บททั้งหมดของ Indebted to the Mafia King: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Eleni Two days after my night in Dante’s office, I sit on the king bed Mama and I have been sharing with my knees curled up to my chest. I haven’t seen more than a glimpse of him since then. He helped me dress, made me promise to go to the bathroom, gave me one last searing kiss, and then…nothing.“I feel ridiculous.” Mama turns from the closet that was slowly stocked with clothes in her size and preferred style over the last week with a sweater in her hands. “I should just take everything, yes? Even if I’ll never wear it back home?”“You should take whatever you want, Mama.” I smooth a pair of pants in her open suitcase. “You never know if you might travel someday.”“It is free.” She looks at the bright blue sweater. “What are you packing, zouzouni?”I have gotten good at not flinching when she asks me questions like this. I really did mean to tell her that night. But when I walked away from Dante with my knees still weak and told he

EleniI blink awake, not remembering falling asleep or the slick leather under my cheek. Music still pounds into my hazy skull, but much softer now. The last thing I’m certain of is dancing at Piacere, and then…Dante?“I know you’re awake,” he says from somewhere in the room.I sit up, and the room blurs like I’m in a cartoon until I’m upright. Mostly upright. My eyes catch on a wall clock that says it’s one in the morning. Then, I see Dante behind a crisp, modernist, black-glass desk. I blink a few times. Nope, he doesn’t look happy.“So?” I lever myself to my feet. Gianna convinced me to wear one of her dresses and a pair of her heels, so standing is even more of a challenge than it otherwise might be. She also convinced me not all alcohol tastes like the crap Dante drinks, and boy was she right about that.“So,” he repeats. “So, Luca Lombardi is still out there. You’re in danger, Eleni. Do you get that?”“Yes,” I say with total confidence. I recognize enough of those words to be co

Eleni Warm desire coils between my legs as Dante stares at me, his eyes burning and proof of my disobedience behind me. Part of me wants to run to his bed, to do whatever he asks. The rest of me wants to know how far I can push him.I cross my arms under my boobs, pushing them higher. “Make me.”His gaze turns impossibly darker. “Green if you’re good. Yellow if you need a moment. Red if you need me to stop.”I blink. “What?”He prowls closer. “I’m going to take you apart, El, and I want to hear you scream. We need these words so I know when you’re serious. Repeat them.”“Green if I’m good, yellow if I need a moment, red if I want to stop,” I say, not really understanding but liking the hunger in his voice.“Good.” He smiles.He snatches me and throws me over his shoulder. I don’t even have time to yelp before he&r

Eleni I scroll down a page on my online textbook and glance at the clock on the dining room wall. Nearly one. When I woke up in bed alone, I was a little frustrated. Last night was nothing short of magical for me, but I’ve seen movies, so I know what sneaking out before the other person wakes up means. When I searched the whole house for Dante and didn’t find him—or any note—I was worried. I know he’s a boss, and that means he’s always going to work weird hours, but this much of a rush in the middle of a weekday seems strange. But now, as I sit at his massive, luxurious dining room table trying and failing to do homework for night classes I haven’t been to in what feels like years, I’m downright scared. There’s no sign of Dante except an espresso cup with a thin film remaining at the bottom. I talked to a couple of the staff, and one of them said Tony rushed Dante out as soon as he woke up, so he

Dante A few days after dropping Eleni off upstate, I sit in the cheap, plastic chair of the Sing Sing Correctional private visitation room and eye the guard standing in the corner. He’s not our usual guy, but Hank promised this guy would be just as good.“I’m Dante,” I say to fill the silence before my prisoner arrives.He grunts. “You bring the shit?”Certainly not the conversationalist Hank is. I pull the plastic-wrapped Cubans out of my inside jacket pocket and slide them across the table. The new guy picks them up, sniffs them, and they disappear in a crease in his uniform, in the way every prison guard I’ve ever met seems to have mastered. I’ve never been inside myself, and I’m not looking forward to that day, if it ever comes. I knock surreptitiously on the engineered-wood table and hope that’s enough to scare away the bad luck.The door buzzes, then opens to admit Uncl