Page 29 of Consumed By the Mafia

She hesitated to ask more. She was curious, definitely, but it was clearly a sore subject. And she didn’t need to be told she hadn’t really earned any deep, emotional confessions. By the same token, she worried not responding at all would send yet another wrong message. So she returned her head to his shoulder and said, “I’d be interested in hearing that story, when you’re comfortable telling me.”

His chest vibrated with a thoughtful hum. “Let’s have a few lighter conversations first.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Or a shit ton of alcohol.”

Abigail felt a laugh bubble up and gave him a half-hearted swat. “I think we shouldminimizethe alcohol. Neither of us makes smart choices when we’re drunk.”

“You got it wrong, baby girl,” he teased. “I was hard for you the second you walked into that bar. The alcohol just expedited the satisfaction.”

“You’re—”

“Ryoma?” a male voice called from the direction of the front door. Only as Abigail straightened, heat rushing to her face, did she process the subtle click that must have been the sound of the door closing that she’d heard a moment before.

Ryoma’s fingers pressed into her shoulder for a beat before he released her altogether and stood. “Down here.” Except he was already stepping toward the doorway.

Abigail wasn’t sure if he was simply tense over the uncomfortable situation or if she was supposed to be inferring that something was wrong. Her gaze darted across the room, to where her purse, gun, and badge remained on the table where they’d been set earlier in the day. She hadn’t made a move to reclaim any of them, not wanting to send the wrong message while her situation felt so precarious. Had that been a bad choice?

Ryoma didn’t go far, bringing himself to a stop only half out of sight in the hall. With his back—and that beautiful tiger-centric tattoo—facing her, Abigail could clearly see the pistol tucked into his waistband. He wasn’t reaching for it, so she told herself not to overreact. Then his words carried to her. “What’re you doin’ here?”

Her brow furrowed.

The other male spoke, and she quickly realized it was not either of the De Salvo men who’d been there previously. More concerningly, this individual’s voice was actually familiar. Though it took her a moment to place why. “Shift change. And I got new orders to pass along. Two of our safehouses have been hit already today, no telling how much longer this one’ll be, you know, safe. Boss said to reconvene at the tower, on twenty-five.”

Abigail swallowed hard as she strained her ears to listen to the conversation. Neither man was whispering, but they were far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to hear them if they spoke much lower. Or if her heart got any louder.

Snippets of conversations past flashed through her mind like some kind of montage.

“They call him the Dragon because he, you know, likes fire.”

“They give me grunt work. Half the time I’m a messenger.”

“They moved me into the tower! The monster lives there, you know? I’ll be right under his nose…”

“No offense, Pete,” Ryoma said, his voice drawing Abigail’s attention outward again, “but you’re not the guy I’d expect to hear any of that from.”

Abigail pulled in a breath and pushed to her feet. She quietly padded over and gathered up her things, feeling a little too vulnerable without them, carefully twisted the purse around so it sat at her back and was as unobvious as possible, then reversed course in Ryoma’s direction.

“I get that,” Pete said, “but I’m just following orders.” Abigail stepped into the hallway in time to see him gesturing back, toward the main door. “The other team’s already clearing out.” His gaze slid to her for a lingering second.

Her throat constricted with too many conflicting emotions.What the hell is he doing here?If she’d had any doubt, seeing him head-on like this completely eradicated it. The newcomer currently telling them they needed to be going elsewhere was no other than her informant, Peter Marchesi. The one man whose identity she’d refused to give, the one man she’d hoped to still find a way to rescue.

Had he already been found out? Had he been sent as a message to let her know she had no cards left to play? Was it possible his presence was actually a coincidence?

Ryoma raised an arm, extending it between them and cutting off Peter’s line-of-sight. “Go get your shoes, Abby. Looks like we’re leaving.”

Concern spiked in her gut. Not sure what else to say in this situation, Abigail said, “If we have to run, I am absolutely going to fall on my face. These clothes are way too baggy for that.”

“We could both use a properly fitting wardrobe,” he said. “Right now, we make do.”

Peter huffed out a breath. “You could at least, you know, wear ashirt.”

The blatant irritation coloring his voice only confounded her more. “I’ll be right back,” Abigail said. She turned and hurried down the hall, toward the bedroom where she’d kicked off her scuffed up running shoes. Her mind raced with possibilities.

Every time she’d sat down with Peter, he’d been some combination of hesitant and fearful. Definitely reserved. If anger had ever slipped into his words, it always came across as self-loathing or situationally resentful. The man out in that hallway had his face, the sound of his voice, and a little of his verbal mannerisms, but he didn’t portray himself the same way at all. His voice didn’t shake with uncertainty or discomfort. He’d even gotten snippy with a man he himself had labeled as terrifying.

“Ryoma is … he’s a hitman. Cristiano’s right-hand. Some of the guys think he might even have the highest count, too. You know, kill count…. He’s terrifying.”

Abigail jerked on her laces, her movements agitated. It didn’t add up. Was this the façade he’d mentioned wearing around them? She had had the impression he was doing his best to avoid his obligations with the De Salvos. Though shesupposed she had previously acknowledged he may have been downplaying his own participation in the interest of minimizing his punishment later. Regardless, if that was the case, it was a damn good act.

And if he was capable of acting so well, she couldn’t help but wonder which part was the real act.

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