Indebted to the Mafia King

Eleni

I wander the halls, searching for Dante to ask if he'll take me to the restaurant, and nearly run into another tall, suited man. I stumble back a step, and he catches me before I fall. "Did I put on my invisible suit today?" he asks as he sets me back on my feet.

"What?" He's handsome, in a square way, and he has piercing blue eyes. I know him from somewhere.novelbin

"Dante always says I make a bad first impression." He shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm Tony Bellini, caporegime around here."

The pieces snap into place. He surrounded Frank in the auto shop. But if he's a caporegime, then finding him is almost as good as finding Dante.

"Can you take me into the city?" I ask. "I need to see the restaurant."

"Why?"

I take a deep breath. "I have a decision to make."

Tony shrugs and leads me down a new hall.

*

I climb out of the black car Tony drove to the restaurant, a sedan so minutely different from Dante's, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference if every detail of my drive with Dante hadn't been inscribed on my memory. Somehow, the restaurant still stands there, just the same as it always did. I watch a cluster of college kids, new to the neighborhood last month, walk up to the door, jingle it a few times, and walk away frowning when they discover it's locked. My heart thuds hollowly.

Tony climbs out. "I gotta go with you."

I nod. I expected that. Once the college kids are gone, I open the door into the restaurant. Police tape covers the tables, their chairs still stacked on top with their legs in the air like they're waiting for a new day that will never come, and the open, empty register. I look at Tony.

"Cops came in, took a few pictures this morning." He shakes his head. "But that'll do as much good as lighting candles, chanting in Latin, and hoping you're secretly a witch. The Lombardis own damn near every cop in the city." I try to smile at him. I think that was his attempt at lightening the mood, and I suppose it's nice someone's trying. I ignore the bare register-after everything, Frank stole from us?—and pluck the tiny polymer-clay olive off the counter next to it. In sixth grade, Christos was assigned a project in art class to make a piece using any medium that was about family. He'd been in a bad mood that year, so he made a single green olive, stuffed with American pimento, and completely invented a heart-wrenching story to tell the class when his turn came to present. The teacher gave him an A, so Mama stuck it to the counter because her son was an artist. She was so proud.

He only ever told me the whole story. I pocket it before Tony can ask.

In the kitchen, I grab Mama's good apron, Baba's favorite spatula. I can't explain why, but I need them. Then, I glance at Tony.

"Is it okay if I go upstairs?"

He takes one look at my face. "Great timing. I have to make a private call." He lifts his phone to his ear without dialing, and I smile just a little as I climb the back stairs.

When I unlock the door to the apartment, my smile disappears. Baba's blood covers the carpet in huge, dark red patches. The smell rolls out in a wave. I clap a hand to my mouth and run deeper into the apartment, glass I don't remember breaking crunching under my feet. In Mama and Baba's room, I grab the scrapbooks she made when Christos and I were each born and clothes for Mama. I stuff as many clothes as I can fit into my backpack, as well as my scant makeup collection, like that matters. Then, I wobble into the bathroom. Dimly, I realize I've never been inside with shoes on when my heels slide on the toilet lid.

But the money is there. A thick, heavy envelope. Something breaks in my chest, and I sink to the toilet, clutching it to my chest.

I sob.

A few moments later, I hear footsteps crunching over glass. I want to pull myself together, to be ready for what must come next, but the tears won't stop.

Dante steps into the doorway. It's the last thing I expect, and I actually laugh through my tears, conjuring a huge bubble of snot. He'll tell me to leave, but he'll never want me now. Not when he's just seen me so raw, so broken, with my arms full of all my family has left and tears streaming down my cheeks.

He sinks to the ground in the doorway and, like a much younger man, pulls his knees to his chest. He reminds me of Christos in that moment, how he used to watch Saturday morning cartoons far too close to the television. The tears overtake me again, and I momentarily forget a mafia boss is watching me fall apart.

Only when my tears start to dry up do I realize he's still there.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "You didn't deserve this."

Ironic, coming from a mafia boss. How many families has he left like this? Does he even care?

But I don't say that. I say, "I actually thought I'd found a way out."

He nods, and I know he realizes I'm talking about the auction.

"But I should've known." I shake my head. "Even then, I couldn't help getting in deeper. And now we've lost everything." My gaze catches on my backpack in the corner, and I suddenly realize that I could've made more space for clothes if I took my textbooks out. A wet laugh bubbles out of my throat. "What am I going to do now, go to class? Take my finals?"

He leans his head back against the door frame. "I didn't know you were in college."

"Night classes." I swipe at my tears as the intensity of emotion starts to ebb. "Computer science."

He nods. "Do you know what you want to do with that?"

"Make the website better?" I shrug. "I don't know. It's not like I was ever going to work anywhere other than here. I just " I shake my head. "Just what?" he asks.

There's a real interest in Dante's eyes, like nothing I've ever seen in him before. It pulls a truth I've never spoken aloud from my lips.

"I just like—liked having something that was mine. Programming is quiet. Private." More tears well up. "I love my family, don't misunderstand."

"I don't," he says. "I actually really understand."

I peer at him. His face is relaxed, easy, and I don't know what to make of him.

"Mama wants to go home," I say. "She wants me to go with her."

Dante meets my gaze. "What do you want?"

His dark eyes burn through me and ignite that fire. Everything I've ever had solely for myself started with this flame. And this time, I know exactly what I want. I want every Lombardi dead for what they did to us.

"Mama will be safe in Greece," I say. "But I'm not going anywhere."

"You want revenge." It's not a question. "I can help you, but you need to know what you're asking for. You'd be part of the mafia, El."

My decision is made. "I'll do whatever it takes."

He hops to his feet with a cocky grin that lights my blood on fire and holds out his hand to help me up. "Welcome to the Saints."