Indebted to the Mafia King
Something Blue

Eleni

"What's wrong with this?" I ask as I step out of the dressing room in the fourth outfit since I sent Gianna a few pictures of the clothes I was looking at and she dragged me out for actual shopping. She sighs. "Real answer?"

I nod. "Clearly, I'm not getting this. It doesn't make any goddamn sense. Why isn't this something one of the wives can wear?" Gianna stands and walks over to me. "Well, first, you're not one of the wives."

I snort. "Tell them that."

"Trust me, they know." Gianna turns me to the mirror. "But the boss' girlfriend ranks above any actual wife. If you were a mistress... Well, that'd be different. We wouldn't be out in public shopping with Dante's credit card, that's for sure." I roll my eyes to the ceiling and groan. "How did I go from boss to boss' girlfriend in a week?"

"Dante woke up." Gianna shrugs. "It's not fair, but that's how everyone assumes it works. If you want something different, you're going to have to talk to him, and he's gonna have to convince a bunch of old Italian men to change their minds." She grabs the waist of the jacket and pulls it straight down. "You see this? It's boxy."

"Is boxy bad?" I stare at the fabric. It hides all the parts of me I doubt any of the wives want to get up close and personal with. Plus, I don't really want any of them asking where I got my boob job. The only thing more embarrassing than telling them I didn't would be if I realized they didn't believe me.

"Very." Gianna nods. "And hey, at least you're a girlfriend and you get some say. You could be a comare, like I said. Your skirt is also long."

"Long?" I look at the hem, an inch above my knee, incredulously. "I want to be able to get shit done, don't I?"

"Nope." Gianna smiles. "Or at least you don't want to look like it. You want to like... You got your nails done this morning and spent the rest of the day flirting with the pool boy, okay? This isn't it."

"Maybe I want to be a comare," I grumble.

"All the judgment, none of the power?" Gianna raises one eyebrow. "Trust me, a mafia mistress is not an enviable position."

"Fine." I sigh. "What should I be picking out? I get the feeling this isn't the last time I'm going to see these women."

"Far from it." She drifts off into the nearby racks. "They were just giving you space to settle back in. Now that you're officially a girlfriend with a living boss, I'd expect to spend half your week juggling luncheons, brunches, and teas." "And college," I say. "And still being a goddamn member because I'm not giving that up either."

Gianna doesn't answer, and I turn back to myself in the mirror. I picked this suit out because it was kind of the same color as Nicky's, but I thought it would suit my eyes. With Gianna's words ringing in my ears, I can only see the issues. It is too big, and kind of old-looking, and everybody would stare at me in this just as much as they did Mama's skirts. Again, I wish I could call her without my stomach rioting and trying to climb out my throat. Mama would know what to say to make me feel like myself again.

"Try this." Gianna reappears with an armful of black and pink fabric. "Best of both worlds."

I accept it and hide away in the dressing room. The pink, such an aggressive neon it's impossible to look away, turns out to be a fitted, silky camisole with black lace on the top. I turn my back to the mirror and pull the top over my head. The suit I was just wearing looked like a bad imitation of Nicky. The navy one crumpled in the corner Gianna had already rejected looked like something Mama would've picked out for me to wear to a college interview. The gray dress next to it was just another color of my funeral dress, something Eleni-before-Dante picked out to look serious. And as much as I tried, the outfits I wore when I was running the Saints still looked like femme Dante. I am different from any of those people

now.

Maybe I need to dress differently too.

After the camisole is a pair of pants. Leather pants. My heart almost falls out of my ass, but I squeeze myself into them. Still not looking. I can't until it's done, or I'm going to lose any shred of hope I have.

Finally, I put on the final piece, a black blazer long enough to brush the bottom of my ass with a beautiful, blue floral lining. I shove the sleeves up to my elbows, but they won't stay. Eventually, I give up and fold them, exposing a little of the lining.

My heart hammers. Everything fits like a dream, and I think I could actually move, but I feel really exposed. The pants hug everything, and the camisole hides even less. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and march out to see Gianna. Her jaw drops. My face heats.

"You look incredible," she says, beaming. "Like, beyond. What do you think?"

"I...didn't look," I admit. "I wanted to see your reaction first." "Well, I think it's basically amazing." She grins. With another deep breath, I turn.

I don't recognize the woman in the mirror. She looks confident, badass. Unstoppable. Like she could rule the wives and crush Tandon and give Dante a run for his money. Like the person I thought I could be when I was running the Saints. "I think something's a little off," Gianna says.

I pale. Of course I can't pull this off. I look like a slut.

"Don't freak!" She steps up behind me in the mirror. "I don't know if they have it here, but just consider...."

She drapes a blue scarf over the pink top, and the whole vision clicks. My eyes shine. The exposed cuffs make sense. I can already picture the powder-blue heels that'll complete the look.

"The pink was your color," I say quietly.

She nods. "And you're happiest in something a shade or two subtler."

The woman in the mirror doesn't look subtle. She looks like she wears brass knuckles as an accessory. But I want to be her.

"It's perfect," I say.