Indebted to the Mafia King
Caught

Eleni

"Thank you," Mikey, one of Dante's older capos, says in his gravelly voice. "I know Dante's been pulling things together for a couple weeks now, but it didn't feel right starting things up again without toasting the kid." I swallow against a lump in my throat and glance at one of the pictures of Seb hung in the room. "I know what you mean. And thank you for your help out here."

He raises a glass. "Hey, I'll take the credit, but most of it belongs to my Adrianna."

His wife, a slightly tidier version of the mafia wives I've grown used to in Staten Island, smiles. "Don't let Mikey trick you. He strong-armed the owner into letting us have the place on such short notice."

I raise an eyebrow. The quiet event space over the bridge in Partridge is perfect, close enough to the city to get back if something happens but far enough that we all agreed the Russians wouldn't try to crash. That said, I'm not sure I want someone strong-armed into it.

"Adri!" He laughs. "I promised to coach softball this season. She just likes making me seem like the bad guy."

I laugh with them, but something in my chest aches. The pair of them move together so easily. We're all at the same funeral for Seb, but they have concerns like softball and who gets to aim their stories. Over these past couple of weeks, I've realized I can't talk to Mikey or Adrianna long without my chest hurting. I offer a few quick goodbyes and drift off into the crowd.

Clusters of black-clad mobsters studs the open event space. The high ceiling bounces back strained laughter and orders for drinks. Everywhere I turn, there's a picture of Seb's face, or someone I half-recognize telling a story about him. Tony holds court in one corner, Dante at his side for once and his nonna at the other. The little old woman had strong opinions on the funeral, even though she couldn't get out of her apartment to come to any of the meetings, but the moment I saw her today, she threw her arms around me. Waves of grief roll through the space, but most faces hold wan smiles. Would Seb have liked this? I want to think so, but surrounded by these people who have known him for so long, I can't escape the fact that I really only knew him for a few months. I've told all my stories already.

I find myself face to face with a picture of Seb, a candid shot with his head thrown back in laughter. Tears pinch the corners of my eyes. I should be thinking about him right now, but I keep thinking about all the family I've lost.

"I want to say you would've liked Christos," I tell the picture. "But I don't think that's true. He would've made fun of you with Tony, and then Tony would've tried to knock his teeth in because only Tony can talk about you like that." It's easy to imagine his golden laughter pouring out of his mouth.

"But I wish you'd met," I continue. "My brothers. Both of you."

A few tears spill as a hand lands on my shoulder. I turn, hoping for Dante but knowing he won't leave Tony unless something's wrong. The hand belongs to Nicky, resplendent in a black and gray Chanel skirt-suit and surrounded by a passel of other mob wives, as well as Chloe.

"You two got pretty close, huh?" she asks.

I swipe away my tears with a laugh. "I needed a lot of bodyguarding over these past few months."

A chuckle ripples through the crowd of women. This, they understand. I resent them all a little less now. They really have been great about helping me plan this funeral.

"Well, you're Italian now, and we feed grief. Have you eaten?" she asks.

I shake my head and don't tell her Greeks do the same, I just haven't had time. Nicky snaps, and a plate floats forward along a sea of hands.

"Here." She offers it to me. "Some bread, some pasta, a little bruschetta."

I reach to take it with a smile, but then the smell of the bruschetta hits me. The vinegar twists my stomach with an iron fist. Oh, fuck.

"Um." I swallow against the saliva filling my mouth. "I actually have to go wash my hands first."

I turn and hurry away, hoping that looked normal. The women's room has a line at the door, but I remember the tour Adri gave me earlier. There's a single bathroom for the owner in the back. I veer out of the main event space, slam open the office door, and land on my knees in front of the toilet a few seconds before my breakfast comes back up.

Fucking morning sickness. I slump over the ceramic, panting and hot. It has the worst goddamn timing.

Someone knocks softly on the office door, and I don't have the energy to answer. The door opens. Once again, I mentally cross my fingers for Dante.

I'm actually not expecting Chloe. Her blonde hair hangs loosely around her shoulders, and she looks at me with an expression thankfully far closer to worry than pity. Without a word, she runs the sink behind me, then crouches at my side with a cold, wet washcloth.

"Mom thought you were avoiding her," she says, "but I saw you turn green."

I laugh wryly. "Me? Green?"

Chloe dabs my forehead with the cloth. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

My empty stomach crunches in on itself. Dante and I agreed. We couldn't tell anyone. It was way too dangerous.

"I'm not...not trying to imply anything." She wipes a little more sweat away. "Congratulations, and I'm sorry. I know how scary this probably is. Does he know?"

I blink a few times and peer at Chloe. She really doesn't seem like she has a mean bone in her body, and the way she said she knows...I trust her. Maybe that's stupid, but I need to trust someone other than Dante. "He does," I say. "But...pretty much just him."

"Not even your mom?" she asks quietly.

Tears sheet down my face, quiet and lonely, as I shake my head. An international call is easier to break into than a local one, with the encryption software we have. It just isn't safe. And Mama will be so upset I'm pregnant before I'm married, with me and with Dante.

Chloe makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and wraps her arms around my shoulders. "I promise, she's going to be less mad than you think. Really. I met your mom when she was in town, and she loves you so much. That's all that's going to matter."

We sit there like that for a long, quiet moment.

"People are going to start asking questions," she says finally. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nod. Chloe is nothing like Gianna, who would flutter wildly around me, talking and explaining. Instead, she helps quietly, filling in the steps in the process I miss or don't think of without a word. She doesn't need to ask. Part of me wonders how much those pale eyes of hers see, standing quietly in her mother's shadow. But after a few minutes, I look presentable once more. Chloe squeezes my hand once.

"Just another hour," she says. "Then, go home and call your mom."

I nod. Together, we walk back out to the main event space. Across the room, Dante catches my eye, and his brow furrows. I shoot him a quick smile, a promise there's no disaster. But I'm not completely sure. Chloe is the first person outside our inner circle to know. How much longer can we keep this up?