Page 32 of Consumed By the Mafia

“So to recap,” Ryoma said, projecting his voice to be heard over Peter’s gasping wails, “you’ve told me what I alreadyknow, twice, and made a point to insult my woman. In my presence.”

“M-my toes, man!” Peter’s voice was strained, almost reminiscent of the tone he often used in their conversations. Almost. Something about this one, now that she had the comparison, sounded more natural. “Goddamn crazy yakuza. You’re breaking all my fucking toes!”

Abigail frowned.

Ryoma seemed to think Peter’s words were funny, because he let out a low, dangerous chuckle. “Your math is shit, Marchesi. Three out of ten isn’t even a proper third.” He paused just long enough for Peter to make a strangled gasping noise, then said, “Now. You said you wanted out. Why not just run?”

Abigail shuffled sideways to keep Peter in view, as he had fallen too far back to see over Ryoma’s shoulders. The adjusted view made it easier to see that Ryoma’s fingers had lowered several toes on Peter’s foot as well. No blood was visible, so whatever pain he’d obviously inflicted, he’d done it without breaking the skin.

Peter scoffed. “Runwhere? Every time I turn around, I’m hearin’ rumor Boss has new friends in new places. Fuckin’ Dublin now? Really?”

Dublin?Had Peter just said the De Salvo family had influence inIreland? Was it possible that had something to do with their war with the semi-local Irish mob? Was it possible thatdidn’t?

“Interesting,” Ryoma said slowly. “That’s the argument I expected. Not the example. Why’re the Irish so heavy on your mind, Marchesi?”

Peter’s mouth fell open, but seconds passed before he tried to speak again. “They’re on all our minds, ain’t they?” The words were barely off his tongue before he let out another cry of pain. His arms strained momentarily against the chains around him and he huffed hard, chest rising with deep, desperate breaths. “Fuck!”

“Get smart, or stupid, with me again,” Ryoma said, “and we’ll be crossing the halfway point. Don’t think I’ll stop then. You’ve got ten toes, and I’ll break every fuckin’ one of ‘em.”

“So that’s where we are,” Cristiano said from behind them.

Abigail jumped in place, nearly tripping on the hem of her damn pants again as she jerked to the side. “Shit!”

“Fuck, no,” Peter said, quieter. “No, no, no. This ain’t how it was supposed to go! You fuckin’ bitch, this is—” His tirade cut off in another, sharper shriek of pain.

“Whoops,” Ryoma said. “Pinky toes are so fragile. You probably shouldn’t piss me off when I’m this close to you, Marchesi.”

Abigail didn’t know who to watch. Peter was a concerning combination of morbidly fascinating and already boring. Cristiano was as nerve-racking as she remembered. And Ryoma was, well, Ryoma. She’d had a hard time looking away from him since the first time she’d spotted him in person.

Cristiano glanced her way, his gaze dropping to the bruise on her face for a single beat. Then he stepped up until he was standing just beyond Ryoma’s shoulder and folded his arms over his broad chest. “I assume Marchesi here is responsible for your girlfriend’s new look. What else?”

Peter started rambling immediately. “Y-you don’t understand—”

“Either say something useful or shut up for a minute, Marchesi,” Ryoma said sharply. He moved his hand from the set of broken toes to flick a warning at Peter’s exposed ankle.

Peter clamped his lips shut, looking too pale.

Ryoma gestured to the male in front of him. “We found one of our rats. Or maybe our only rat. I’m starting to lean that way, personally.”

Abigail watched one of Cristiano’s brows climb up his forehead. She debated explaining, since it involved her, but she wasn’t wholly comfortable inserting herself with Cristiano there. It changed the dynamic.

“Explain to me how we have less than two,” Cristiano said.

“Marchesi here is Abby’s informant.”

Both of Cristiano’s brows shot up, then he turned his gaze back to her, his expression becoming inquisitive. Still intimidating, but less actively threatening.

Abigail nodded. “It’s true.” Though she supposed her word wouldn’t mean much to the man.

“He corroborated it himself, too,” Ryoma said. “As for the ‘less than two’ part, I’m thinkin’ he’s been ratting us out to all sides. The feds when he got his sloppy ass caught, and the Irish, probably on purpose. That last part’s a little more of a still-in-development theory.”

Cristiano’s expression fell into a dark frown.

“I—” Peter swallowed hard. “I neversaid that.”

“No,” Ryoma said. “You went toDublin, out of all the references you could’ve made when you talked about running. Don’t you have family in Missouri?”

Voice unreadable, Cristiano said, “His sister moved out to St. Louis just a couple years ago with her new husband. I was even kind enough to do a drive-by and check out her neighborhood for our friend here after her move, for his peace of mind.”

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