Indebted to the Mafia King
Fidgety

Eleni

I pace back and forth in the guest bedroom we've set up as my kind-of office over the last few days. Dante got me a laptop, and Tony brought my school books on one of his many trips up here. I could study. Maybe I should be studying. Classes start in two days. But neither Dante or I have actually, seriously said we're going back to the city yet. I lift the blinds to check on him and Tony on the deck.

They're both gone. For a split second, cold fear grips my heart. The Russians found the safehouse, and they took both of them while I stood up here. Any second now, the door to this room will burst in, and I'll be back in that fucking cell before I know it.

Someone knocks on the door, and my heart skips a beat. But Russians wouldn't knock. Dante would.

"Come in!" I say, hoping my voice doesn't sound panicky.

Dante opens the door and steps in. He looks taller, prouder than he did a minute ago. My battered heart leaps.

"What did Tony say? Good news?" I ask. "Russian syndicate destroyed-type news?"

Dante laughs. "Certainly not that good."

The laughter starts to soothe my fear, but then I hear the edge to it. Dante isn't just here to talk about nice things. I sit in the rolling chair behind my desk.

"What is it?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know how you know me so well already. Do you want the mixed news or the bad news first?"

I exhale slowly. Neither of those are good. "Mixed."

"We're leaving tomorrow." He leans against my desk. "Tony and I talked, and I realized that while I'm so glad we stayed here while you recuperated I can't just let the Russians run my city."

"That's not what Saints do." I offer him a wan smile. "So we're going back to the city to be mafiosos. I'll go to Tandon later."

I can live like that. Tandon was a pipe dream, if I'm being honest with myself. And as dangerous as this life is, it's more dangerous to leave enemies behind. For the next eight months, I have a baby to carry around and protect with everything I have.

Dante frowns. "Do you really think I'd just walk in here and tell you to give up your dreams?"

I bite my lip. "Not and expect me to roll over, no. But things are diff—”

He puts a soft finger to my lips. "You're going to Tandon. With guards. We're going back to the city to defend our life, our future, and you're not an incidental part of that, El."

My breath catches. I rub his wedding ring on my thumb, the cold reminder my ring is still lost at the bottom of the Hudson River. I need the guards. Not that guards stopped Luca Lombardi from trying to kidnap me during my final. "One of them should be "

"Undercover as a student?" Dante smiles. "Way ahead of you."

I kiss his finger against my mouth, and he withdraws it. Tandon. The baby and I are really going to college. Dante's willing to take on the whole Russian syndicate for that. Fuck it, I am too. I'm not just a piece of luggage he drags around. I'm a Staten Island Saint in my own goddamn right, and I know how to multitask.

"I still want to help with the business," I say.

"When you have time." He kisses my forehead and puts a hand on my stomach. "They need you healthy."

"They come first." I smile. "Can Seb be my undercover guard?"

He exhales slowly. "You remember the raid I went on, the night you got kidnapped?"

I nod. "Russians, right?"

"Exactly." He looks away from me, then back. "El, Seb took a bullet for me in there."

My blood roars in my ears. "So he's hurt? He can't come with me?"

Dante winces. "He died."

No. I heard him wrong. That just can't be right. There's no way I'm going to go back to the city, and Seb won't be waiting there for me with a hug and a smile. A stupid joke to make me laugh. Dante missed something because I haven't lost another fucking brother. I just haven't.

Sound filters back in. I realize I'm laying on the floor, having slipped out of my chair. Something is wet.

"...El." There's an edge of panic to Dante's voice. "El, you have to talk to me."

"No," I mumble.

He chuckles weakly. "You really hate orders."

I shake my head. "No. You're wrong. He's not "

His blurry expression-the wetness is my tears-melts into something devastating. Something without a hint of confusion.

"I watched him die." Dante strokes hair back from my face. "Trust me, I fucking wish I was wrong."

I turn my head into Dante's lap and sob. My heart beats wet and ragged like someone tore it out. Not Seb. Never Seb. He was just about to become a capo.

"I know," Dante murmurs. "Trust me, I know."

"Wait." I whip my head to look at him. "That raid was weeks ago. Did I miss the funeral?"

Baba. Christos. I have never been allowed to bury someone I love.

"They interred him in the Bellini family plot, but we haven't had a proper funeral yet," Dante says.

Something hot and bright, a bit like the clarifying anger I remember in the wake of Baba's death, sears through my chest. "I'll plan it."

"What?"

I sit up. "I'm planning his funeral. I'll work with the capos, the mob wives, his nonna, hell, Tony, if I need to. But this is mine. You're not taking it from me."

Dante holds his hands up. "I'm not trying to. The funeral is yours."

I expect the bright feeling to burn out with the concession, but it doesn't fade. Seb needs this, and so do I.

"But...I have to ask." Dante strokes the naked place on my finger where my engagement ring used to sit. "Do you want out?"

"No." I bristle. "I just said that."

He shakes his head. "I mean...the boss of the Saints doesn't hide. But the boss of the Saints also loses a lot of people, loses them like this without time for a proper funeral." He meets my gaze, his dark eyes warm and uncertain. "I don't want you torn apart. Someone else could be the boss."

The imaginary salt air of Greece breaks over my tongue as the enormity of what he's promising yawns. He would actually run away with me, if I said the word. For me? For the baby? For himself? I don't know. For all of us, maybe. I cup my still- flat stomach. We could just be safe. We could leave this last fight to Tony or whoever else wants it.

That bright, flickering feeling calls my attention. Seb's funeral burns there, but so does my admission to Tandon, so do Mama and Baba's bright dreams of "making it" in America. My baby needs me. But maybe I need myself first. "Not yet," I say.