Page 33 of Consumed By the Mafia

“Right,” Ryoma said as if he’d just become enlightened, “I remember that.” He angled his head to look up at Cristiano. “Wouldn’t you think he’d use St. Louis as his reference, then?”

Abigail tried not to gape at their mockingly casual conversation. She recognized that the conversation itself was a bizarrely cruel form of torture, but it was the content that shocked her. Not only were they basically confirming they had reach overseas, but they were also confirming they had influence in St. Louis, Missouri, too. With the heavy implication of more. Her head spun.This is so much bigger than I realized.

Her eyes darted back to Peter, who was still pale and staring at the men in front of him as though they would massacre him the instant he blinked. She ought to have felt bad for him. She ought to have spoken up about what she was witnessing. For the life of her, though, all she could think was that she didn’t understand why he hadn’t told her any of this. If what Cristiano had just said was true—and she didn’t know why it wouldn’t be—then Peter obviously knew, if not the true extent of the De Salvo reach, then at leastmoreof it. Yet he’d never said a word. He’d let her believe they merely controlled Newark, with possible influence trickling to outlying communities.

She could only think of one explanation. “You didn’t really want out,” she said, her lips moving before she realized the words had formed on her tongue. Her eyes narrowed and she let herself glare at the lying, manipulative bastard who’d tried playing her into his war. “You wanted an insurance policy in case playing the De Salvos against the Coughlans got to be too hot for you.” It clicked as she spoke and anger surged inside her, at him and at herself. “That’s the real reason you ‘forgot’ to ask for immunity, the reason you begged for protection instead.”

Peter stared at her, widened eyes sinking into a heated glare that brought a rush of color back to his face. His lips curled in a seething inhale. “I can’t fuckin’ stand you, you—”

Ryoma’s boot landed on his throat, shoving him to the ground and silencing him in a single motion. “You want to shut the fuck up now. Not because I might kill you, but because I’m not allowed to, which means I’ll have to findalternativepunishments.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a curved switchblade, and flicked it open. Then he removed his boot and knelt down, letting one knee rest on Peter’s shoulder as he rested the tip of his blade on Peter’s lower lip in a taunting threat. “And I promise you, Marchesi. I’ve got lots of ideas.”

“Try to control yourself,” Cristiano said with something that sounded like a sigh. “Dante’s going to want him when he hears about this. The less damage you do, the better.” He tilted his head to the side. “That said…” He walked around, pulled his own knife from a pocket, and lowered to a knee. A moment later he had buried it into Peter’s knee, effectively crippling what might otherwise have been Peter’s good leg.

Peter let out a bone-curdling scream, his back coming off the concrete and his broken-toed foot kicking helplessly. Blood puddled up and over as Cristiano pulled his blade free.

Cristiano wiped off the knife on Peter’s pantleg in a hauntingly calm manner. “I liked Tony,” he said. Then he stood and put the knife away.

Abigail clamped her lips shut, forcing her eyes away from the growing spot of blood.

Ryoma also stood. “Shit. Tony’s dead?”

Cristiano nodded. “Fucker must’ve snuck up on him. His throat was slit.”

Ryoma tipped his head back and cursed again.

“Did you figure out how he knew where we were holding her?” Cristiano asked, jerking a thumb needlessly in Abigail’s direction.

The question sharpened her focus, and steadied her stomach.

Ryoma also frowned. “No. But he did say he wanted to take us to floor twenty-five.”

Cristiano nodded, lips dipping into another scowl. “I’ll work on that, then. I dropped your clothes change in the hall. Never got to the food. We’ll have to ditch this place as soon as everyone’s ready, so get moving.”

Abigail blinked. “Um…”

Ryoma rounded Peter’s stunned body, gave Cristiano a tap on the arm as if he were tapping his friend in, and walked up to her. “C’mon, baby girl. Let’s get you something that fits a little better while we have the chance. Dinner’s gonna have to wait a bit longer.”

Abigail didn’t offer any resistance when Ryoma led her toward the stairs. She wasn’t sure why the mention of their supposed destination mattered—she’d written it off as a lie at this point—but the overall turn of events was a lot to process. Almost as much as her shocking response to it all.

She kept her hand firmly curled around his as she followed him up the stairs, only frowned when he insisted on standing in front of her while he checked the hall as if he no longer trusted the space, and continued to walk with him after he scooped up a large duffle with his free hand. They made their way quietly and quickly to the bedroom, where he pressed the door shut and threw the lock.

Abigail pulled in a breath, searching for the right words to break the silence.

The duffle went flying onto the mattress and Ryoma lifted her purse over her head and off her shoulders with concerning ease.

She turned in order to meet his gaze. “Hey, I—”

“Can’t strip with that on,” he said, voice gruff. He had her on her butt on the bed a moment later and a foot in his lap, his fingers deftly working the laces of her shoes. “Or these.”

Strange indignation flared inside her. “Why am I stripping? I’m perfectly covered!” Awkwardly, maybe, but nonetheless decently. “This is the absolute worst time for sex, you know.”

He chuckled as her first shoe hit the ground. “Is sex all you can think about, Abby?”

“You did not—”

He flashed her a grin while his fingers worked on the second shoe, loosening it faster than the first. It was set beside theprevious and he pushed her legs wide enough that he could lean over her, bringing himself into her space. “Baby girl, if we had the time, you know I’d take advantage of getting you naked right now.” His hands snaked under the hem of her oversized shirt. “It might even kill menotto at least see you orgasm while your pretty body’s so exposed. But we don’t just not have time, it’s not safe here anymore.” His calloused fingers teased her skin as he swept the shirt up, over her head and off with ease.

The fabric fluttered to the floor somewhere behind him as if by magic, because she would swear his hands never left her skin. Only at the sight of his eyes heating with desire did she finally remember the other issue.

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