Page 18 of Consumed By the Mafia

Then there was Ryoma’s story. It didn’t take a genius to realize he’d omitted some large details, but that didn’t matter. The De Salvo family—whom he hadn’t specified by name—hadbeen running the police in Newark, which explained a lot if her informant was even half honest. Except the chief seemed to have switched loyalties to their enemy faction, who just so happened to be the asshole she’d kicked in the groin. His own fault, and she’d do it again, but that didn’t change the outcome. The asshole also apparently played Godfather to theInk Blots, the latest pain in the ass gang running roughshod over Newark.

Dirty cops. A wild gang. The goddamn Irish mob. And, presumably, a powerful Italian mafia. All vying for control of this one city. Somehow, she’d landed in the center of the fight, literal blood on her hands, no proof she could even attest to beyond comparably small single-incident assault charges, and a bounty on her head. And the worst of all of it?

She’d shot the wrong man. Not that she’d missed her target. Just that she should have aimed for the one pointing a gun ather, the one her boss could more easily justify, and not the one aiming at the guy they suspected was also a violent criminal. But the moment she’d seen Ryoma pointing his gun to protect her, leaving his own flank vulnerable, she’d reacted on some instinct she couldn’t explain. The thought of him taking a bullet for her—of him dying in defense of her—had been unacceptable.

She hadn’t been worried for herself or thinking of her duty when she’d pulled the trigger. She’d been focused solely on not letting her boyfriend die.

Her boyfriend.

It was supposed to be fake. She was supposed to be faking her interest in order to get him to talk. And hewastalking, now, but every time she heard something new, she found herself compelled to be sympathetic. He was protecting her. He was rational. The worst thing she had personally witnessed him doing he’d only done because she’d provoked him to take action. Their opposition was the problem.

As Abigail listened to him call for backup, she was overcome with emotion. Fear, confusion, disappointment, frustration, a looming sense of helplessness, even anger. She couldn’t explain them all, but some of them were so familiar it felt as though she’d held them in her heart for her entire life.

What kind of a difference would it really make if she succeeded in her mission and the De Salvo family was taken off the board? If their proverbial empire went to ruins, would that matter beyond Essex County? Would it matter at all?

Or would it only open the door for the Irish mob to scoop up the floundering remnants the FBI was never able to apprehend, to pressure the people already used to oppression, and become the next criminal organization in charge? The Irish mob that apparently worked in league with a volatile gang. And too few good cops to do a damn thing.

Fuck. If anything, taking the De Salvos out made the situation worse for everyone. How did that make any sense? What was thepoint?

She heard Ryoma’s call end, heard the growing cacophony of sirens just beyond their hiding place, and her throat constricted.

It was just like when she’d been a girl, waiting for the powers-that-be, the men who were supposed to do the right thing, to swoop in and make everything better. If all she did was follow the rules and toe the line, nothing would change. Nothing would get better. Because there were too many men who couldn’t be bothered sitting in those positions of authority, and too many who would rather take advantage. That left too few willing to take action.

What would that even look like?

“—we can’t linger here,” Ryoma said, his arm still around her.

Abigail swallowed hard, feeling her rampaging emotions pushing at her walls. She shouldn’t be thinking this way, yet she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into him.

The gunshots from their near-death experience blended into an older, never faded memory that finally pulled the first tears free. It was the reminder of that little girl’s long, drawn-out disappointment that made her decision for her. “All my life,” she whispered, “I only ever wanted to see the right thing being done. To be part of making that happen.” It had been her dream, her ambition, her single-minded drive.

She knew they shouldn’t be lingering. She knew she was being too emotional. More than that, she knew what she was doing was absurdly stupid. Still, she appreciated that Ryoma didn’t push her to move. It might prove to be the last moment of support he would offer her, and she would take it.

Abigail wrangled herself under control as best she could and lifted her eyes in search of his, unsurprised to find him frowning down at her. “Please … understand,” she said, wanting toexplain herself before she’d even told him the thing that would ruin everything. She shouldn’t. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for. Objectively, she knew he couldn’t be fond enough of her to be sure he wouldn’t turn on her. But if there was a chance….

“Abby,” he said, his brow pinching as he adjusted to rest both hands on her hips. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

She wanted to give him the whole story, to explain it perfectly so he might understand. But the sirens were almost constant now. There wasn’t time. So she said the only thing she could, the worst opening she could offer. “I’ve been lying to you.” She forced her hand to unclench from his shirt, knowing that wouldn’t satisfy him. “I’m not a graphic designer, I’m not from Oregon, and my name isn’t Dunn.” She pulled her purse around as she talked, watching his face as she moved.

Of course, his frown deepened. She already knew him well enough to read the probably natural suspicion that thinned his lips.

“I know you won’t believe me after this,” she said, her throat constricting again as she closed her fingers around the badge inside the bag. “Noneof this was supposed to happen and I’m not supposed to be telling you, but—with everything—I don’t see the point anymore. I’m not asking you to trust me, Ryoma. Only to hear me. All those groups you just mentioned, they’re not the only ones you need to worry about.”

The obvious questions flashed across his eyes.

Abigail pulled the ID from her purse, leaving everything else inside to avoid misunderstandings, and flipped it up. “My name is Abigail Fitzgerald, and I work for the FBI.”

Ryoma’s eyes blew wide and his grip went slack. He’d probably have stepped away if not for the wall behind him. “Thefuck?”

Her chest constricted, but she knew the reaction was fair. Abigail lowered the badge, letting it fall again into her purse. “I transferred to Newark last fall with the express purpose of being placed undercover in order to hopefully track down the source of suspected organized crime in the area.” She offered a shrug. “Apparently there had been rumors for a while, never substantial enough to warrant investigation. Then there was something about two missing sheriff’s deputies from West Virginia, last heard from traveling near this part of the state. That was shortly before I got here.”

For a split-second his grip tightened, almost bruising. Then Ryoma ripped his hands away and turned, facing the opening of the alley they’d come through. He swung the side of his fist into the stone wall. “So, what,” he asked through ground teeth, “you lookin’ to arrest me, then?”

His tone was a strange, painful combination of cold and tight, almost strained. It hurt to hear, stabbing through her ears and straight to her heart. Abigail slipped the entire bag off her shoulders and held it out so he could see. “Here. It’s the only gun I have on me. Which you should know.” She certainly didn’t have one in her bra. “I’m not going to arrest you for protecting me, or defending yourself. Yes, I could technically take you in on assault or something, but none of that would stick. More importantly, I don’t want to.”

“Then why the fuck even—” Movement near the alley opening drew their attention and he cut himself off briefly.Then he bit out a curse, twisted, and took her by the arm. He didn’t touch her purse as he hauled her with him toward the opposite end of the alley. “We don’t fucking have time for this.”

Abigail stumbled for the first couple steps, startled that he was still taking her with him. “Wait, you—you don’t have to take me with you,” she said as she finally got her feet under her. “That’s part of my point!” She fumbled with switching her purse around and slinging it again over her shoulders so as to avoid dropping the thing. “I’ll go out and let them see me. You can get away. If my identity’s compromised, the mission will be scrapped for a while. That should give you time to spread the word and tighten any loose ends your group has. Ryoma!”

---