Indebted to the Mafia King
Night on the Town

Eleni

We walk out of Louie's shop, and I blink in the summer sun. Everything that happened in the tiny jewelry shop starts to feel like a dream.

"What now?" I ask. "Can we finally go home and deal with whatever makes you keep checking your phone?"

Abruptly, I realize he hasn't looked at his phone since we stepped into Aurora's. But I'd be surprised if Louie had ever heard of Wi-Fi, much less spent his mornings texting prospective clients.

"Yes and no." Dante smiles. "I'm done with my phone, because everything is arranged, but we're not going home."

I scowl at him. My feet are starting to hurt. Maybe I need to build up stamina before I invite Gianna on one of these. I've watched a few of her shows now, and it seems like stamina is the one thing a pole dancer needs in spades. "We are going to stay the night in the city at a five-star hotel," Dante says.

***

A short walk, a conversation with a very snooty concierge, and a strangely tense elevator ride later, I stride into a suite near the top floor of a hotel I've passed for my whole life and never once imagined being allowed inside. It's beyond my wildest dreams.

The front room has the same white marble floor as the lobby Dante basically floated through, and aside from a long table for keys and a coat closet, the only thing in the room is a massive grand piano with a chandelier dangling over top. My breath catches. I've never even stayed in a hotel that had a front room. One really good year, Mama and Baba took us on a trip to the Jersey shore, and we stayed in this tiny little hotel right next to the beach. They shared the bed, and Christos and I shared the pull-out couch next to it. Back then, I'd thought just going on a vacation was the height of luxury.

Dante marches through the door, tossed his tie on the piano bench, and keeps going.

"Shower, or bath?"

"What?" I blink, instinctively pinching my forearm to confirm this is a dream.

"Do you want to take a shower, or a bath?"

"Shower? But, um, why do I need either? It's still basically afternoon."

"Just to freshen up." He smiles. "I had some clothes sent ahead for me, but yours should be arriving shortly."

Clothes. Multiple bathrooms. I drift after Dante for lack of anything better to do. I feel like I've stepped into another world entirely and I barely know up from down, let alone what he has in store for me while we're here. The white marble front room gives way to a deep blue kitchen that almost rivals the one in Dante's house for size. After that is a huge living room with couches the same blue as the kitchen. On either side of a wall of floor-length windows stand two doors. He can't really live like this. Nobody can. When I follow him into the bedroom, he already has his shirt off, revealing the tanned expanse of his chest. Before I can say anything, a gong rings through the space. "Doorbell." He smiles apologetically and darts away.

I look around the master bedroom-the bed is bigger than mine, Christos', and Mama and Baba's put together-and find a garment bag hanging in the closet. I unzip it slowly. Inside sits a pure black tuxedo with a dove-gray shirt and an emerald bow tie. I don't know whether the gray or the color surprises me more. But Dante returns before I can decide with yet another garment bag in hand. My head is spinning faster than it was at Tandon.

"We're running a little short on time, but let me know what you think." He unzips the bag.

My breath catches. A full-length gown the same green as the bow tie spills out. I run my finger over the billowing satin skirt and nearly cry at how soft it is. There are slits in the equally simple bodice, along the ribs, but when I investigate them, they lead back to a pair of ribbons that actually tie the top in place. Meaning I'll be trusting my breasts to my knot-tying skills and the minuscule spaghetti straps.

Oh, god, the dress is beautiful. It belongs in this suite, in this world. I fidget with the suit Dante also picked out for me and try not to feel about six inches tall.

"Wear your hair up with this," he murmurs. "I want to see your neck while I'm making dull conversation with billionaires at the Met's charity gala this evening. Thinking about sinking my teeth into it will keep me going."

I gape. A gala? The first reference he's made all day to us spending the night together. It's too much to process at once, especially the day after I start to step out of weeks of ice. I sit abruptly down on the bed and blink back tears. "Hey." He hangs the dress up and sits behind me. "You also don't have to. You can stay here, if you want. I'm sorry I didn't say anything before, it was a last minute thing. I normally don't go to these things when I'm invited-"

I shake my head. "It's not you. It's just...you." I laugh wetly.

He stares at me in bemusement. "That makes it tough to help."

"It's everything you come with." I gesture around at the suite. "You're so used to this life. I feel like I'm pretending."

Dante takes my hand and meets my gaze. "Can I tell you a secret?"

I bite my lip and nod.

"I barely had to donate to NYU," he says. "They wanted you. I gave them a little donation in good faith when I said I'd be paying your tuition, that's all. You did this on your own, El."

My heart skips a beat. That can't be true. The Tandon Institute has notoriously high standards.

Like he can see the disbelief on my face, he pulls out his phone, opens a banking app, and shows me a transaction. I blink a few times, then rub my eyes. The number on the screen is smaller than a semester of tuition. It's probably smaller than what he spent on that incredible dress.

He paid to let me cut the line. He didn't pay to put me in line at all. Maybe I haven't grown up in this life, or worn dresses like that, but I whipped the Staten Island Saints into shape in two weeks and I got into the Tandon Institute after two night college classes. The old billionaires at the Met aren't going to know what hit them... But I still wonder why exactly Dante would be going to an event like this in the first place.

I guess I'll find out.

I stand, grab the dress, and hurry to the other bedroom to change. After a quick shower, I blow dry my hair and stare at the dress. The bra I picked out certainly won't work with it, and while I found a pair of glittering earrings and some sky- high heels in the bag, there wasn't any underwear. So I have to go without.

And after my tiny breakdown, I don't want Dante to forget I'm more than I used to be, so I kick all my undergarments into the corner. Another wave of emotion shivers through me as I imagine him sliding his hand under my dress during dinner, discovering the steps I skipped. Maybe Dante won't know what hit him either.

I order a few cosmetics through room service, scamper out to grab them without putting the dress on, and get to work. A quick call with Gianna results in an even more complex updo than the one I had previously and my first ever smoky eye. Then I slide the dress on over my head, zipper up the skirt, gather the ribbons in one hand, and walk into the main room with it still untied.

Dante's jaw drops when he sees me. He twists on the couch as I walk, as if he's trying to keep me in view at all times. The breeze under the skirt reminds me just how close I am to naked, an electric feeling that shoots down my spine. I saunter up to him, turn, and offer the ribbons.

"Help me out?" I ask.

"Always." Dante grabs the ribbons, and I drop my hands.

Rookie mistake. He releases the ribbons a second later and slides his hands over my bare rib cage. His fingers brush the bottoms of my breasts.

"Fuck the gala," he murmurs.

I lean back into him as pleasure courses through me. What do I care about a gala? He nips the juncture of my neck and my shoulder, then slides one hand up over my breast and the other lower. When he realizes he's not finding underwear, he groans loudly. I grin.

"No, I think I want to go out." I step away from him, and his hands slip out from under the satin. "Tie me up, please?"

He groans again. "You're right, but God, El."

I grab the ribbons and offer them to him again. After a few more complaints, he does fasten the top.

"Maybe we'll leave early," he grumbles.

"Maybe." I grin at him and walk ahead, humming.