Page 70 of Consumed By the Mafia

The bastard only laughed. Though he did obligingly return his teasing hand to the wheel.

It took several minutes for them to reach their destination, during which time Abigail found herself pulled into the strangest of conversations. Strange in that it was one of the most objectively normal conversations they’d ever had—she, at least, had no ulterior motive and as far as she knew their cards were pretty much all on the table. Which meant they wereactuallyjust talking about … life. Little, everyday things.

As people, beyond what they did for work, they were startlingly compatible. Despite that they came from different starting points and looked at nearly everything from different angles, everything they talked about only seemed to drive that realization home. It seemed illogical.

She couldn’t help but wonder if it also explained why she found it so hard to pull away.

There was an SUV already in the garage when they arrived. Abigail wasn’t sure if there was an on-site team keeping the location secure or if they were expecting someone, so she didn’t know how to feel about that. She did know that the man they found sitting in the front room, angled to easily see both entrances, looked somewhat familiar. And he definitely had not been part of the team the night before.

Ryoma inclined his head to the man. “Morning. This mean the boss is in?”

Abigail felt her mouth drop open.Boss?“Wait, does that mean—”

The man in the chair pushed to his feet as someone else strode in from the hall.

Dante De Salvo swept his cold gaze over both of them, his face unreadable. “Excellent timing,” he said after a long second. He passed his cell phone over to the other man. “Remember to come get me if Iris calls.”

The man nodded. “Of course, Boss.”

Abigail struggled to keep her breathing steady. She had not been prepared for this. How was she supposed to interrogate someone when her nerves felt like she was doing a salsa dance through a minefield?

“Are you coming in with us, Boss?” Ryoma asked.

A cruel smile lifted the Dragon’s lips. “We’re working in allegiance with the FBI on this, aren’t we? It would be remiss of me to do anything less.”

Fuck. Me.She had no one to blame for her newfound discomfort but herself, then.

He turned. “Rodrigo’s already been cleaned up and transferred back to the interrogation room,” he said as he walked.

Ryoma slipped a hand around her back and gave Abigail a nudge to prompt her forward, letting her step ahead of him. It was probably gentlemanly, but she really wanted to do anything other than be within arm’s reach of his boss. Who, in a way, was currently also her boss. When they reached the room, Ryoma finally angled ahead and pulled open the door for them.

Abigail nearly fainted when the Dragon indicated for her to enter first. She consciously squared her shoulders and raised her chin, willing herself to look confident and strong.

Rodrigo Silva was, as before, cuffed and chained to the table, and his seat chained to the floor. His clothes were more wrinkled than before, his hair mussed, and he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days. There was also a faint odor surrounding him that she hadn’t smelled at the precipice of the room. He locked his glare on her immediately. “You actually came back, you fake FBI whore.”

Strangely, his ire helped settle her. Abigail dragged out the far chair, the same chair she’d claimed before, and said, “From here on out you will address me as Agent or Agent Fitzgerald. Childish insults only make you look worse, and I hate to tell you, that’s saying something.”

Silva’s lip started to curl, but then his attention shifted to the man striding in behind her and all the fight drained from his face. As did most of the color. If he’d looked disquieted byRomeo’s arrival the night before, he was indisputably petrified now. “Y-you…”

“Yes,” the Dragon said as he drew the other chair out and lowered into it. “Me.” He leaned back, the motion somehow broadening his half-exposed chest, and let one loosely curled fist rest on the table. “It wouldn’t be very polite of me to leave Agent Fitzgerald to deal with you by herself, now, would it?”

As he spoke, Ryoma stepped into the room and pulled the door quietly shut. Theclickseemed to echo around them. This time he remained at the door, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes forward.

Abigail took her cue from the hard mask on his face and returned her focus to her target. “You’ve had some time to think, Silva. Now it’s time to talk.”

The chief of police looked over at her, eyes wide, then snapped his gaze back to the man beside her. He swallowed visibly. “L-let’s not pretend this is on the up-and-up.”

Abigail bit back a sigh.That is definitely out the window.And probably for the best, really. She opened her mouth to respond, but an eerie, deep-throated chuckle drifted over the table, drawing her attention.

The Dragon hadn’t moved a muscle, other than the raised edge of his lips, but the sound was definitely emanating from him. Without taking his eyes from Silva, he said, “That could describe no less than half your career, Rodrigo. I think we’re well past that.”

Silva drew back, as if attempting to retreat. He looked sharply over at her, suddenly imploring. “Protection. Promiseme protective custody—the fucking best you’ve got—and I’ll tell you everything.”

That couldn’t be all it took. She knew some men were all bluster, but she’d honestly thought he’d resist more. She kept that to herself, of course, and crossed one leg over the other. Settling in. “The FBI doesn’t promise protective custody for nothing,” she said calmly. “Give me somethingworthprotecting, and we’ll talk.” The lie rolled too easily off her tongue. She knew he was destined for death.

“What kind of bullshit is that?” Silva demanded, yanking in protest at his restraints.

Abigail only blinked at him. “No blank checks, Silva.” She paused for a second. “Why don’t we start with something small, hm?” She glanced over at the man beside her, telling herself to include him as she would anyone she normally shared interrogations with. Not that this was a normal situation. “Do you have a softball for him, or should I?”

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