Indebted to the Mafia King
Business as Usual

Eleni

I pull into the complex of warehouses on the docks in the bright-blue sedan Dante bought me. It arrived a couple days after our run-in with Luca. At first, I was going to ignore it, like the tracking necklace I took off after that first meeting and haven't moved from my nightstand since, but it turns out running a syndicate requires a lot of driving.

Gianna turns up the radio. "Well, I think you're crazy."

I expected her to be furious with me after I shot John. Still, I refused to let Tony give her the news, after all she's done for me. When she hugged me and said it was a long time coming, I asked her to be my right hand. No matter what he said, Tony was still Dante's. And I didn't want anything of Dante's around to make me think of him, even after I found out he was recuperating in hiding.

"No one takes me seriously when I pull up in this thing," I complain. "It's like a neon sign, begging them to treat me like a little girl."

"It's your favorite color!" She leans back against her seat, displaying the fact that she's traded out her usual sports bra and leggings for a fitted skirt-suit in deep purple. "I'm not giving up color." Her playful smirk almost brings a coy smile to my own mouth, but I don't know if I remember how to smile.

I don't remember how to feel, honestly. The only thing I feel, the only thing remotely recognizable, is that aching, desperate numbness that has had me in a chokehold for fifteen days.

I turn back to the gravel parking lot and set my expression to cold, hard steel.

We pull up to the warehouse. Three capos stand with the foreman, waiting for Gianna and I to begin the meeting. The foreman looks the car over, long and slow, then snickers.

"Yeah, I'm painting it." I switch off the vehicle and get out.

Gianna joins me, and together, we stride through the salty air up to the four men. One of the capos, Armando, wordlessly hands me a clipboard. I take it and study the shipping manifest on the front. Luxury car brands dance across the page, blurring in front of my eyes. I haven't slept more than twenty minutes in...long enough that I've stopped keeping track. Falling asleep just gives my subconscious permission to play memories of the good weeks I spent with Dante, and I won't let it remind me of him either.

"These quantities aren't right," I say.

Armando frowns. "What? I thought-"

I point to a line on the second page. "The total number of cars is what I was promised, but they're being shipped to the wrong locations. Forty to Germany, a hundred and seven to Kazakhstan? Does that sound right to you?" "Let me see that." The foreman holds his hand out for the clipboard.

Gianna scoffs and looks him up and down. "Why?"

He pales. "I just want to check-"

"What, that she's not stupid?" Gianna crosses her arms. "Her title vouches for that. Fix the fucking quantities."

Armando smirks at the foreman and shrugs, looking smug as hell. I'm sure this is a sight to see-me in my tailored Armani suit with my baby blue SUV sparkling in the background.

Yet I'm the boss right now. And everyone in the Saints knows it.

The foreman opens and closes his mouth a few times, then turns and marches back into the warehouse. I shoot Gianna a thin smile. It's all I can muster. I asked her to help me because I needed someone to side with me, but it turned out she has a way with not just the capos, but every other man who thinks they can talk down to us. I want to be grateful to her, but gratefulness is yet another emotion I've let slip through my fingers over the past couple weeks. The numbness that swallowed me up when I shot John hasn't faded. I haven't let it.

Shooting John was the catalyst to a series of events I hadn't been prepared for. The Staten Island Saints needed a leader in the interim, and as much as Dante apparently promised the role to Tony, I realized very quickly that he gets pissy if he has to sit around in the office for too long. The Saints are better off with him on the streets cleaning up the Lombardi and Coppola stragglers, and me here doing whatever this is, and to my surprise, Tony agreed.

So, I'm running the show, no matter what that means for my emotions. I'll deal with them later when Dante comes back and I can just... go away and forget any of this ever happened to me.

I flip through the next couple pages on the clipboard. This warehouse is handling a shipment of electronics this week as well, all headed into Russia after a recent jump in tariffs. I'll have to talk to the customs people before we leave. It's bigger than our usual orders, and security around Russia is tighter than most.

As I turn to the final page, I realize I'm better off this way. I can still remember how I used to be, a leaf in the storm of my emotions, chasing my heart wherever it led me. Well, it led me to Dante, and he killed my fucking brother. More than that, I used to be a waitress with dreams of maybe computer programming someday. Now, I have hundreds of people more or less ready to jump when I snap my fingers. And with Gianna at my side, they'll be readier and readier as time goes

on.

The skills from programming carry over to leading a syndicate more easily than I would've guessed. I knew the order was going to have a mistake before I even left today because the foreman uploaded his reports, so I set up a simple script to scan for discrepancies. Organizing men is the same way. Tony gave me a rundown of everyone's strengths and weaknesses when I stepped up, and I have a program to sort through them all and select the best guys for the job. Really, I'm stronger, smarter, and tougher than I used to be. Maybe I ought to thank Dante.

But I'll never be innocent, joyful, loving Eleni Calimeris again. She's gone. She died, I realize, the day I watched my dad get killed, I just didn't know it yet.

A black sedan skids to a stop in front of the warehouse, and I whip around, putting my hand on the pistol holstered beneath my jacket. It doesn't look like a plainclothes cop car, something I learned to recognize back at the Greek Corner for the poker game Baba played once a month. Still, this gun isn't registered, and neither am I. The fewer questions, the better. The passenger's side door opens before the car even shuts off. Dante stiffly climbs out.

My breath catches. Something flickers in my icy heart. He's wearing most of one of his suits, though the shirt isn't tucked in. It seems to bulge over his chest, like he's still covered in bandages. I rub my fingers against my palms, remembering the sticky feeling of his blood. His dark eyes burn into mine, a furious mixture of emotions, but the rage boiling off his skin is unmistakable.

Gianna and the capos instantly stop talking. Dante rolls like a shadow over the asphalt in front of the warehouse, his eyes never leaving mine. I've spent so many hours falling into those eyes. I don't have the time to waste climbing out

anymore.

I look away.

He clears his throat. "Get out. I need to have a word with... Eleni."

I grit my teeth. Of course, the second he can get out of bed, he's the boss again. I brace for the patter of fleeing footsteps.

Nothing. I turn and see the capos and Gianna looking at me for permission. A slow smile tugs at my lips.