Page 11 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abigail gathered up her small accumulated mess, resecured her cross-body purse, and made a quiet exit. The little papers and napkin went into the recycling before she stepped out thedoor, then she pulled her purse around and slipped out her phone. She angled herself in the direction of the continuing conversation, keeping her attention aimed at the device in her hand.

Of course, it had been a gamble from the start.

The unfamiliar man—taller, more muscular, and sharply dressed with burgundy hair—clapped a hand on Silva’s shoulder as she neared. His voice carried too easily, telling her he’d raised it. “Thank you for easing my mind, as always.”

Abigail swiped her thumb across the screen, her mind racing. There was an accent to his voice, like a lilt. It was subtle but nonetheless distinct. Definitely out of place.

“Of course, of course,” Silva replied. “I’m always happy to help.” The men shuffled in her peripheral vision and a sinking feeling came over her, but Abigail maintained her oblivious act. Right up until Silva spoke again, almost close enough to touch. “Haven’t we met?”

She jerked as if startled and whipped her head around, blinking at the older, barely taller male. She’d known who he was from the moment he’d walked up to their table that night, of course, but he wasn’t supposed to know her. So she furrowed her brow and pulled her phone close to her chest. “No,” she said. “I think you spoke to someone I was sitting with the other night. That really doesn’t count as meeting. I’m sorry, did you need something?”

Behind him, his companion turned a curious gaze their way. Straight on she could see he was at least a handful of years younger than Silva, though probably still over forty. His facewas weathered from time in the sun but not altogether unattractive. Not especially her type, but she could see the appeal.

Chief Silva hummed thoughtfully before his brown eyes lit with recognition. An instant later his jaw seemed to harden, the friendly façade disappearing. “You’re Ryoma’s whore.”

Abigail reared back. “Maybe I should have been more specific,” she said. “We weren’t introduced. I caught on to who you are, too, Chief Silva. And I don’t think you should be demeaning your citizens simply because of who they share drinks with.”

Silva’s nostrils flared. He made no effort to disguise his displeasure at her words.

His companion stepped up, rumbling with low laughter. “This one’s got a mouth on her, Rodrigo.” He bumped Silva’s arm without removing his own from his pocket or taking his hazel eyes off her. “She may also be right. For all you know she was using that foreigner.”

The offensive language raked through her and Abigail felt herself bristle. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He offered her a calculated smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t give you my name.”

Abigail matched his smile as her thumb surreptitiously landed on the shutter button. She had only barely managed to open the camera app as she’d moved the screen out of Silva’s angle of sight. It was a shame she hadn’t been able to swipe over to video mode, but a picture was certainly better than nothing. “I apologize if I gave you the impression I was interested in your bigotry.” She looked between them, letting her fake smile fade. “Either of you.” Her thumb dropped to the homebutton, tapping before lifting to her text app. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to meet someone.” She flashed her phone for emphasis, only long enough to let the list of conversations cross their eyes, then lowered her hand and angled to step around them.

The unnamed man shot out a hand and latched onto her arm, uncaring that he was reaching past Silva in the process. He held firm, just tight enough to ensure she would have to make a scene to have a chance to break free. “Why don’t you let me see that phone first, girl.”

Abigail stepped carefully so that her restrained arm was obviously extended, keeping her phone in her other hand, and narrowed her eyes in their direction. “You think you can put hands on me because you’re buddy-buddy with the chief of police?”

Silva took a pointed step back, giving his friend room. “We’re only having a casual chat, aren’t we?”

She had half a mind to arrest them both. She wasn’t supposed to compromise her identity unless absolutely necessary, but shewasallowed to do what she had to in order to protect herself. Within the confines of the law, of course. Abigail ground her teeth. She wouldn’t throw ten months of hard work away for these assholes. “Unhand me, or so help me, I’ll scream until your buddy has no choice but to forfeit his career or do his goddamn job.”

The man whose name she didn’t know smiled cruelly. “The phone.” He held out his other hand expectantly.

“You have no business with me or my belongings.”

“I have business with that foreigner you were cavorting with,” he said. “And I need to be sure you didn’t do anything dumb.”

“Dumb like putting hands on a woman in public?” Abigail raised the phone, closing her contacts and going back to her camera app. “How’s this?” She held it out, letting them both see the screen this time, and clicked again. Capturing a picture of the man with his hand on her arm. “You touch me, I photograph you. Seems fair.”

“Are you stupid?” Silva snapped.

“That was unwise, girl,” the other man said in a growl. His grip tightened.

Abigail lowered her phone to a comfortable level and glared back at them. “You know, I’m pretty surepolicearen’t the only law in Newark. Wanna bet Google has that number?” Not that she needed it. But the FBI’s presence wasn’t exactly a secret, so she compromised nothing by acknowledging her awareness of them.

Silva scoffed. “She’s posturing. I can pick her up whenever I have to.”

“No,” his companion said. He yanked her closer in a sharp movement, making a sweeping grab for her phone.

Abigail let her face show surprise, but as soon as she was close enough she brought her knee up to his groin. If Silva upped the ante after his companion went down and drew his weapon, she’d just have to break cover.

The burgundy-haired man hissed through clenched teeth at the sudden, obviously unexpected pain, his grip going slack as his body naturally contorted.

“Bren—”

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