Page 24 of Consumed By the Mafia

Abigail raised a shaky hand to her chest.Owes his wife…?It clicked with her next breath. He’d called them abusive. She didn’t know much about Iris De Salvo’s history—someone with expert skills had taken care to hide most of it—but she knew Iris was from out of state. And she knew, as much thanks to her informant as because she’d been trying to keep a partial eye on the De Salvo men for the last few months, that they were all rather protective of their women. It stood to reason, then, that his words meant those particular deputies had laid hands on Iris in the past. She would never know the details, but that wasn’t what mattered.

Weirdly, stupidly, what mattered was the next thing she landed on.More dirty cops.She knew, first-hand, that there were lots of good, upright officers of the law throughout the country. She’d met several. Shaken their hands, worked alongside them, shared meals with them. They existed.

But she kept getting smacked in the face with the ones who dragged the rest down. And she was tired of it.

“What else can you tell me?” the Dragon asked when she was quiet for too long.

Abigail drew a breath. “Most of what I’ve learned is hearsay. Non-provable on its own. I do have an informant, just one, but I can’t tell you who. The only thing that person has asked for from me is protection, not even immunity, when everything is done. But I can tell you they’re not overly high in the pecking order, by their own definition.” She knew the answer wasn’t going to be satisfactory, but it had to be the line she drew. The one thing she maintained.

Both De Salvos narrowed their eyes at her.

Cristiano spoke first. “Fucking rats.”

The Dragon drummed his fingers again. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.” His frown remained. “We’ll shelve that topic for the moment. Continue.”

Abigail couldn’t stop her gaze from sliding in Ryoma’s direction. She could only barely see him out of the corner of her eye, sitting, slumped back, on the sofa. It was hard to tell without turning to stare directly whether or not he was even conscious. She couldn’t afford to stare. “I thought Ryoma might be an approachable way in … because everything I had learned so far indicated he was a loner, but also that he was comparably closer to the top. The case has been moving too slowly for the FBI to keep funding and I’ve been told I have until I hit the one-year mark—the end of September—to find something useful, otherwise we’re pulling off. So I decided to insert myself.”

Dark amusement lifted the corner of the Dragon’s lips for a split-second. “So you seduced him.”

The indignation returned in a flash. “That’s not—That wasn’t actually the plan.” Admitting that probably wasn’t necessary. But maybe it would keep Ryoma alive, if nothing else.

The Dragon made another low, vibrating humming sound. “I have one final question for you, Agent Fitzgerald.” He narrowed his eyes at her and the breath froze in her lungs. “How badly do you want to live?”

eight

House Arrest

Her jaw dropped. Washe making fun of her? That would ordinarily be her assumption with a question like that, but nothing about the man across from her seemed like the type. So Abigail refrained from saying something rude or egregiously sarcastic in response, and instead replied, “I definitely don’t want to die.”

The amusement he’d shown before broadened into a cold smile. “Smart choice.” He folded one leg over the other, immediately transforming to look almost like a king deigning to sit on a run-down throne. “You strike me as an intelligent woman, Abigail Fitzgerald. Profession aside. So I’m goingto give you a choice. This choice will be entirely yours to make, but you will not have an opportunity to change your mind later. Your fate will hinge upon this one decision. Are you following me so far?”

Abigail swallowed hard. She really didn’t like where this was going. “Yes.” But if this monster thought she was going to bend her knee to him, or let him use her as some temporary mistress, or anything remotely subservient like that, he was going to be disappointed. She would rather die. At least in death she’d have a shred of her dignity left.

“I generally have no love for law enforcement at any level,” he said plainly. “However, it’s possible Albert’s little agenda could provide an opportunity for both of us. If you cooperate.” He made a waving motion with one hand. “I hear you stumbled into our feud with the Ink Blots and their benefactor, Brendan Coughlan.”

Right, the asshole.Abigail nodded slowly.

The Dragon let his arm lower. “Instead of aiming to upend and destroy my family, make them your target.”

Even Cristiano looked surprised by the Dragon’s words, which made Abigail feel a tiny bit more justified in her own shock.

“We will all sleep better with the Ink Blots, and what remains of the Irish mob, off the streets,” he continued. “You can sweep up whichever cops choose loyalty to Silva and hand them over to me in the process as a bonus. Sometime after the arrests are made, but before the trial, Coughlan himself will die by my hands. You don’t need to worry about those details. His blood is non-negotiable. The rest I’m willing to let you and yourshave, provided a hefty sentence follows. I want them off the board and unable to harm the ones I love. I imagine you can understand that.”

Her head was spinning again as she listened to his words, trying desperately to keep up with them. On the one hand, his suggestion was absolutely outrageous. On the other, it was … reasonable. Almost too generous, even.

The Dragon kept talking. “Work alongside us, in secret, to accomplish this task—and to bury any evidence which points only to me and mine—and I will promise to let you live. While the mission is active, I will see to it you are protected. If you wish to sever ties when it’s done and move forward as strangers, I will allow it. That is how great a help this feat would be.” His eyes narrowed again. “Decline this offer, and you don’t leave this building alive.”

Her heart thundered in her ears.Fuck. Me.Death or dishonor, huh? That was really what he was asking her to choose between?

How much dignity would she really have dying like this? Dying because she’d gotten desperate and sloppy, slept with her mark, and put both their lives on the line? Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure anymore how much value her mission even had. It was hard to say whether it was worth her life. She was supposed to be willing to put her life on the line, she knew that. But … if she died here, today, over this, what then?

Then the De Salvos stepped back out those doors and painted the streets red with blood. The entire city would suffer, directly or otherwise, because the chief of police was so crooked he was downright misshapen. And because the Dragonhad learned that Newark’s Special Agent in Charge was looking to put him away. Mix in a personal family rivalry she knew she didn’t fully understand and that only amounted to chaos.

If she made the other choice, though … she couldn’t stay with the FBI. Not for long. She’d never be able to stomach it. Beyond that, what? What else would happen? What was the consequence? One bad man dead. She shouldn’t be okay with that, but Abigail doubted she’d lose sleep over it. More than likely—hopefully—a bunch of others behind bars for life, or close to it. The city would be safer. Technically that was already the goal.

How the hell did that add up?

The Dragon pushed to his feet. “Give me an answer by dawn or I’ll take your silence as an answer itself,” he said. He started forward, angling to walk past her. “If you try to leave this building before then, you’ll be shot dead.”

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