11. New Information
eleven
Cristiano was agitated. The feeling was partly residual due to how he’d felt after leaving Patrick Todd’s residence, but there it was also anticipatory. Going at all—and dropping a body—meant an increased risk of drawing exactly the kind of attention he was hoping to delay. He knew that, and he’d done it anyway. For reasons he still agreed with. It was fucking confusing.
So adding having been unexpectedly stuck with a low-level interrogation before he could even make it home for lunch had him on edge. He disliked these conversations. They ranked on a par with tandem driving in his mind, on a good day.
When the smart-mouthed, baby-faced, amateur drug dealer had wasted no time talking back, Cristiano had been sure he’d be leaving the mid-town facility with fresh blood on his hands. But like the good soldier he tried to be, he listened to the maybe twenty-year-old’s words for whatever clues he could get first, and he noticed something interesting.
Most Ink Blots they hauled in started singing pretty fast about crew loyalty. Most of those eventually broke, but so far, they hadn’t known much of anything, anyway. This one, on the other hand, hadn’t bothered with the usual song-and-dance. He was spouting off in frustrated defiance, but he hadn’t said a word about standing with his crew. He hadn’t even threatened retaliation by them.
Cristiano sat back in his chair opposite the punk whose name he didn’t know. “You got a name you can share, or would you rather I keep calling you ‘boy’?”
Silence stretched for several seconds. Then, calmly, the boy said, “Miguel.”
Cristiano tipped his head. “Miguel. You’ve got a head on your shoulders. Why run drugs?”
Miguel rolled his eyes. “Gotta get cash from somewhere, old timer. We ain’t all rich.”
“They’ll just replace you as soon as your feet leave the asphalt,” Cristiano said. “You’re nothing more than a pair of legs to them. Is that what you aspire to be? Someone else’s spare legs?”
Miguel stretched as far forward as his restraints allowed. “Fuck. You.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”
Miguel made an exasperated sound, his legs spreading outward at the knee as his shoulders slumped. “Look, I got obligations. So kill me if you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, and if you’re not, then let me go.”
“You’re confused, Miguel. We’re not the police. We don’t need probable cause to hold you however the fuck long we want. If you want to make it through this like the survivor you claim to be, you might have to do some evolving. Are you prepared for that?”
Intrigue sparked Miguel’s eyes and he straightened a bit in the chair. “Hold up, you’re sayin’ there’s a way I walk outta here?”
Slowly, Cristiano inclined his head. “I’m saying your odds aren’t zero. The rest depends on you.”
Suspicion darkened the boy’s eyes again. “What kinda information do you want, exactly?”
“I want to talk about you,” Cristiano said. “Tell me about your relationship to the Ink Blots. Why’d you join them, specifically?”
Miguel hesitated, flicked his gaze around again, and carefully said, “Wasn’t a choice.”
That was new information. Cristiano frowned. “I’m listening.”
“Look, man, the Blots are … they’re taking over the poor neighborhoods. But they’re doin’ it quiet, slippin’ guys into bigger crews and recruiting right out from under ‘em. So when they come and they say we gotta help each other out, what they really mean is they wanna use you, and whatever your thing is, they’re gonna hold it over you.” Miguel’s voice became more and more desperate, more rattled, as he spoke. This was clearly the most vulnerable thing he’d said so far.
It also matched what Cristiano had heard happened with one of the men on his cleaning crew. Someone’s family had been directly threatened and they’d caved to the pressure. Dante wasn’t thrilled with the answer, but instead of outright killing the guy Dante had opted to move him to a more long-term, degrading position. The demotion would reveal who had been responsible for the breach, and the man’s vulnerable little girl would remain protected. It was a message for both sides.
The De Salvo family values loyalty.
Cristiano drummed his fingers over his knee for a moment, then turned to meet the surprised stare of the other man in the room. One half of the team that had found and caught the boy he was interrogating. “Get Romeo over here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can’t handle me on your own, huh?” Miguel taunted after the other man’s steps faded down the hall.
Cristiano looked back at the boy and smirked. “You’re not that complicated, Miguel. But there are some decisions I can’t make.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped Miguel’s throat. “What, you can’t kill without the Dragon’s hand on your shoulder?”
Cristiano’s smirk darkened. “I could kill you in my sleep.” He leaned back. “I’m just not going to. I’ve decided to recommend we let you live, Miguel. How does that sound?”
Miguel’s mouth opened, he sputtered, then snapped his jaw shut. His lips thinned as he stared at Cristiano as if attempting to figure out Cristiano’s angle. Finally, he asked, “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Because you’re wasted with the Ink Blots. You know it, I can see it, and whoever it is you’re protecting? They know it. Just like you both know neither of you is safe under their thumb.”
Miguel swallowed hard. “My sister,” he said. “My little sister’s sick. Fuckin’ cancer. We can’t afford the treatments. I don’t care if I end up in jail or some shit, I just thought, if I could make the money first … but the Blots are psycho. They don’t really care about kicking out the other gangs, they got an agenda. Doesn’t matter to them who goes down along the way.”
Cristiano frowned. “Who is ‘them’, Miguel? What do you know about their plans?”
Miguel hesitated, staring him down for long seconds. “You asked about Garcia and Ramires,” he said, “but you got it sideways, man. Ramires, yeah, he’s top dog. Him and Barros. Garcia’s just their dancing monkey, you know?”
Barros. That was a name Cristiano couldn’t place yet. He held his tongue, wanting to let Miguel talk a little more.
“Garcia’s the guy they put out front, to get your attention, but the real scary mo-fo is Barros. He’ll fuckin’ slit my throat if he hears I said his name.” Miguel drew a breath. “Rumor is they got some real rich asshole friend, too. Some guys think it’s him callin’ the shots, but I don’t know anything about that shit. I just know we never run out of product, you know?”
He had to be talking about the mysterious benefactor Tristán refused to admit to. Whether that meant Tristán actually hadn’t had an answer, or the fucker was determined not to say, Cristiano could only guess. “Does Barros have a first name?”
Miguel scrunched his face. “Maybe I hold on to that, give you a reason to keep me alive.”
Cristiano’s lips twitched. “When my cousin gets here,” he said, “I’m going to suggest he talk to you. Interview you. If you cooperate, don’t backtalk him, he’ll see what I see. But you aren’t in just because I think you have potential.”
Distrust was plain on Miguel’s face. “How the fuck’s signin’ up with the mob any different than signin’ up with a crazy-ass gang?”
“For exactly the reason that we’re in this war. Because the De Salvo family protects and values its own, all the way to its lowest, newest members. All you’ll have to offer in return is what you know about the Ink Blots, and your loyalty,” Cristiano said.
“Sounds like the same thing with better polish.”
“Do you have a better option you’ve forgotten to mention?”
“Just tryin’ to understand the difference. Like you pointed out, I ain’t all that good at runnin’ drugs. What you gonna do, dress me up and send me out to work a corner?” Miguel’s skepticism couldn’t have been more obvious if it were slathered on him in neon paint.
Cristiano sighed under his breath and nearly missed the sound of approaching steps down the hall. Two sets. Romeo must have already been on the road. He stood and stepped around to the side of the chair he’d been using, but kept his words for the smart-mouthed male in front of him. “We don’t push drugs, we don’t engage in human trafficking, we don’t kill children, and we don’t go on senseless massacres. Jobs are generally assigned based on need, evaluated skill-sets, and personal circumstances. Priority is given to senior and proven loyal members. It’s called incentive. If one man finds himself in a gunfight in the vicinity of another, no matter their ranks, he will find himself with an army at his back. And when one of us is killed, he gets a funeral, his family is cared for, and his death is avenged in blood.”
“Sounds like a pitch,” Romeo said as he entered. His gaze ping-ponged between Cristiano and the wide-eyed Miguel. “He’s a kid, Cris.”
“He’s already a gangster,” Cristiano replied. “It’d be a step up.”
Miguel sat as tall as his restraints allowed. “Name’s Miguel, and I’m twenty-one.”
Romeo arched a brow and came closer. “All right, I’ll bite. You have one minute to convince me my cousin hasn’t lost his goddamn mind.”
Miguel didn’t hesitate. “He probably has. He didn’t do shit to verify if my sick-sister story is true or if I made it up. I called myself a fucking cockroach and he basically said ‘wanna join?’, so I dunno, I think you need to pitch to me. Right now you all kinda seem like nutjobs.”
Cristiano watched Romeo’s eyes widen and bit his cheek to keep from laughing. Romeo had likely expected groveling, sniveling, or at least some kind of inquisition. The last and only other time Cristiano had brought someone into the fold, that person had been arguably too respectful upon introduction. This was entirely the opposite side of the coin.
Romeo pointed at the boy and glanced over at Cristiano. “This kid—”
“Miguel.”
“Has potential,” Cristiano said.
“Did he really call himself a cockroach?”
“Word play. He was calling himself a survivor,” Cristiano replied.
Romeo sighed and moved to drop into the chair Cristiano had vacated. “Okay, Miguel. Let’s talk.”
Cristiano inclined his head and turned away. “Don’t fuck it up, kid.” He strode past the remaining men, nodded at Mo in the foyer, and continued to his car. Having the freedom to leave his phone on when they were working at certain in-city locations wasn’t the same as being allowed to stop and check every message that came in. Romeo hadn’t said anything about anyone looking for him, so Cristiano was sure he knew who it was from.
Something twisted sharply in his chest when he read her message.
Foxglove: I need you.
Six minutes. Her message had been sitting, unread, for six minutes. In regular traffic at this time of day, it would take Cristiano ten additional minutes to get back to his penthouse. Un-fucking-acceptable.
It was eight minutes after Cristiano’s text had come in before he came barreling through the front door, and if Felicity were capable of rational thought, she would have worried about what she’d interrupted with her text. Or at least what state of mind it might have put him in.
The reality, however, was that she’d been pacing back and forth between the bedroom doorway and the kitchen island since she reached out to him. Her ears had long since tuned out the sound of her feet slapping against the solid surface of the floor. Her lungs had started to ache, probably more from doing all that aggressive walking while simultaneously bawling and panicking than the walking on its own. Her heart hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her head hurt. She felt like a complete mess, and for an irrational moment, when Cristiano cleared the angled partition that opened into the main space, she had the strongest urge to dive into the bathroom and lock the door.
“Fuck, baby, what happened?” Cristiano didn’t break stride, his keys sliding across the little tabletop where he generally kept them as he crossed to her. Concern filled his eyes, pulling his lips into a frown.
Her throat constricted and Felicity choked on her voice as multiple answers tried to tumble past her lips at once. She was pretty sure she whimpered. Her knees finally buckled.
Cristiano caught her before she could crash, his arms encircling her sides and hauling her straight up. He shifted his hold to sweep her off her feet and carried her to the sofa, cradling her in his lap. He brought a hand up to her nape, tucking her head into the groove of his throat, and rubbed his other hand up and down the length of her back. “I’m here, baby. Take a breath. Tell me how I can make it better.”
She gasped against him in the least sexy way ever and twisted her fingers into his shirt. She needed to find her voice, because he needed to know. “T-Taylor called.” Her throat constricted again.
His hand lowered to her hip, squeezing gently. “Did you have a fight?”
Felicity attempted to nod without lifting her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to, but I … I told her I lied.” She sniffled, disliking the way his fingers pressed firmly into her. It felt like disapproval. “I had to. But she got so mad.”
“Felicity,” Cristiano said, a tone of caution in his voice. “Why did you feel that was necessary?”
She dragged in a breath and forced herself to lift her head, needing to see his face. She was afraid she’d messed up, but she hoped he’d understand. As steadily as she could, she told him what Taylor had unknowingly revealed and how confused and frightened she was about it. “I can’t figure out why he’d say that. It has to be significant somehow, right?”
Cristiano cursed and tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yeah,” he said. “It does.”
She searched for his gaze again. “Did I screw up?”
He lifted his hand from her hip and wiped at her cheek. “No, baby. You and Taylor will make up. I’ll fly you out to California myself just as soon as everything else is settled if you haven’t made up by then.”
A watery laugh bubbled out of her and Felicity leaned into his touch. “You’re not mad?”
He pulled her in and grazed his lips over hers, then teased her lips with his tongue as his hand lifted to tangle in her hair. He deepened the kiss, his other hand dragging down her body to settle on her thigh. He kissed her passionately, intensely, until she started to feel lightheaded. Then he broke the kiss, not easing his grip, and said roughly, “I’m not mad at you, Felicity. I can’t even imagine it.”
She melted, sinking against him, her arms lifting to curl around his neck.
“I’ll find out what’s going on with your ex-landlord. Don’t worry about that.”
Her voice still unsteady, Felicity asked, “How will you explain that?”
Cristiano chuckled. “Easy. I’ll just say I’m looking for you.”
Felicity let her eyes close, a smile teasing her lips. He made it sound so simple. All she had to do was trust that he knew what he was doing and wait it out. The waiting was hard on her own, but when he held her like this, everything felt more bearable. Like she could breathe again.
It was rare for Dante to ask to meet at DS Industries, but that didn’t mean Cristiano didn’t know his way around. There was only one elevator that went from the ground floor of the high-rise office building all the way to the top floor offices, and maybe a dozen people in total with the authority to take that elevator unescorted. Since DS Industries was a legitimate, high-profile business, many of those people were not family in any way. Still, the risk of taking an elevator with one oblivious almost-stranger was better than taking one with twelve full-on strangers, so Cristiano made no bones about striding straight for it after enduring the annoying-but-necessary security check-in.
He nodded at the familiar face standing beside the private elevator, pressed his thumb to the call button, and waited. Once inside, he pushed the button for the top floor and leaned back against the fall wall of the box. Probably everyone with direct access to the elevator could fit inside and not bump elbows.
As the elevator ascended, Cristiano’s mind wandered. The message that Dante wanted to talk had come to him during breakfast. He’d been assigned an appointment, of all things, so the additional note of the location hadn’t been much of a surprise. Dante only used appointments at the office. But it had been a long while since Cristiano had been summoned to the business headquarters their fathers had founded so long ago. That in itself begged a big question.
Was it possible Dante knew?
Cristiano watched the numbers roll steadily toward his destination and dismissed the concern. No. Dante wouldn’t want to have that conversation in this setting. That would be held at a guest house, if he was mad enough, or he might surprise Cristiano at the penthouse. Those seemed like the two most likely scenarios. Whatever this was, it was something else.
The elevator came to a stop, the subtle ceasing of motion jarring Cristiano into the moment. He’d know soon enough.
When the doors parted, he strode around the corner and past the off-shoot hall with the conference rooms, to the center space that really didn’t qualify as a hallway. It opened wide, similar to a lobby, and the most blissfully ignorant secretary in all of New Jersey came into view on the left. Remembering his manners, Cristiano slowed his pace and inclined his head. Come to think of it, she might have no clue who he was.
Personal Assistant Grace Mariner hopped to her feet with a warm smile. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Mr. De Salvo,” she said, holding out her hand.
Cristiano offered her his polite smile and quickly shook her hand. “Likewise. Dante said to be here.”
She nodded, whisps of her dirty blonde hair slipping free from the not-so-tight bun at the back of her head. “Yes, he should be ready for you.” She stepped ahead of him and led the way around the jutting partition, up to Dante’s office door. She tapped twice and poked her head inside fearlessly. “Sir? Your cousin’s here.”
“Send him in,” Dante called back, “and hold my calls.”
Cristiano barely caught the frown that wanted to bend his lips. This was odd behavior. Was there something wrong with Dante? Or were his estimations so far off-base?
Grace nodded and moved aside, motioning Cristiano forward. She made no attempt at conversation, simply smiled and returned to her seat.
Cristiano pulled the door closed behind him, locking it on reflex before moving up to take a seat in one of the chairs that faced his cousin’s eminently burnable desk. “Do I start with ‘good morning’ or ‘what’s wrong’?”
Dante’s lips twitched and he leaned back in his chair. “Good morning, cousin,” he said. He folded his hands over his lap, out of sight. “You tell me. I hear you capped a man in Trenton yesterday, but I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d have crossed paths with him. Did he cut you off in traffic?”
He had known this was coming. Ryōma wasn’t the gossip type, but word would still spread. It hadn’t been a one-man cleanup job, after all. Cristiano crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and settled in. There was no time like the present to start running with a line he needed to be using. “Todd had an old connection to the Garcias,” he said. “Turns out he’s the girl’s biological father. I thought I’d lean on him, see what I could learn.”
Dante hummed. “Mikey did say the sister seems to have disappeared. I take it her father gave you trouble?”
Cristiano felt an incredibly strange combination of guilt, anger, and pride. The guilt he’d been prepared for, but the others caught him off-guard. It was hard to keep the emotions off his face, and out of his voice. “He pissed me off.” His intention had always been to be as honest as possible, but these sorts of conversations made that difficult.
“Oh, I trust your judgment that he deserved it,” Dante said. “But I am curious if you learned anything useful?”
Cristiano debated for a second. This was an opportunity he hadn’t anticipated. He had to tread carefully. “Matter of opinion, I guess. They were using each other to make their actual partners jealous, but the mother got pregnant. Todd said she showed up with the baby exactly once and told him the only way he’d see his daughter was if he took her for full custody. He chose not to, even after she told him the girl would be ostracized in the Garcia household.”
“Ostracized?” Dante repeated. His brow furrowed. “Did you see any evidence of that when you went to the family home last week?”
“I didn’t see any evidence of a daughter in that house,” Cristiano replied. It was an easy answer. There hadn’t been a single picture, not even a full family photo, that included Felicity. “Pictures of the boys, and the parents, but nothing with a girl.”
Dante was silent for a beat. “Interesting. Maybe if we find the sister, she’ll be willing to talk.” He didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “Keep looking, but I still want your focus on Tristán himself. And once we have a lead on this Barros, I want finding him up there with Tristán and his friend Ramires.”
Cristiano nodded. He’d been hoping to plant a seed to better justify his upcoming inquisition of Felicity’s former landlord, but Dante’s take was better. As long as he handled it appropriately.
“In the meantime, I wanted to make sure you knew I’m going to be busier than usual with exterior work leading up to the wedding. Romeo will be your primary go-to unless there’s an emergency. You know the conditions. But if we haven’t found these fuckers before Iris and I leave for our honeymoon, I’ll need you to step up to help Romeo keep shit together. He’ll be distracted with DSI, you’ll be better suited to focus on the other side.” Dante leaned forward and folded his arms over his desk. “Can I trust that to you, cousin?”
That was the reason Dante had called him there. And while the request made the guilt spike again in Cristiano’s chest, his answer remained easy. “Of course.”