Indebted to the Mafia King
Old Friends

Dante

I trudge into Piacere as the sun starts to dip low in the sky. Long day at the docks today. It needed to be done some of my foremen get uppity if I don't check in often enough but fuck, I hate docks days. The regular LEDs cast my club in an unattractive light, destroying all the magic. I shamble past janitors cleaning up and dancers in sweats practicing routines on the poles. I'm actually looking forward to the paperwork awaiting me downstairs because it means I get to sit my ass

down for a second.

On a whim, I pause at the bar and wait for Carla to walk over.

"Send a glass of scotch down to my office." I think for a moment. "Maybe just send the decanter."

My club manager nods sharply. "The decanter would be smart. You have a guest."

"A guest?" My eyebrows shoot up. "Who the hell did you let into my office?"

"A woman who swore up and down she knew you." Carla raises her hands defensively. "She had the phrase."

I spin away from the bar and scowl as I storm down to my office. The phrase had been a fucking stupid idea. Anybody who knew the right words to say gained access to my office without Carla having to call me for every approval. In concept, it streamlined her day. In practice, it was stupid spy-movie shit I didn't know how to get rid of. I opened the door to my office.

One of the chairs across from my desk spun slowly around to reveal its occupant. Camila, in a pure-white suit with no shirt under the jacket. My frustration melts into tiredness. I forgot I gave her the phrase. No red alert. I drop into my chair behind my desk, and my muscles groan as they finally relax.

"What brings you out of the city?" I ask. "We're not hiring for dancers right now."

She laughs, a high, clear sound. "You're sweet. I don't know if anyone is hiring dancers my age."

39

I wave her words away. "You're barely thirty. I think you look as beautiful as the first day I saw you in my father's club. With the right lighting, you could go from a widow to a mobster's wife again in no time."

She shakes her head in mock hurt. "You know just how to make a lady feel special. What kept you out so long?"

"Work." I rub the back of my neck. "What else? You weren't waiting long, were you? You can text me."

"You're sweet, but it wasn't that long." She stands and holds up her hands. "Do you mind? I've been told I have magic fingers."

I roll my eyes. "I told you that, and I was drunk."

"Still." She waggles her fingers.

I hesitate. Camila really is as beautiful as I remember. But a shoulder massage doesn't mean anything, especially when I don't want anything to do with anyone other than Eleni. And she was great at those. I nod.

She circles around behind me and begins working knots out of my muscles. "I was just swinging by to catch up. The organization looks good. Though there were a few new faces at that barbecue." "Yeah, recruitment is up," I say. "A little to the left."

She obeys immediately. Always did. "I couldn't help but notice you've got a new woman in your life."

"That I do," I say slowly.

"Where did you meet her?"

"Her family got caught under the Lombardi's thumb." It's a true enough story, and all Camila needs to know. "I pulled her out, and she stuck."

"Stuck," she repeats. "Not very romantic."

"I didn't mean "

Camila laughs. "I'm just teasing. She's cute. A little young. Has she even graduated?"

"Her schooling got delayed," I say. "But she's entering the Tandon Institute in the fall." I squirm under her hands. "How are things with you?"

"Oh fine, fine," she says breezily. "Tandon is impressive. What's she majoring in?"

This is starting to feel like a cat-and-mouse game, and I've never liked being the mouse. "Why did you come to the barbecue? I thought you were done with those."

"Curiosity." She digs hard enough into a knot that I can feel her acrylic nails. "I wanted to know what shiny new toy pulled your attention away."

I shake off her hands and shove my chair back, making her skitter away to avoid being hit. "Eleni isn't a toy."

"She could've fooled me, in that outfit." Camila smirks.

My blood boils. Eleni isn't some thing Camila can come here and make snide comments about.

"She is my girlfriend and-" I barely catch myself from blurting the words "mother of my children." We haven't even begun to broach that topic yet. I simply glare at Camila.

She puts her hands up. "No offense meant. Really, I should've known. You're approaching that age."

"The age where men marry strippers they've known for seventy-two hours?" I ask, deadpan.

Her smirk barely flickers, unhurt by the jab. Her relationship with her husband was an open secret.

I point to the door. "I take care of you because my code dictates that I do, as a widow of my organization. Reducing that care would be no great burden." I look her up and down. "I strongly doubt anyone would object if I threw you out on your gold-digging ass."

She sniffs and strides out without another word. I drop into the seat behind my desk and put my head in my hands. Fucking Camila. How long has it been since we even talked? She always had big ideas about what belongs to her, even back when Marco was one of my dad's senior capos. I've never put much stock in the rumor she killed him, but I couldn't deny she was better without him. Bigger. Even when bigger was fucking annoying like this.

My phone rings, and I check the caller ID. My heart skips a beat. I pick up.

"I figured you'd call eventually. Is this line tapped, or can we talk like men?"