Page 20 of Consumed By the Mafia

Cristiano nodded slowly. “We can do that.”

She debated just coming clean right then and sparing all of them whatever farce was in play with Ryoma’s obviously coded request. It would be suicide, but it would be over quick—most likely. If she could be completely sure she was the only one who would be punished for it, she doubted she would have hesitated. But she’d endangered and manipulated Ryoma enough as it was. The least she could do was allow him the chance to separate from her.

I never should have gone to that bar.

None of this mess would be happening if she’d stayed home that night. She never would have come face-to-face with Rodrigo Silva. She never would have been labeled as an association of Ryoma’s. The man she’d shot dead would most likely still be alive. The man Ryoma had saved her from earlier, in frontof the bookstore, would still be walking free. Ryoma himself wouldn’t be facing the prospect of guilt-by-association at her hands.

They never would have met.

They never would have touched.

He never would have called her his, or shown her pleasure so searingly delicious it made her forget herself.

Abigail had justified her actions on Friday night out of a need to fulfill a duty. She’d known she would be engaging with him under false pretenses, known she would be lying, and known it would take some coercion to get him to talk. She had also believed that when it came time to reveal herself, they would be in a protected space with no immediate threat to their persons. That she would have control of the scene.

She’d been so, so wrong. As she watched the world pass by through the window of the SUV, Abigail understood that she had no control. She’d made the wrong move at every opportunity. And if she kept doing that, she wasn’t the only one who would die.

Ryoma hadn’t felt so angry at himself in years. He’d never wanted to know this level of internalized anger again. But it was what he got for letting his guard down and trying to trustsomeone on the outside. Trying to trust anyone who hadn’t fucking bled for him for no goddamn reason.

He still felt a flicker of that sense of confliction as the SUV sped toward the holding house on the south side of town. The house in particular did double-duty as a safehouse or an extra building for long-term victim storage when necessary. He knew it was one of Cris’s favorites, and as such it was generally well-equipped. They’d need all of that.

Even if part of him hated the idea.

He ground his teeth and turned his glare out the window at his side. He had thought he would try to compose himself, try to sit and talk with her before he tossed her to the fucking wolves. But all that would do was get them both dead. Why should he dive onto the sword for a woman who’d made the choice to lie and use him to destroy the only kind of family he had left?

Every time that question raced through his mind, it was followed immediately by the image of her teary eyes looking up at him. Pleading. Her fingers pressed into his chest as faint tremors wracked through her with each breath. The memory wasn’t even an hour old and it was ingrained into his fucking soul. Even now, part of him wanted to protect her. The same part that felt like it had broken when she’d flipped open that goddamn badge.

Abigail Fitzgerald. FBI.

Ryoma reached over and dug his fingers into one of the blood red peonies on his forearm. He’d thought he’d learned how not to fuck up so badly. He’d thought wearing a symbolof his mother’s life and death on his skin for the rest of his life would keep him from forgetting, ever again.Fucking stupid.

He couldn’t protect Abby. He couldn’t honestly say he’d ever met her. He sure as hell wasn’t throwing away his life, or his new family’s lives, for a woman who’d inserted herself into his path for the purpose of destroying them all. The strange conflict in his chest had finally agreed on that much when he’d realized that Abby had some kind of history with Cris and Felicity. The two closest people in Ryoma’s life. He didn’t know what that history was, only that if Cristiano felt Felicity was threatened, he’d turn on just about anyone. And Ryoma couldn’t blame him. Nor would he be the one to put his surrogate brother in that position.

No matter how much it hurt.

The SUV came to a stop even as Cris barked an order at the driver. “Tell the other car to drive around and secure the perimeter. We’ll be here as long as we have to, unless something comes up.”

“Yes, sir,” Tony said.

Cris popped his door open and Ryoma did the same. But Ryoma paused, knowing he couldn’t yet pull entirely away from Abby. He turned his head her way, finding her still buckled in and clutching her purse with both hands as if she were lost in the depths of her mind. “Hey. We’re here,” he said. He wasn’t sure how his voice came out, and he supposed it didn’t matter.

Abby jerked, her head snapping up. “Oh. Sorry.” She fumbled with her seatbelt and reached for her door.

Ryoma stepped out and waited for her by the back of the SUV. He wasn’t in agreement with himself, he could feel it. His head was fully on-board with the plan of severing ties and walking away. That was the smartest, safest, most logical thing to do. She couldn’t be trusted. But every time he let himself look at her, that thing inside himwantedto. Wanted to reach out and pull her close, to kiss her until the frown line disappeared from her brow, to whisper reassurances in her ear.

He’d indulged that side of himself with her every other time.

All without knowing her real fucking name, let alone that she had a serious ulterior motive.

When she was close enough, he moved a hand to the small of her back and walked with her toward the unassuming house. He didn’t have to like where this was headed. He didn’t have to be happy with anything. He was the muscle. He was fortunate to have been given a new home at all and it was his job to keep that home standing. That was all there was to it.

Cris paused behind them, at the door, and turned toward Tony once more. “Take up position in the front room.” Then he followed behind, his presence somehow both reassuring and foreboding at Ryoma’s back.

Ryoma watched Abby’s head turn as she glanced around and he wondered if she was surprised that it was an actual house inside. Or that it was at least well-maintained. He opened his mouth to say something, not even sure what, but Cris spoke again—this time for them.

“We’ve still got some spare clothes in one of the closets. Why don’t you let her clean up while we have the chance.”

Ryoma fought the frown that wanted to bend his lips. Delaying only made everything more difficult. “Sure.” He guided her to the main hall. “Primary’s on the left,” he said, indicating. “That should have what you need.” He reached down, then, and tugged pointedly on the strap of her purse. He couldn’t let her hold on to her gun at this stage. Not with Cris’s safety on the line.

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