Felicity smacked herself in the face and put her back to the window. “I need to stop reading romance.” She looked around, grabbed up the water, and strode into the bathroom. Cristiano had said he’d be gone for a while. If she was going to be stuck in this space, she was going to take advantage of what it offered to the best of her ability.

So she stripped out of her new and overpriced clothes, filled the jetted tub, and slid into the water. It was basically an indoor hot tub, and the only thing missing was that view from the bedroom. But she’d appreciate that again after her soak. Not that she needed one. She certainly hadn’t worked up a sweat since her last shower. Soaking in a jacuzzi tub was simply one of the best ways to encourage relaxation, regardless of the surrounding situation.

Cristiano appeared in her mind’s eye. His lips moving over his fork, the way his tongue had swept up that syrup, the way his body had felt hovering over hers. The feel of his breath on her skin. The press of those lips to her hand. The intensity of his stare.

Felicity sighed, leaned back against the wall of the tub, and dipped one hand between her legs. She shouldn’t be touching herself while she was being held against her will, let alone to thoughts of the very man who’d kidnapped her. But it was hard to think about him in those ugly terms. He’d been nothing but careful, gentle, and considerate in front of her. He’d made her favorite breakfast foods, he’d endured coffee her way in order to reassure her, and he’d stocked the room with books in genres she couldn’t picture him reading. Hell, she had a hard time picturing him sleeping in that room at all.

Her fingers pressed against her clit and she moaned. Oh, but it would be a fantastic room for lovemaking. For wild, reckless fucking. Exactly the kind of thing she loved to read about. And he had such a mouthwatering … everything. She remembered the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hand and dipped her fingers into her pussy. He’d reacted when she’d inadvertently scratched him, too. She’d seen the heat in his eyes.

Was there anything about Cristiano that wasn’t sexy?

Her thumb rolled over her clit as her fingers curled and Felicity let her head fall back, her back arching with the wave of sweet release that followed. It hadn’t taken long at all to get herself there. Half the time she tried she didn’t even succeed before her arms cramped up. Cristiano really was magic.

Was it so shameful that she still wished there was a way for them to get past this atrocious start?

“Thinking time’s up, big man,” Cristiano declared as he dropped a sturdy wooden stool down in front of Tristán’s cell. “Today you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.” It had only been about thirty hours since his last visit, but that was fine.

A few feet away, Tristán leveled a tired glare at him. “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, old man,” he snapped. “You gonna show me more pictures if I don’t cooperate?”

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