Page 34 of Consumed By the Mafia

“Fuck, I almost forgot.” Ryoma leaned in and slid his tongue over one of her nipples, his hands gripping her waist tightly. “You’re not wearing anything under this baggy ensemble.”

Abigail gasped, at the husky tone of his voice and the rough way he sucked her neglected areola into his mouth for a brief, delirious moment. Her fingers twitched against the comforter.

He broke away, pulled her to her feet, and shoved her pants to the floor. She didn’t even realize he’d removed the gun until she saw it on the bed. Then he swatted her butt in a startlingly playful way and said, “Put your underwear on while I dig out something easier for you to move around in. Don’t take too long, baby girl. We really can’t linger.”

Shit. He’s serious.She obligingly started toward the bathroom, where she’d left her underthings after giving them an awkward wash in hot water, but paused on the threshold. “Ryoma … I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot, but I really had noidea Peter was playing us—playing me—like that. I wish I knew more of his real plan to offer you.”

He stepped away from the duffle, only half unzipped, and strode up to her. He ghosted his hands over her jaw, careful not to apply pressure to her bruise, and buried his fingers in her hair as he tipped her head back and up to hold his stare as he stood inside her personal space. His hands both framed and supported her head, the scent of him immediately surrounding her. “You don’t owe me, or anyone, an apology. He lied to you. He used you. He hurt you. I’d fucking kill him for that if I could. But you spoke up, and because you did, we were able to figure out at least one of our rat problems. That’s helpful, baby girl.” Ryoma bent down and brushed his lips over hers. “Now get some panties on before I forget myself and fuck you right here against this door.”

eleven

Bullets & Trains

It was a long,frustrating night.

To no one’s excitement, Ryoma and Abigail were transferred from the standard safehouse system to the guest house on Michele De Salvo’s property. It wasn’t a sign of trust or an offer of protection, it was a thinly veiled warning. Ryoma understood that. Just as he understood that for as much as he disliked it, he had little choice other than to suck it up for the time being.

Abby had already offered something of value, something she hadn’t originally wanted to give. It was a start. Both sides needed to figure out a way to work together.

Ryoma said a silent, pointless prayer that one of the parties involved would have an epiphany come sunrise as he slipped into the darkened bedroom. He was bone-tired after having spent the past several hours out on the streets, helping round up Marchesi’s regular acquaintances. Mama Marchesi didn’t seem to have had a clue about her boy’s disloyalty, and so far, his friends were singing the same tune. The ones that were talking at all.

It was the ones that had run, the two that had forced him and Cris to give chase, that were cause for concern.

But he’d get back to peeling their secrets out of them after breakfast, and breakfast would come after sleep. He’d already detoured to the bathroom to clean up what he needed to, so he stepped out of everything but his boxers and crawled under the covers.

Abby was sound asleep, her back to the main part of the room and her body twisted so she was half on her side and half on her stomach. Her dark hair was loose, hiding her neck and most of her shoulders from view. With only the faint light of what little moonlight poked around the edges of the curtains, she was hard to see, except for where her skin showed. Her skin was bright even in the darkness, like a guiding beacon.

Ryoma curled up behind her and dipped his head until her hair tickled his nose. He drew in a lungful of her scent and bit back a groan. The woman was a drug to him. He’d never understood the feeling until he’d stepped into her space in that bar, until her eyes had met his and he’d caught his first teasing whiff of her lightly perfumed scent. The FBI thing was a huge fucking complication, to be sure, but he was determined tofind a way past it. A way that didn’t involve one or both of them spending a few decades behind bars.

Abby shifted faintly, letting out a soft hum.

Ryoma melded himself around her, slipping a leg between hers and pulling her into his chest as he adjusted to let her take a portion of his weight. One of his arms curled over and around until he could catch her fingers. He found the nape of her neck with his lips and pressed a kiss there. “Oyasumi,” he murmured against her skin before shifting his head back enough to rest it on the pillow.

Abby exhaled beneath him, her body unclenching from some invisible tension.

He let his eyes close, the exhaustion from the day taking hold and dragging him quickly into a dark, dreamless sleep.

Waking up with Ryoma was startlingly domestic. Comfortable in a way Abigail had not been prepared for. Though the building around them was unfamiliar and she knew it was as much a holding cell as it was a safe haven, it was too easy to lose herself in the small, intimate moments. The way his arms felt, locked around her, when she’d first pried her eyes open. The way he’d nuzzled into her neck in protest when she’d tried to extricate herself from his grip. The way he’d whispered good morning against her lips—in Japanese—then grinnedalmost boyishly as he taught her the word. The way he had followed her into the shower and made absolutely no bones about fucking her against the shower wall until they were both wide awake and crashing again before finally helping her lather up.

Abigail wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. If she didn’t think too deeply on it, this could well be described as the best start to a Monday she’d ever had. But she was too awake now to not understand that, for all that had happened the day before,thiswas the day everything changed. Not that she was always expected to show up at an office, or even call her supervisor. Whole weeks went by without direct communication between herself and her bosses. But if she was nowhere, never logging onto the grid or leaving at least a small digital breadcrumb, it would be suspicious.

“That is not the look you’re supposed to have on your face this morning,” Ryoma said, leaning into her personal space with a single arched brow. “Talk to me, baby girl.”

She blinked rapidly, dragging herself into the moment. “Sorry,” she said on reflex. “I was just—I realized this idea, this plan, is going to be more complicated than we might be ready for.”

He adjusted to rest his butt against the peninsula, angled to face her. “Considering it’s already pretty damn complicated, that’s a concerning statement. What’s on your mind?”

Abigail smiled. She appreciated that he was willing to have this conversation calmly with her. It made her want to work harder to make the situation easier for him in turn. “If I understand correctly, I’m supposed to be essentiallydoing my job, but actually in favor of your employer. Both in the way that I bury anything which might solely incriminate you, and particularly in the way that I alter the focus of my mission to target the Irish mob instead.” Which really wasn’t much of an alteration, given the vague parameters of her assignment. It only felt like one, since for most of her time in Newark she’d been operating under the—accurate—presumption that the De Salvos were the source of the crime.

Ryoma inclined his head. “That about sums it up. I think you’re supposed to toss Silva in, too, if you can.”

“Right. I definitely will.” She set her coffee down. “The issue is,howam I supposed to do that while I’m sequestered? I do understand the distrust, don’t get me wrong. But all this—” She swept an arm out to indicate the empty sitting room behind them. “Accomplishes is getting me labeled as a missing person and running the risk of intensifying the FBI’s focus on my investigation.” She held Ryoma’s stare as his eyes narrowed in a way she understood was not a glare, but a thoughtful reflection. “I won’t be able to do what’s been asked of me if I’m locked up and left to twiddle my thumbs every day. That’s what I’m saying.”

Two distinct knocks coming from beyond Abigail’s position interrupted any response Ryoma might have had. Her back went rigid as she watched Ryoma straighten and turn to face the source of the noise, and she couldn’t bring herself to fully relax at the notion that he didn’t reach for a weapon. No matter how she felt about him, his allies were not necessarily hers.

A voice she barely recognized as belonging to the owner of the property they’d been shuffled to the previous evening said, “Glad to hear I don’t have to explain that to you. You’ve had enough time to eat, I presume?”

“Yep,” Ryoma replied. “Cris texted me this morning, said he was gonna run lead on Marchesi’s friends for now.”

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