Indebted to the Mafia King
Fork in the Road

Eleni

After the funeral, Dante is quiet in the car. The windshield wipers fill the silence between us as we sit in traffic, headed back into the city. "Do you want to see Piacere?" he asks suddenly.

I pluck at the hem of my dress. My stomach is still empty, grumbling in a way I know means I'm losing the next thing I put into it too, and I'm exhausted. But the club I spent so much time in this summer, the place Dante and I really met, is gone, and I haven't really internalized that yet. Today seems like a day of saying goodbye to things. The secret growing inside me. What Seb and I could have been to each other, if only we had the time. I may as well look at the remains of the life I thought I was going to have when I entered Piacere that first night.

"Yeah."

He twists the wheel, and we pull out of the traffic headed into Manhattan for the slightly lighter traffic aimed at our island. The long silence of the drive is almost meditative. Snippets of the last few months slide through my mind. I've been so many versions of myself that the waitress I started the summer as wouldn't recognize me anymore. I don't know if I'd recognize her either.

I glance at Dante and wonder if he feels the same. His all-black suit looks like the one he wore in the Greek Corner. But the lines around his mouth, the exhaustion in his eyes, those are new. So is the warmth when he catches my gaze. "Penny for your thoughts?" he says.

"Just thinking about how much has changed." I run my hand over my stomach.

He places his warm palm over mine. "I've been spending a lot of time doing that lately."

The car pulls onto the street Piacere used to dominate. Among the lineup of other clubs, its absence is sickening, like a pulled tooth. My stomach churns as Dante pulls to a stop. The soft rain spits down on the car and the grayish sludge that used to be the most popular dance spot on the block. I exhale shakily.

"Wow."

He nods. "I didn't expect it to be this destroyed the first time either."

"It's just...gone." I blink back more tears. I've been crying so much lately. Let the sky do it for me, at least for a little.

Dante folds his hand around mine and stares out the window. "You know, my father built Piacere. I remodeled the place, made it my own, but the structure was his."

"Baba bought the Greek Corner," I say, not knowing what else to add. "He always wanted to expand. Sometimes, I'd find him and Mama talking about what they would do if they could build something new."

Quiet enfolds us. I picture the Greek Corner like this with the same pulled-tooth sickness. I haven't been back there in so long.

"I don't know if I'm going to rebuild," Dante says abruptly.

I blink. "What? I thought you just got the insurance check."

"I did." He exhales slowly. "And I gave every penny to the families of the people who died in the fire, or those who were injured but survived. Seb's funeral wiped out the last of it."

The announcement rings hollowly through my chest. Dante has money, I know. More than enough to rebuild Piacere, or build somewhere new. But suddenly, I don't want to be talking about building a club I can't drink in. I want to strong-arm our neighbors by offering to coach the softball team.

"Are you happy?" I ask. There are no other words big enough to encompass the feeling threatening to swallow me whole.

Dante shuts off the car, silencing even the wipers. There's nothing but us, our not-so-steady breathing, and the rhythmic hum of the rain. A river of ash winds into the street, streaking grayly across the nearly black pavement. Finally, Dante squeezes my hand, and I think that's all the answer I need.

We don't belong here. Not anymore. I turn to Dante and open my mouth to ask him if he feels the same weight of...I don't know, destiny pushing us out of the life.

His phone rings. I can see the caller ID where it sits in the cupholder. Cal Duncan. A couple days ago, Dante gave him the name Fyodor, and he and Cal aren't exactly drinking buddies. The call can only mean one thing. After an interminable moment, Dante picks it up and hits the speaker.

"Cal," he says.

"Dante!" The lilting Irish brogue is butchered by the phone speakers, but I can picture his red hair and broad smile. "I was hoping I might've waited long enough for your little get-together to wrap up."

We didn't tell Cal about the funeral. Just another shred of privacy ripped away.

"What is it?" Dante asks tightly.

"I've got a lead on our mutual friend," Cal says. "And my trigger finger's getting out of practice. What if you muster up a few of your lads, and we go get back in shape?"

Dante stares at the phone, then looks up at me. His eyes are like black holes, but I know how to read between the lines. His mouth pulls down. He doesn't want this news now. His fingers clench around the screen. He wants to go. His gaze drops to my mouth for a second. He wants to stay. My chest cracks in two. If he goes now, this could be over. It could end in the September rain, and we could really talk about what our life looks like from here.

Or he could die. Cal could be wrong, or not careful, or just lying, and I could lose Dante. Every time he walks out the door, I could become a single mother. I don't know him well enough yet to know if he's thinking that. "Use your home gym," Dante says. "We need to get all our buddies together before we check out any old friends."

Cal huffs. "I've never heard of Italians being over-careful. But I suppose it's your call. I'll keep my lads on ice."

Dante hangs up without another word.

"Take me home," I say.

He turns the car on. "The traffic into Manhattan is gonna be a bitch."

I put a hand on his arm. "Home, Dante. No traffic."

He smiles quietly and pulls into traffic, headed for the house on Staten Island.