Page 2 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abigail let her gaze continue its sweeping and held a little tighter to her glass. Part of her hadn’t believed she’d even get this close to him, at least not since she’d thrown this plan together so haphazardly. Her attempt to bump into him in the supermarket a few weeks earlier had bombed miserably, and she was afraid to up her trips to his favorite coffee shop. Yes, she wanted to make contact, but she wanted to do so in a way that encouraged conversation. If he felt like he was being stalked, and her informant was correct, he was more likely to put a hole in her head and leave her where she fell. Not exactly an ideal outcome.

“Need another?” the bartender asked, dragging her back to the moment.

Abigail released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and twisted around, letting her partial updo swing behind her. “Please,” she said, holding out the glass. “And some fries.”

“You got it.” The bartender quickly refilled her drink, then disappeared into the back presumably to put in her order.

Abigail set her clutch on the bar in front of her, trailing her fingers through the light layer of condensation on her glass. She should take her food to a small table when it was ready. Or perhaps a mid-size table, actually. Sitting at the bar was fine in theory, but also tended to be too transient and vulnerable. She wanted to make an impression, even if that impression was ultimately a lie.

A hand settled, heavy and too hot, at the small of her back. Someone leaned into her space, smelling of sweat and tequila and making her crinkle her nose before she’d even turned her head. “Hey, cutie,” an unfamiliar man said, the alcohol stench intensifying with his words.

Abigail leaned bodily the other direction, until she was almost too far off the stool. “It’s hard to be flattered by a horny drunk,” she said, narrowing her eyes at the forty-something man looming over her. “Please step away from me.”

He didn’t bat an eye. “Aw, don’t be like that, babe.” His hand dragged lower, surely rumpling her dress as he reached for her butt. “I just—”

Abigail swept out her arm, knocking his off of her as if she were swatting a fly. “You don’t have permission to touch me. Step back.”

This time his brow furrowed and she gathered he was the stubborn asshole kind of drunk. He reached up and fisted ahandful of her hair, pulling hard enough to draw her head back. “I wasn’t askin’ for your permission, bitch.” He leaned in, his breath washing over her and making her stomach turn.

Abigail opened her mouth to warn him one final time, but she was beaten to it.

Her assailant went completely still and a different voice—stronger, and instinctively more appealing—said, “Oh, it’sthatkind of night, is it?” There was a brief pause and she registered the presence of another male standing behind her, from the opposite direction. Something about this one was almost reassuring and she had to tell herself that was stupid. If her real ID somehow fell out of her clutch in the next second, every single person in that bar would turn against her.

Her assailant stammered, “I-I just … she was—”

“Let the lady go,” the newcomer said, his voice firm. “Don’t make me make a scene.”

The grip on her hair released after only a single second. Her would-be assailant wasn’t so drunk as to not recognize when he was in over his head, it seemed. Abigail straightened carefully, one hand on her clutch and both heels resting on the low bar of her stool. She exhaled as the stench of tequila and sweat faded, indicating the man had moved back. Her head was turning in that direction when she noticed movement on her other side and the second voice spoke again, his tone gentled faintly.

“Sorry about that. You okay?”

She caught enough of a glimpse to see the drunk making his way toward the door, well out of reach and looking away. Resettling on her seat so as to avoid further embarrassing herself, Abigail swung her focus the other direction and her mouthdropped open.No way.There was no damn way her target was the man who’d just come to her rescue.

Yet there he sat, or perched, on the stool at her left, one dark brow arched and lips kicked faintly up at one corner. The collar of his black T-shirt was not high enough to obscure a tattoo curving close to the base of his neck, though she couldn’t identify the design. The shirt didn’t even cover his elbows, though, so the artwork on his arms was mostly bare. And up close, the brilliant crimson flowers that dotted the reedy forest-like design were strikingly vivid.

Abigail swallowed hard and told herself she was not—absolutelynot—checking out her mark. No matter if she liked tall, muscular men. Particularly tall, muscular men with tattoos. It was her secret.Focus, Abby.“I’m fine,” she finally said. “Though I’d have probably gotten thrown out if I’d had to deal with him myself, so, thank you for the assist.” She might normally have said something sharper, but she wanted to be approachable.That was okay, right?

Shutting oneself away to study and train for years did not do much for learning social skills, it turned out.

Ryoma’s lips lifted in a more visible grin. “We wouldn’t want that.”

The bartender chose that moment to set down her basket of fries. “Here ya go,” he said to her. His gaze darted between them with visible surprise. “Everything okay here?”

Abigail tried for a reassuring smile.

“We’re all good,” Ryoma said. He stood and held out his hand to her. “Come join me at a table. It’ll be quieter than eating at the bar.”

Seriously?She blinked up at him and let herself frown. Best not to look too eager. “I hesitate to say we’ve even met. Why would I do that?”

Her response seemed to amuse him. “Because you don’t want more drunks coming to bother you.”

“And your mere presence will prevent that?” She arched both brows deliberately to accentuate her disbelief.

“Yep.”

That just made her all the more desperate to ask every question she’d compiled. All of which, of course, she had to bite back. Instead, she said, “What if Iwantedto drink alone?”

Ryoma raked his gaze over her blatantly and she swore she felt the heat wash over her skin before their eyes met again. “I don’t think you do. But I’m only asking for the pleasure of your company for a drink. I’m not asking you to leave with me.” His eyes suggested he might before the night was through.

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