Indebted to the Mafia King
Pretty Woman

Eleni

When I joked that we should go shopping before lunch, have the whole commuter experience, I didn't expect Dante to take me up on it. I certainly didn't expect him to trail after me through designer store after designer store, making introductions to the right clerks and offering opinions on my choices. I look at the two extra chairs they had to pull over to our table in the ridiculously upscale if tiny French bistro, both piled with bags full of purchases. I have no idea what's going on. All I know is there's a real chance we just spent as much as the semester at Tandon, even with the ridiculous bribe he probably had to make, and he's still smiling at me over the most expensive burger I've ever heard of. At the very least, spending his money feels great. It was the one thing I was scared to do with him gone, and after his behavior at the warehouse the other day, he deserves it.

I deserve a little treat from time to time, and based on the look on his face, he likes doing this. He likes taking care of me.

I need to get used to that if I'm staying. But we've never had a day like this to ourselves. There's always been an ulterior motive.

"What are we doing?" I ask.

"Errands." He pops the last bite of burger into his mouth.

Errands. Right. Because errands always include a burger with a truffle-foie gras sauce and the croque madame in front of me. Honestly, I keep expecting to start chasing down Cal Duncan, or run into him in one of these upscale shops. He checks his phone just often enough that I know there's something going down. I just don't quite know what, and I'm getting tired of that very quickly.

"What's your favorite purchase so far?" he asks.

I look over the bags. There are at least a dozen new suits in there, including a purchase slip from his personal tailor who "wouldn't dream" of letting us walk out with something he hadn't perfectly fitted. But Dante also insisted on checking off the new-student purchase list in the folder the very officious registrar pushed on me in the thunderstorm of information, so I reach for one very square bag that barely fits its contents. "The laptop, for sure."

"Yeah?" Dante looks over the box. "How's, uh...how's it different from your current one?"

I sigh. During these last two weeks, I realized Dante looks like a modern mafia boss with all his technology in place, but his cybersecurity was worse than Baba insisted on for the restaurant. He didn't even own an external hard drive before I bought one and spent a day copying all the important files onto there before storing it in a safe. And that doesn't even factor the time I spent installing any firewalls to keep some kid fifteen minutes out of Quantico from cracking open his operation like a steamed clam.

"Better RAM," I say. "I can download my own OS, and it has enough ports for all the supplementary drives I expect to need to plug in."

Dante blinks. "Right. And OS is...?"

"Operating system." I smile. "But don't worry, grandpa, there won't be a quiz at the end of lunch."

He fakes hurt. “Grandpa? I'll have you know my phone has several applications and a game."

I meet his gaze. "What game?"

His dramatic expression falls into something more serious. "Okay, it's solitaire, but the other ones are too busy!"

I laugh so hard I almost get gruyere on my new shirt, barely believing how far I've come from the Eleni I was a few months ago, pirating my textbooks and struggling to get homework done between shifts. When my laughter finally tapers off, I look up to find him on his phone again.

My humor dies. Right. We can never forget about work. I huff and sit back up.

He glances at me. "What's wrong?"

I push the laptop back into the bag and gesture at the chairs full of stuff. "Why are you buttering me up? Is there bad news coming?"

"No." He looks at his phone like he barely heard me. "Are you ready to go?"

I look at my half-finished sandwich, his untouched fries. More shopping can't hurt, I guess. Though the longer this goes on, the meaner it feels that I haven't made him stop.

When I nod, he signals the waiter for the check, then presses a couple hundred-dollar bills into the teenager's hand without even looking.

"Care to drop this all in the car?" he asks when we're outside.

"Will you tell me where we're going next?" I ask.

"Aurora's." He grins at me.

Another brand I've never heard of. It doesn't sound like somewhere I'd find a brutally violent Irish man. I sigh and agree.

We pile armfuls of bags into the car, then Dante leads me down a few streets and over one. I study the storefronts. This road is a little less polished than most of the others we've been on today, with smaller, darker buildings that obviously sit under huge towers of apartments. A little old lady nods to Dante as we pass, and I frown.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"One of the many Italian parts of this town." He smiles. "Walk tall. I wasn't planning on making introductions today, but a good first impression never hurts."

I straighten. Work, always work. We're not just Eleni and Dante, we're the king and queen of the Staten Island Saints.

That is, I think we are. He hasn't said anything about me continuing to be involved like I was yet. And he seems to be trying to get me to leave Staten Island all together. Even if I can manage full-time school on top of mafia work, I definitely can't do it while living on campus. I can't share a bedroom with some eighteen-year-old and have to worry about her finding the guns I never go anywhere without anymore.

Dante stops in front of one small store. I can just barely make out the word "Aurora's" in faded gold paint over the door. He opens the door, a bell jingles, and he gestures me inside. I stride into the dark shop.

Immediately, I realize it's dark inside because the proprietor only lit the glass cases full of glittering jewelry. In the dim store, they shine like stars, drawing my eye instantly. I drift over to the nearest one and stare, open-mouthed, at some of the most beautiful necklaces I've ever seen in my life. I put a hand to my neck and remember I'm still not wearing the tracker.

"Ey!" someone barks.

I jump back. Dante appears behind me, solid but unstartled. One of the tiniest old men I've ever seen bustles out from behind a beaded curtain and hops up on a stool behind the counter. "Dino?" he says.

I glance at Dante. Unlike when his uncle used the old name, Dante grins.

"Louie!" He spreads his arms. "Been too long."

Louie spits below the counter. "Never long enough. Thought I told you not to darken my door again."

"You say that every time." Dante approaches the counter. "And I fear for the day you mean it."

Louie sniffs. I study the old man, but despite his gruff demeanor, there's no aggression in his face or his stance. That might just be how he greets people.

"We're looking for a ring size." Dante nods at me. "For this one."

Louie looks me up and down. "Queen of Saints, huh? Was wondering when you'd finally deign to cross the bridge."

"Sorry," I say. "I would've come if I'd known. Your work is beautiful."

"I know that." He pulls something out from under the counter. "Hand?"

I offer my left hand out of instinct and look at Dante. "Should I be bracing for you to get down on one knee?"

Louie slides a metal circle, like a plain ring, onto my index finger.

He laughs. "Just looking for another way to put a tracker on you. I said rings work better."

Joking with Dante feels like going back to normal, but I can't ignore how unsettled things remain between us.

"Then we should measure you too," I say as Lousie trades the circle out for another one, then moves onto the next finger. Dante raises an eyebrow.

"I said I'd wear a tracker if you did." I wish Louie was done so I could cross my arms. "It's time to pay up."

Dante glances at Louie, who lifts another collection of metal circles from behind the counter.

"I have men's sizers," he says. "And I'll do anything to get you two out of here."

Dante looks from the sizers to me and back again. "Will this really make you more comfortable?"

"To know that you keep your promises? Yes."

Dante sighs and sets his hand on the counter. "Me next, Lou."

"Louie," the old man barks.

I meet Dante's gaze, and something like I felt in bed last night courses through me. I'm no longer the little virgin he bought at the auction who'd do anything he asked. I'm enough of a force that he has to listen to me. But underneath that is something else. Something I haven't felt in a really long time.

Hope.