Indebted to the Mafia King
Enough Time

Eleni

I close my eyes on the floor in Dante's arms and open them again somewhere warm and tan and lonely. Distantly, I can hear voices. My stomach aches.

My stomach! I shoot up, yank up the "I Heart NYC" shirt covering my abdomen for some reason, and probe the skin there. I was shot. Someone-Fyodor, judging by how much nicer his suit was-shot me in the stomach, like he knew exactly who I was. But there's no gaping bullet hole, not even a careful line of black stitches.

Because I wore the stupid bulletproof vest, I've got a welt, a bruise so dark it's almost black, and a hell of a headache from the bullet knocking me on my ass, and nothing more.

The voices raise slightly, and a door I hadn't noticed yet opens. Dante steps in wearing a matching T-shirt with his arm in a sling. Behind him, Dr. Domino frowns.

"You're up," Dante says breathlessly.

Everything hits me at once. He's here. I'm here. We're both alive. And I don't think he'd be looking at me with that sunrise light in his eyes if anything happened to Baby-though I spit in my head automatically. He takes a step, clearly about to charge across the room to me.

Dr. Domino clears his throat. "I would advise both of my patients to take it easy, for the sake of my third."

Dante's jaw works. "You're a good doc, Domino, but I'm going to need you to butt out this time."

I laugh. Dante's voice is beautiful.

"Fine!" Dr. Domino throws his hands up. "See what I care. You're getting on a fucking plane, anyway." He yanks a few orange prescription bottles out of the pocket of his leather duster. "Take these if you don't want to die of infection." He slams them down on top of the mini-fridge next to the door and storms out.

Dante doesn't wait a second before racing to join me in bed. Still, I notice the way his left leg drags behind him a little. And the sling- "You're hurt," I say.

"I've had worse." He grins and lays down on the thin mattress next to me. "And anyway, I feel a hell of a lot better looking at you."

I purse my lips despite the euphoria racing through my veins. "Nope. Tell me the truth, or I'll run away."

He sighs, but even his sigh has the texture of a laugh. "Of course you will. Fyodor-Artyom, according to his internal records-beat the shit out of me. And so did Jace, that other fed. I've got a couple stab wounds, a metric fuckton of bruises, and only a few fractures."

I wince and run my fingers over the purple skin of his shoulder. "Seems bruises are something we have in common."

Dante grunts. "Ah, actually, one of those fractures would be my collarbone. Watch the pressure."

"Sorry!" I jerk my hand back. "They work quickly."

He nods. "But luckily, so do we."

"Do we?" I ask, staring up into his night-black eyes and hoping he'll read the real question underneath.

"If you're asking about the business, they're all dead." He brushes a few hairs back from my face with his undamaged hand. "Fyodor, Henry. Apparently, you killed him. A few Russians got out, but Tony's leading a cleanup crew." I killed a federal agent. My stomach turns.

"And if I'm not asking about the business?" My voice shakes slightly.

"Then you're all right except for a concussion and that bruise we have in common." He smiles softly. "Baby seems all right too."

A tear slips down my cheek. "What do we do now?"

"We get on the plane you had waiting." He kisses the tear away. "And we go to Greece with Mama and Gianna. After that, you tell me, El. Are we vacationing or making a life for ourselves?" His eyes are dark and earnest. "I know what I want." I open and close my mouth a few times. All the ice I built up around myself is already gone. It was too fragile this time, threatening to crack every time I thought about Baby. And without it, without all the distractions and threats and pressure, the answer is obvious. Maybe it always has been.

"We're building a life," I whisper. "If you're sure you can give this up."

Dante laughs. "Sure? El, I can't wait. I love you, and loving you made me someone completely different. Someone who can't sit around plotting in my little office, satisfied with the violence and power plays of the life I was raised to lead. Nothing matters more to me than you and"-he smooths his hand over my distended stomach, carefully avoiding the welt-"Baby. I can't be the boss they need while loving you, and I don't want to stop that."

Something warm and soft blooms in my chest. He really is a different man than the one I met. The Dante who threw fifty thousand dollars at me to get me out of his auction would never do this. "And I can't be the boss they need and the woman you love." I put my hand over his. "Or the mother they need. Maybe a mother at all. And they deserve better than that. Better than we had." "So that's it." He kisses me on each of my cheeks. "We're done. I'll hand the reins to Tony, and we'll live our little dream life."

"Not so little," I say. "I'm still going to school."

He nods seriously. "I wouldn't dream of anything else."

"And I don't really think parenthood's going to be little." I smile.

"You may be more right about that than I'd hope." He grins ruefully.

I trace the lines of his hand, his wedding ring. "So...what's with the T-shirts?"

Dante falls back, laughing wildly. "We were covered in blood, and we're in a crappy little motel outside the city, maybe twenty minutes from the airstrip. The gift shop was all I had."

I laugh with him. "I spent all this time picking out lingerie, and now I'm spending my wedding night with no bra, no underwear, in a tourist T-shirt!"

"Don't worry, I saw the lingerie. I liked it." He waggles his eyebrows. "I think we can take it carry-on."

I swat him. "Not if Mama's there."

"Fine, we'll buy new." He shakes his head, and his laughter starts to die down.

"How long until we have to get on the plane anyway?" I ask quietly.

Dante smiles just a little wickedly. "Enough time for a wedding night, if you still want one with an ex-mafia boss."

"I don't," I say.

His mouth falls open.

"I want one with Dante Cattaneo, my husband." And I kiss him.