Indebted to the Mafia King
Mickey's

Eleni

On Thursday, I lean back in the passenger's seat and try to see the late-morning sun through the blacked-out windows. Dante's hand rests possessively on my leg, and it feels like an anchor as we drive back into the chaos of the city. After days

of his constant touch, I think I might lose my mind if he let me go.

And it doesn't hurt that his hand creeps a little higher at every red light, now that we're off the highway. Desire coils in my gut like he didn't make us late wringing one last orgasm out of me before we left. I don't mind. It was his timetable anyway.

I glance at him. On the ride up, he couldn't stop talking, but never to me. This time, he's been mostly quiet, but he looks at me every time the road doesn't need him. Either way, I haven't learned much.

My stomach grumbles, and I cover it quickly.

"I guess you didn't eat much," Dante says.

We share a smile at the memory of his cock in my mouth before we left. A mile-marker whips by outside the window.

"You're in luck."

He pulls into the exit lane and refuses to answer any of my questions until he pulls into the parking lot of a tiny red and chrome diner with a rotating sign that says "Mickey's."

"Now, will you tell me?" I ask.

He smiles. "The house upstate belonged to my parents. My dad used to take me up there for what he called 'guy time' basically whenever he could steal a couple days off, and we always ate at Mickey's on the way home."

I stare up at the '50s relic. It's been almost impossible to get to know Dante, even as he learns every crevice of my body, and stopping here feels just as meaningful as the admission that he cares for me. I climb out of the car, and he leads me inside. Apparently, we choose our own seating and pay at the counter, so he leads me to the back corner booth.

"Did you always sit here?" I ask.

He smiles. "Can you read me that well already?"

I laugh. An older waitress drops off menus and manages to call both of us honey in two sentences. The plastic over the top crinkles and flakes, but the menu is crowded with diner classics.

"How do you pick?" I ask.

He chuckles. "With your heart."

A memory flickers to the front of my mind, and I set the menu down. "Tell me what the best food in this diner is." "Well, I like "

I shake my head. "Like that first day. Tell me like that."

The smile that creeps over his lips is achingly fond in a way that makes my heart skip a beat.

"The chocolate-chip pancakes with a side of bacon taste like the first 'guy time' I can remember," he says. "I was, fuck, maybe six, and I only barely knew what the family business was. I scribbled all over the little maze they gave me with crayons while Dad tried to coax me into seeing the pattern. I could tell he was getting frustrated, but we'd just spent a great couple days together, and he didn't want to blow up." He swallowed. "My dad loved me, but he had a temper. Nothing worse than yelling. Still, it scared the shit out of me as a kid. So when the pancakes came, I declared I could do my own syrup, and promptly spilled it all over myself, the booth, and the new toy truck he'd gotten me. Everything seemed to freeze, and I just knew he was gonna start screaming. And I'd ruined the truck!" Dante shakes his head. "The pancakes taste like Dad helping me scrub down the truck in the bathroom and smiling the whole time because he knew how important it was to me."

I blink sudden tears out of my eyes. My chest aches with how much I miss Baba, but I take Dante's hand. He lost someone too.

When the waitress reappears a few moments later, I order the chocolate chip pancakes with a side of bacon, and so does he. We eat in silence for a few minutes. The staff in the kitchen chatter back and forth with each other, an easy mix of work-talk and friendship that doesn't lessen the ache in my chest.

"I didn't want to ask while we were having so much fun," I say, "but am I returning to the city for finals, or for keeps?"

He smiles softly. "For keeps, I suppose."

Relief washes through my body. The last few days have been great, but the days of exile before that were awful. I miss the city. And I can't do anything upstate.

"Cool," I say, trying to seem casual. "Why?"

He sighs and takes my hand over the table. "The... threat that made me move you out of harm's way has passed."

He almost doesn't seem happy about that. A new seriousness covers his brow.

"Okay," I say slowly. "And that threat was...?"

"A non-issue." He turns back to his food.

I frown. "How was it a non-issue? Details would be nice. I like to know who I'm looking over my shoulder for."

He smiles teasingly at me. "Okay. Who are the other major outfits operating around here?"

My face warms. "Other than you?"

He nods.

"The Lombardis," I say. "And, um, I know there are like, quartets in Chinatown?"

He laughs loud and long. I've grown used to his laugh over these past few days. It's a little higher than his speaking voice, like he's pitching himself down the rest of the time, and when he's laughing, he's so comfortable he forgets. I want to bottle the sound and keep it on my shelf at home. Instead, I look out the window, like he can read the thought on my face. He's supposed to be the one possessing me, not the other way around.

"Don't worry about it," he says finally. "I'm the boss. Worrying's my job."

"What's my job in your little outfit, then?" I ask to cover my sudden shyness.

He squeezes my hand. "Your job is to not get kidnapped, not die, and study for your final. I'll have someone escort you to campus as needed, and there'll be guards around the house."

In the wake of the admission that he cares about me, whatever that means to a man like him, it's easier to recognize what sounds like another attempted captivity as protection. Not easy, but easier. I nod and don't complain, at least for now. We eat until the ache in my chest means I can't take another bite.

"Why are you going through all this trouble?" I ask finally. "The safe houses, the guards."

"Because..." He glances out the window of the diner to the parking lot, a view he's surely seen a hundred times. I can't help wonder what's going on behind his eyes. He shrugs. "Because I would miss you."

My face flames, and I turn to the window as well.