3. The First Day, pt II
three
He’d managed to confirm the most important detail during breakfast. Felicity had nothing to do with the Ink Blots’ scheming, against his family or otherwise. Dante would undoubtedly require more proof, but Cristiano believed her. So, for the time being, he had to leave her secured in the last place his cousins would think to look for an associate of their latest enemies—his home. Or, at least, the place he called home when he returned to Jersey.
He knew in his gut this decision would lead to a confrontation with his family. He only hoped it would be one settled with words, maybe fists, and not bullets or blowtorches.
For the time being, he pushed all those thoughts to the back of his mind and let himself into the house where he’d spent the latter part of his childhood. “Where’s the emergency?”
Excited footfalls gave his assailant’s location away before her squeal filled the hall. “Uncle Cris!”
Cristiano smiled and bent to catch Lucia as she launched her tiny body into the air. “Careful, Lucy. You could hurt yourself doing that inside.” He gave her a squeeze and settled her on his forearm. Lucia De Salvo was his niece once-removed, or however the hell that technically worked, and she was the apple of the entire family’s eye.
Lucia smiled wide at him; her big brown eyes sparkling. “Will you take me to the movies today?”
“Lucia, mind yourself, dear,” Eleonora scolded with a laugh from somewhere in the sitting room.
Cristiano adjusted to follow their matriarch’s voice and offered the little girl an apologetic look. “Sorry, Lucy,” he said. “I have work today.”
Lucia pouted. “Everyone’s been saying that!”
Cristiano poked the seven-year-old on the nose. “That’s because it’s a grown-up thing. Something you have to look forward to.”
She screwed up her face.
Eleonora laughed. “Lucia, honey, Uncle Cris didn’t come over to babysit you today. He needs to meet with your daddy.”
Lucia sighed dramatically and bat her eyes up at him. “What about tomorrow?”
“Also a work day, Lucy.” He set her down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see what I can do for this weekend, how’s that?” He wanted to spend what time he could with Felicity, but brushing off his family would raise suspicions. He was just fortunate that he’d never been overly social and they wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows if he simply didn’t spend all his non-working hours in family company. It would have to suffice.
Although Lucia didn’t seem to agree as she flopped back onto the sofa beside her grandmother. “That’s so far away, though. What if you forget?”
Cristiano leaned forward and ruffled her half-loose hair. “I’m not that old yet. Don’t worry.” He looked over to the woman who’d done as much to raise him as his own mother before her passing. “Usual room?”
Eleonora smiled. “Last I checked. But be sure you give me a hug before you leave.”
He nodded and turned toward the appropriate hall. They didn’t often talk business in Mother Eleonora’s home, but when for any reason they did, it was usually in the back office. The office that had once belonged to Eleonora’s late husband, Cristiano’s uncle, and the previous Boss of the De Salvo family. Cristiano rapped twice on the door before letting himself into the room and made sure to push it all the way closed behind him after he entered.
One of his three cousins, and Lucia’s father, Romeo De Salvo, was sitting on the edge of the chaise sofa, bent over a laptop. In itself, that was a strange sight. Romeo was not the tech guy of the family.
“Heard you wanted to see me about something?” Cristiano asked. He didn’t move forward, unsure if he should bother getting comfortable. Romeo was family, but he was also Dante’s second, which made him Cristiano’s superior.
Romeo glanced up and dipped his chin in a lazy nod. “Yeah, thanks for coming all the way out here. I know it’s a detour.”
Cristiano smirked. “You mean you think it’s a detour.”
Romeo blinked, then chuckled. “Yeah. That. Anyway, looks like we might finally have something. One of our tails says they made a consistent connection.”
Cristiano strode forward and let himself lean against the side of the old desk closest to his cousin. “I’m listening.” It was hard tracking down men when you didn’t know who the fuck they were to start with, so finding out who was anyone with the Ink Blots had proven slow work.
Romeo spun the laptop around and indicated the screen, which showed a blurry, freeze-framed image of two men. “This guy, Gustavo Ramires. He’s popped up a couple times in our surveillance, so Mikey ran a search. It turns out he used to run with Garcia’s older brother in one of those defunct gangs.”
Cristiano let his brow furrow. Felicity had said that her eldest brother, Manny, was the only one who might know anything important. If she thought the two were close, and Tristán had reacted the way he had to the sight of her picture, then this wasn’t a connection they could ignore. “Ramires is making regular contact with Blot runners?”
“Regular might be an overstatement,” Romeo said, “but definitely repeated. And he’s not buying. He’s either a trusted messenger or top-dog.”
Cristiano straightened. “Either way, it looks like he’s about to make my acquaintance.”
Romeo pulled the laptop back to him. “You know what we want. Dante said to leave you to it. I’ll email you the clearer shot Mikey grabbed; in case you want to forward it to another pair of legs.”
Cristiano nodded. That wasn’t a terrible idea, seeing as he also wanted to pay another visit to Tristán, too. The sooner they could crush the Ink Blots, the sooner Felicity would be safe. He didn’t waste time dawdling around the house, and by the time he was back in his car, the picture was in his secure inbox. He forwarded a copy of the image, then dialed another number.
“Looks like a new job,” the man on the other end answered.
“New information on the current job,” Cristiano corrected. “Gustavo Ramires. He’s someone who matters to the Ink Blots, which means he matters to us. I need you to get hunting, Ryōma.”
“Not a problem. I’ll be in touch.”
Cristiano disconnected and put his car in drive. Ryōma was as close to a right-hand as he would ever have in this business, though their semi-partnership had started out stranger than most. He almost felt bad for leaving the man in the dark. But if he wasn’t telling his actual family, he couldn’t justify telling his only friend. He’d known all of that before he’d gone through with the idea to grab Felicity out of her situation.
It was time to get a little dirty with Tristán again.
He’d left. He took their breakfast dishes, came back with a big bottle of cold water, and revealed that the pretty framed photograph on the wall facing the bed was actually a large television. Then he had promised to be back sometime that afternoon and disappeared, locking her in the oversized bedroom by herself. She had no phone, no usable internet access, and no way out.
What she did have, she slowly discovered, was a selection of streaming services, a bedside table filled with paperback romance and fantasy novels, and a bathroom with a soaker tub. Arguably, it was plenty to keep a person occupied—even comfy—for a few hours. But she wasn’t used to lazing about for an entire day, even if she’d chosen to do so voluntarily. That made it hard to appreciate the offerings left to her.
Nothing appealed on TV. She couldn’t even bring herself to pick up one of the books, and so she spent at least an hour staring around the room and fuming. In silence. Absolute silence.
It was that absence of white noise that finally broke through her angry, internal rants. There was no sense raging at her half-siblings or her parents or even herself, let alone raging only in her mind where only she could hear. And that was when she realized those rageful thoughts were all she could hear. There was nothing coming through the walls. No sounds indicative of a big city. No traffic, no people, not even a plane.
In her confounded state, Felicity found her feet again and moved to the window. It was still covered, so she carefully pushed aside the curtain enough to see out. This time bright daylight poured in, brighter than she was used to, and she realized what she hadn’t fully processed before. It wasn’t just that she was in a penthouse. She was so many stories off the ground, the world below may as well have been a moving picture for all the difference it made. She could stand and pound on the glass, scream her heart out, and not a soul would know.
Cristiano had spoken the truth.
Felicity stepped back, but instead of hiding away from the reality of her situation again, she abruptly yanked the drapery open until the entire window was visible. Then she backed further away, all the way to the other side of the bed, and stared out. “Wow…”
Even if she found some underground market with a virgin fetish and sold herself off, she’d never be able to afford something like this.
Felicity smacked herself in the face and put her back to the window. “I need to stop reading romance.” She looked around, grabbed up the water, and strode into the bathroom. Cristiano had said he’d be gone for a while. If she was going to be stuck in this space, she was going to take advantage of what it offered to the best of her ability.
So she stripped out of her new and overpriced clothes, filled the jetted tub, and slid into the water. It was basically an indoor hot tub, and the only thing missing was that view from the bedroom. But she’d appreciate that again after her soak. Not that she needed one. She certainly hadn’t worked up a sweat since her last shower. Soaking in a jacuzzi tub was simply one of the best ways to encourage relaxation, regardless of the surrounding situation.
Cristiano appeared in her mind’s eye. His lips moving over his fork, the way his tongue had swept up that syrup, the way his body had felt hovering over hers. The feel of his breath on her skin. The press of those lips to her hand. The intensity of his stare.
Felicity sighed, leaned back against the wall of the tub, and dipped one hand between her legs. She shouldn’t be touching herself while she was being held against her will, let alone to thoughts of the very man who’d kidnapped her. But it was hard to think about him in those ugly terms. He’d been nothing but careful, gentle, and considerate in front of her. He’d made her favorite breakfast foods, he’d endured coffee her way in order to reassure her, and he’d stocked the room with books in genres she couldn’t picture him reading. Hell, she had a hard time picturing him sleeping in that room at all.
Her fingers pressed against her clit and she moaned. Oh, but it would be a fantastic room for lovemaking. For wild, reckless fucking. Exactly the kind of thing she loved to read about. And he had such a mouthwatering … everything. She remembered the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hand and dipped her fingers into her pussy. He’d reacted when she’d inadvertently scratched him, too. She’d seen the heat in his eyes.
Was there anything about Cristiano that wasn’t sexy?
Her thumb rolled over her clit as her fingers curled and Felicity let her head fall back, her back arching with the wave of sweet release that followed. It hadn’t taken long at all to get herself there. Half the time she tried she didn’t even succeed before her arms cramped up. Cristiano really was magic.
Was it so shameful that she still wished there was a way for them to get past this atrocious start?
“Thinking time’s up, big man,” Cristiano declared as he dropped a sturdy wooden stool down in front of Tristán’s cell. “Today you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.” It had only been about thirty hours since his last visit, but that was fine.
A few feet away, Tristán leveled a tired glare at him. “I’m fuckin’ sick of you, old man,” he snapped. “You gonna show me more pictures if I don’t cooperate?”
Cristiano shrugged. “I thought we’d start slow. Since we’d both rather be rid of each other, why not further our mutual agenda?” He sat down on the stool and leaned forward. “Tell me about Gustavo Ramires.”
Tristán’s brow furrowed. “Piss off.”
Cristiano clicked his tongue. “You know how I feel about non-answers. Let’s try one more time. What is Gustavo Ramires’s connection to the Ink Blots?”
The younger male leaned back and stretched out a leg as far as he could, his sock-covered toe sticking past the bars. “Seems like it’s your job to know that kinda shit.”
Cristiano hummed and reached into his pocket for the burner phone. He’d made sure to send himself a couple of images, in preparation for Tristán’s predictable lack of cooperation. Really, it was almost commendable how tight-lipped the little asshole was. Almost. Cristiano let his gaze linger on the screen of the device in his hand. He’d known when he’d snapped the picture what he’d have to use it for, but that didn’t mean he had wanted to.
The image on screen was of Felicity. She looked innocently asleep on the worn-down sofa in her former apartment, her head tipped to one side and her Kindle precariously balanced on her thigh. Her plump curves were perfectly covered by her choice of modest pajamas. Her hair had even still been the slightest bit damp from her shower, though that wasn’t so easily discerned in the low-quality render of the image. The visual spoke of a woman who’d simply worn herself out and crashed before she could get to bed. It was impossible to tell she was chemically sedated.
Cristiano shoved the spark of guilt aside and stood, enlarging the image as much as he could for clarity before turning the device around. “My job,” he said as he stepped up to the cage, “is to acquire information.” He held the phone up to the bars but did not relinquish it.
Tristán’s eyes widened and he shot forward, scrambling onto his knees for a better look. His nostrils flared.
Cristiano carefully lowered himself, keeping the phone steady as he brought his stare level with Tristán’s. “I am free to acquire that information however. I. Want.”
Tristán surged against the cage, crashing into the bars and shoving his face as far forward as the metal allowed. “Piece of shit! You stay away from my sister, you motherfucker!”
That’s what I thought.Cristiano pulled the phone away and tucked it back into his pocket. “So you’d prefer I don’t take her to a room like this one and leave her to sit in her own waste for a few days?” He would never, of course. But the gangster didn’t need to know that. “Or do you just mean I shouldn’t take her to one of the Dragon’s facilities, chain her up, and start in on the torture?”
Tristán seethed, his lips curling and veins popping in his forehead and along the sides of his thin little throat. “Don’t you fuckin’ lay a hand on her, you or that monster!” Spittle sprayed from his lips as he shouted, continuing to try and push himself through the bars.
Cristiano hummed faintly, keeping his expression cooly unbothered. “Then you should start telling me what I want to know.” He dropped a deliberate glance toward his pocket. “Or maybe I’ll pay her another visit tonight, and this time I wake her up…” He was going to have to choke down mouthwash just to get the taste of those words out of his mouth. It had never been so hard to threaten someone, let alone only pretend to threaten someone who couldn’t even hear him.
Tristán roared and reared back like a man possessed, trying once again to shake the bars from their anchors. When they didn’t so much as rattle in place, he slammed himself against them again, chest heaving. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill any stupid fuck who tries to touch her. I’ll—”
Cristiano reached out and grabbed Tristán’s nose, pinching it hard and holding him firmly flush to the bars of the cell. “You aren’t killing anyone from inside this cage, boy. Now start talking before you lose your chance.”
Tristán sucked in a wet breath and threw one arm out, between the bars, trying to swing sloppily in Cristiano’s direction. But he was already breathing hard, his eyes wild from frenzy and having been captive too long. He wasn’t thinking straight enough to do more than slap at one of Cristiano’s arms.
Cristiano held him there long enough to send the pain past the surface before releasing the punk’s nose and standing. “If you make me leave here today without giving me something useful, I come back tomorrow and break one bone in your body for every day you’ve dragged this on.” He narrowed his eyes as Tristán paled. “And in case you’ve lost count, this is day nineteen.”
Tristán stumbled away from the bars, fear draining the color from his face. That was good. That meant he believed the threat.
Cristiano held his stare unflinchingly. He may not have been serious about harming Felicity, but he would absolutely hurt her half-brother. Because he’d been ordered to. Because the little shit had wasted more than two weeks of his time already. Because he’d helped to slaughter two of their soldiers, then proceeded to put a knife to Iris’s throat. And, above all, because when his name had come into the conversation, Felicity had reacted in a way Cristiano hadn’t expected. Not with concern for her sibling, irritation at his behavior, or even by coming to his defense. She’d reacted with fear.
For reasons Cristiano didn’t yet know, his sweet Felicity—who couldn’t bring herself to tell off mouthy customers or leering neighbors—was instinctively afraid of her own brother.
“Gus…” Tristán said, voice weak, as if he were gasping for breath. He dropped his gaze and sank to his knees, fists clenched at his sides. “I knew Gus from when he ran with Manny, way back.”
Cristiano moved backward and lowered onto the uncomfortable stool. “Keep talking.”
Tristán’s brow furrowed and he licked his lips. “After Manny’s crew got busted up, I ran into him again, an’ we got to talkin’, you know? Most of his people were locked up or in the wind, bigger names were honin’ in on our neighborhoods. It was shit.” His hands flexed. A compulsive, nervous habit. “So we decided to push back.”
A beat passed.
Cristiano arched a brow. “I’m not the jumping type,” he said. “Spell it out for me.”
Tristán’s glare returned, still weaker than it had been. “I’m sayin’ we pulled some people together and formed our own fuckin’ gang. It didn’t happen overnight, but it happened.”
Cristiano was silent for a moment. It’d taken significantly longer than it should have, but finally, he’d made his first crack. “So you’re taking credit for forming this new little gang of upstarts. You and Ramires?”
Tristán jerked his chin up as if he were proud. “Yeah. That’s right.”
Meaning there was more to it.
“And your benefactor?”
“What fuckin’ benefactor?”
Cristiano tipped his head to the side without breaking eye-contact. “Is the information you’re still keeping from me—your benefactor’s identity, the other power players inside your gang, and your real motive for targeting the De Salvo family—worth your sister’s well-being?”
Tristán’s eyes darkened again.
“Is it worth the heads of every single member of your immediate family?”
Tristán turned his head and spat on the floor, the phlegm landing barely halfway between himself and his waste bucket. But that was his issue to deal with now. “Fuck you. I told you about Gus.”
Cristiano stood. “And most of what you told me we both know Ramires is likely to boast about as soon as he’s sitting in his own box.” He lifted the stool he’d brought in with him. “I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll ask you one time if you’ve come to your senses. Otherwise, this conversation takes a violent turn—for you, and later for someone else.”
“Let me see her!” Tristán shouted after him. “Lemme see Lissy, and I’ll talk!”
Cristiano stopped at the doorway and looked back, studying his prisoner. He knew when he was being deceived, but he pretended to consider it. He pretended not to recognize that Tristán only wanted to see his half-sister one more time, either because he realized it’d be the last or for another reason Cristiano hadn’t identified yet. Something more manipulative.
He didn’t say a word before turning off the lights and exiting the room.
Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin when the bedroom door opened and Cristiano stepped inside. Between the time-stamp she’d seen on the television before finally making a selection and the sunlight still streaming into the room, she knew it was midday. Hadn’t he said he’d be out all day?
“Need to use the shower,” he said, cutting straight across the room.
Felicity felt her chest tighten and she sat up properly. She was scanning him for signs of something being wrong before she even realized what she was doing and she gave herself a shake, the full meaning of his words hitting her. Heat rushed to her face. “Here? You don’t … have another shower … somewhere?” It wasn’t like she could step out and give him privacy, and if anyone knew that, it was him.
Cristiano stopped in the bathroom doorway. “Then I’d have to walk through the room naked to get to a change of clothes. But if you’d prefer that—”
His words and the memory of what she had done in that very same space not all that long ago had the air fleeing her lungs. Felicity shook her head. “No. No, you’re right, my bad. I wasn’t thinking.” She pulled the comforter up as if she could hide from the image he’d created. She’d been trying to work herself up enough to at least demand being allowed to return to her own apartment, and if not, that he actually tell her why. But she hadn’t been prepared for him to return so suddenly.
He’d closed the bathroom door, but she heard the shower turn on as if she were sitting directly beside it.
In the next minute or so, the new object of her fascination would be stepping into a steaming hot shower barely a dozen paces from where she sat. The water would start to sluice down all his strong muscles and he’d lather himself up, as one did when they showered. And Felicity couldn’t help but wonder … would he touch himself to thoughts of her, as she had to thoughts of him in that very same room?