Page 3 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abigail pretended to mull it over, taking the opportunity to sip at her still untouched second drink. “Fine,” she said slowly, “but if someone harasses me despite your magnificent presence, I get to walk away.”

His grin nearly split his face. “Deal.” He lifted his gaze to the bartender, who had stepped aside but was obviously eavesdropping. “Put her tab on mine tonight.”

Abigail let him take her fries as she tucked her clutch under her arm and grabbed up her drink, and she slipped her free hand into his obligingly. The hand-holding honestly seemed like overkill, but if he wanted to play possessive for the evening, she could let him. That was her thought, at least, until shefelt the spark of her skin sliding against his. It was unreal. She sucked in a breath, fighting the reflexive urge to yank her hand away.This might be a more dangerous idea than I’d thought….

Ryoma led her to a small table, nudged a chair out for her with one booted foot and set down the fries. “Here you go,” he said, releasing her hand accordingly.

As she sat, another man in black-on-black took a step in their direction. He barely glanced her way, instead raising his arm and calling, “Yo, Ryo. We’re heading out.”

Ryoma nodded once before dropping into the chair across from her.

Abigail plucked a fry from the basket and gave him a curious look. “Sure you wouldn’t rather go with your friends?”

“Just work associates,” he said. “That one wouldn’t shut up about his day. Bailing you out saved me from a headache.”

The laughing smile she offered him was a little too easy. “Glad to be of service.” She bit into her fry and eyed her drink. She was going to need at least one more of those to make it through this, but the whiskey no longer sounded like the right choice.

As if reading her mind, Ryoma flagged down a passing waitress and ordered himself a drink. Then he glanced her way. “You want anything else?”

Remembering his words from earlier, and reminding herself she still needed to ease into the casual atmosphere she was hoping for, Abigail countered with her own question. “You’re paying?”

His grin returned. “Rude of me to offer your money, don’t you think?”

“It would be,” she replied honestly. She lifted her whiskey, buying herself a moment, and said, “I’ll take an appletini, then.” It would be fine. She had the fries.

Ryoma swallowed down his latest stolen fry as he eyed the beautiful woman across from him. He’d spied her when she’d first walked into the bar, looking around as if she may never have set foot in a bar in her life. So when she’d nearly thrown herself off her barstool to escape the touchy drunk suddenly hovering over her, he hadn’t thought twice about intervening. It hadn’t been his plan to spend the rest of his free night with her.

Except the more they talked, the more that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“I’m dying to know,” she said as she lowered her glass, “what kind of flower is that? In your tattoo, I mean.”

He flicked an obligatory glance down to his exposed forearms. Not that he needed to look. He could have painted the design he wore on his skin purely from memory if he were any kind of artist. “Peony,” he answered. Her innocent inquiry opened the door to a series of questions he didn’t feel like discussing, so he volleyed one of his own back at her instead. “Speaking of things we’re dying to know, think you could tell meyour name?”

The raven-haired beauty blinked her bright blue eyes at him for one long second, her still glossed lips just slightly parted. In the next second a pink flush darkened what seemed to be her naturally pale complexion and she brought her hand to her face as if to hide behind it before finally saying, “Abigail. Most people call me Abby.” Her lips lifted in a smile. “I’m sorry. When we sat down, that man called you Ryo, so it never occurred to me to exchange names.”

He twirled his glass, careful not to tip it so far that the remaining contents spilled out. “Ryoma,” he said. “But Ryo doesn’t bother me.” It was hard to be bothered by a nickname after having had his birth name stripped from him.

“Ryoma,” she repeated. Her fingers trailed around the base of her drink glass. “Do you travel a lot? You strike me as a man who doesn’t sit still much.”

He arched a brow, intrigued by the question. “Do I?” He knocked back the rest of his drink, eyeing the glass momentarily. He’d had a couple beers while he’d been sitting with the guys earlier. Probably he should consider cutting himself off. “I suppose you could describe me that way,” he said. “I get around.”

Abby lifted her drink too slowly to mask the grin that tipped her lips. “I thought as much.” She took a long sip and her gaze flicked past him moments before the sense of another presence raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Ryoma adjusted in his chair and turned enough to see the rather unwelcome sight of Rodrigo Silva, the chief of police, stepping up to the edge of his personal space.What the fuck?He schooled his expression into a cool neutral for the sakeof his preferred companion. “Silva. Something I can help you with?” He spent enough time in this bar to know it was not the older man’s usual haunt. He might even have been concerned if not for the man’s casual attire and lack of armed escort.

Silva cast a lingering glance in Abby’s direction. “My apologies for interrupting.”

Ryoma felt his hand curl into a fist and lowered it to his lap.

Silva didn’t make him repeat himself before clearing his throat and continuing. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with your boss since Wednesday, but he doesn’t seem to be taking my calls.”

No shit.“Have you left messages?” It wasn’t Ryoma’s place to spread word of the events in his boss’s life, let alone word that certain groups would feel inclined to use against them. Silva fell into the latter category.

“One, yesterday.”

“Then I’m sure he’ll get back to you when he has a moment.” Ryoma uncurled his fist and gestured vaguely around him. “Unless it’s an emergency, I’d like to get back to my night off.”

Silva held up a hand as if in defense of himself. “Of course, of course. I really just wanted to pass along my congratulations.” He inclined his head, glancing again toward Abby. “I’ll leave you be. You two have a good night.” He turned and cut wide around the writhing dance floor, in the direction of the exit.

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