Indebted to the Mafia King
It Can't Be

Eleni

I pace the few steps back and forth in my tiny concrete cell, trying to keep my thoughts in order. Somewhere outside, someone made something with cabbage, and the reek of it is making it hard to think. But I need to focus. If I can count all the meals I've had, maybe I can figure out how long I've been here, and then I'll know whether Camila was lying about the baby.

Nine meals since Yagdash and the message. I think. Or was it ten? No, eight. Okay, that's too far. I've had one meal since I woke up. Before that....

I sit down with a groan. Counting is impossible down here, and the stench is only making it worse! My period has always been regular. Dante and I used protection. Surely, I'll know when I'm pregnant.

Deep in the darkest recesses of my mind, I kind of hope I'm not. I can picture a family with Dante someday, but if I'm pregnant now, and Camila knows, she's going to find a way to make me choose between the baby and him. I just know it. Muffled by the thick cement walls around me, a car backfires. I whip my head up. I haven't heard anything that wasn't nearby. Maybe within the hallway I'm on. And there's no way there's a car back here, so that's...gunfire. Again. My heart races. Dante found me. I smooth my hair, scrub my sleeve over my mouth. It's impossible to even keep track of the last time I threw up. Then, I climb to my feet and ready myself.

The door screeches open. I start to smile. Camila sprints in, her white sundress spattered with bright-red blood and a wild look in her eye.

"Too late." She cackles and swings the gun in her hand toward me.

Toward my stomach.

Some new instinct, hot and bright, overwhelms me, and I dive away just as she pulls the trigger. It's not graceful. I land in a heap, curled around my center protectively. The door stands open a few feet away, but between the metallic stink of blood and that goddamn cabbage, I can barely move without puking. Camila turns slowly, still laughing.

"I gave you the option." She takes careful aim. "But you don't know how to "

Bullets fly in through the open door. Camila leaps for cover, turning my cot on its side. I crane my neck as much as I can just in time to see Yagdash step inside, now wearing a bulletproof vest.

"Come on," he says. "We have to move."

Helpless tears fill my eyes. "I-I can't-"

He glances at me for a second. "Fuck. Okay." Yagdash stuffs his weapon into his belt and scoops me off the ground in one smooth move.

I clap a hand to my mouth. When Camila captured me, I was able to fight. I was dangerous. I was someone Cal Duncan wanted to meet. And now, I'm just some girl trying not to puke on the man she thinks is rescuing her.

Yagdash charges out of the cement room and into the surrounding basement. The dirt floor kicks up puffs of dust under his feet, and a handful of Russians lay bleeding already. I look behind us and see the concrete cell I've been living in is one of a few in a line but clearly a new addition to this ancient basement.

He hits the stairs. I twist and puke over his arms. He curses again but doesn't stop, something I think I'll always be grateful for. The cabbage smell grows more and more overpowering.

We exit the stairs into an old-looking kitchen. Faded wooden cabinets. A pot of something noxious on the stove. A metal table, stained and burned with years of use. My stomach seizes like it wants to puke again but doesn't have anything left. Yagdash doesn't hesitate, just runs toward where I can still hear gunshots. I cling to his arm and wrap my other hand around my stomach, like that'll protect anything that might be in there.

"Covering fire!" Yagdash hollers into what I just noticed is a headset. My fingers drift over the bright white letters on his vest. "I'm coming out."

The gunfire increases, but with more of the telltale sound of bullets hitting wood and drywall. A soft, white dust filters down from the ceiling as Yagdash sprints past a wallpapered staircase and out the open front door. I suck in my first breath of clean air-

And choke on it. The overgrown lawn disappears under the sheer number of people in full tactical gear, all emblazoned with a bright, white "FBI." My chest constricts, squeezing all the air out of my lungs. My hand on his arms starts shaking. Dante's been arrested. I'm being arrested. It's all over. I'm never even going to get to say goodbye to Mama.

"Don't tell them anything," Yagdash mutters.

He drops me on a stretcher, and a small army of EMTs swarm me before I can ask anything. Only the clouds overhead whisking past and the deafening rattling tell me the stretcher is moving. I can't feel anything anymore. It's over. "-lo." One of the EMTs tries to meet my gaze. "Hello, miss, I need to ask you a few questions."

My breath rasps out of my throat. Oh, god.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He offers me three fingers.

"Th-th-three." My teeth chatter, nearly catching my tongue. Was I in that room until winter came? Why am I so cold?

Shock. This is shock. I feel it creeping into my bones.

"Are you injured anywhere?" he asks.

The baby. I don't know. I open and close my mouth, trying to shape uncertain words. He nods worriedly and begins attaching clamps and wires to me. Something starts beeping. I raise up, and then the sky disappears, replaced by the textured metal ceiling of an ambulance.

We're moving now. The vibration beneath from the tires tearing over bumpy, unkempt payment has my head lolling as fresh nausea sweeps through me, blurring my senses.

The EMTs talk amongst themselves, attach more things to me. A sharp needle enters my arm, but I only notice it by its shine in the air above me. They have Dante. They have me. They have the baby. There is nothing left of my family. The ambulance skids to a stop. That seems soon. A yard like that wouldn't happen anywhere populous. Then, the back doors open, and I scream.

Dante steps in. Exhausted, the lines on his face more prominent than ever, wrinkled like a used tissue, but Dante is here. I fight the grasps and restraints of the EMTs, weeping openly.

He brandishes a gun. "All right, we're gonna do this nice and simple. My friend up front has direction. If you take us there, leave enough equipment to take care of her, and go, we won't have any problems."

The EMT who asked me about his fingers frowns. "She's not seriously injured, but-"

"I will take care of her!" Dante bellows. "Drive or die. Those are your choices."

The EMT nods. Distantly, I hear Tony giving directions, and the ambulance starts moving. My breath feels less like it's fighting me. Dante sits next to me.

"Oh, El," he says like I'm a damaged heirloom.

Still, he kisses me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.