EleniThe next morning, my vibrating phone wakes me before my alarm. I shoot up in bed, immediately certain Dante snuck out, that he’s captured or bleeding out at Henry’s feet.He lays in bed next to me, his dark hair rumpled. As I watch, he rolls over to reveal a dent from the pillowcase in his cheek. I exhale slowly and pick up my phone.Mama’s calling. I glance at Dante one last time, then grab a robe and pad out into the hallway.“Hi, Mama,” I say.“I am very disappointed,” she says severely.I rub my eyes, check the time. It’s barely six-thirty. What could I have done already?“I told you I was going out to Staten Island,” I say.“Pah.” She huffs a breath. “You think I’m worried about that? No, zouzouni, I want to know why I just had to find out the date of your wedding from some woman”—she says the word like it’s poison—“showing up at the door to ask you about something called a save-the-date. Am I not your mama anymore?”“What?” I freeze at the top of the stairs. “We don’t have
DanteI walk up to a shuttered bodega. Pieces of the paper sign flap in the wind, declaring that I can get “sacks” and “dinks” inside. New York City flows around this abandoned piece of itself, not even glancing at it.Perfect.I slide into the alley beside it, unlock the chain on the back door, and step inside. Tony and Cal Duncan stand in the flickering light of the ex-backroom, now lined with knives, cattle prods, ropes, and any other torture instrument a Saint has come up with in the last decade.“I was wondering if you’d ever show your fine face.” Cal smiles. “I called you as soon as I heard.”“I had other business,” I answer crisply. “What did you catch?”“A tuna, if I do say so myself.”Tony rolls his eyes. “Brigadier. No sign of Fyodor, but the place was obviously important to them.”Someone grunts just past the thin door that separates us from the main room. I smile. Brigadier means decent information.“Who has him?” I ask.“One of my boys wanted first touch.” Cal grins. “Sim
EleniI walk out of Tandon, my hands sore from furiously typing for the last two hours, and blink in the sunlight. No sign of Dante. My stomach sinks.“Have you heard from him?” I ask Amando.He shakes his head. I reach for my phone.And a slick, black coupe pulls up in front of the school. The window buzzes down to reveal Dante inside. In unison, we sigh.“Wait, why were you worried?” I ask.He glances around. “I’ll explain later. You ready for our day?”I look at the tiny car, then at the guards.“They’ll follow behind.” Dante smiles. “Come on.”I’ve never been able to say no to that smile.***I don’t know what I expected when I asked to spend the day with Dante, but I didn’t expect this. It’s a little like the day I first visited the Tandon registrar. We wander the city, shopping aimlessly. Intentionally aimlessly, I realize, like Dante’s trying to create a path no one can follow. Though that sends cold fingers of worry up my spine, I try to just enjoy him. We eat a long, late lun
DanteDinner at Giancarlo’s is spectacular, as always, but I can’t think about anything other than the look on Eleni’s face when she asked me to tell her where to go. Who to be. I’ve seen that look a thousand times, on a thousand different women. Even on El, when I’ve pushed her to her limits in bed. Once upon a time, I thought it was all I wanted in a partner. To be submissive, pliant, able to fit into my world. Hell, I used to think that was what I wanted out of Eleni.But things have changed, she’s right. She’s just wrong about when. Everything changed the moment she told me why to get a gyro. Again when I took her to bed. A third time when I came back from being shot and discovered she’d whipped my crew into shape. Maybe I used to be a Dante who would’ve taken that open request for an answer and written my own will onto it. I can’t anymore. Not with her.We drive back to the house on Staten Island in silence. El’s still quiet as we walk inside, past the guards.“Go to the bedroom,
Eleni“Baba, I have to leave for class in half an hour,” I say as I clear paper plates and cups off one of the high-top tables in the back of The Greek Corner. “I need to change.”My dad huffs a sigh and shoves up from his chair behind the counter. “Yes, chryso mou, I know. But your mama was supposed to be done taking inventory by now to handle customers. Can’t you wait a little?”I bite back a frown and nod. He’s been looking more and more tired since we lost Christos a couple years back. I love the night classes I’ve been taking at the community college a few blocks over, but I’m not going to force my baba to wait tables just so I’m not late. I dump the trash into the garbage can in the back. The bell over the door jingles, and I turn with my customer service smile already plastered on, then freeze.Frank Lombardi, the broad, sneering mobster who’s held my family under his thumb since they came to America, saunters in with a few of his guys. My skin goes cold.“Georgie!” Frank smac
EleniI scoot out of the way of Mr. and Mrs. Behrakis as they leave after their usual Wednesday lunch. Both members of the elderly couple smile at me, and I head for their table to pick up their usual generous tip. I haven’t told Mama or Baba about the virginity auction. I know they’d stop me, but I want to contribute to this family too.The bell over the door tinkles, and I turn. My breath catches. The man stepping inside looks like something out of a movie. His warm, tanned skin stretches taut over sharp cheekbones and a square jaw. His black suit is crisp and perfectly tailored over an equally black shirt and tie. The only element of him that doesn’t seem like it was mathematically designed for perfection is his curly hair, which tumbles just a little bit into his night-dark eyes. He looks around as if trying to find something, and his gaze lands on me. His smile is soft and a little cocky, exposing perfect white teeth. Without a word, he sits at the counter attached to the front w
EleniI scuttle down the sidewalk after class on Friday night. Professor Whitmore was in rare form, actually seeming to be interested in what people had to say when they raised their hands, but I spent most of the class thinking about my plans for the night. I have to sneak out. I’ve never snuck out before, but I’ve seen movies. My bedroom window lets out onto the fire escape, and I’m certain I can get down from there. I shove my hands in my pockets. The closer I get to the auction, the more ridiculous it seems. Am I really going to sneak out to Staten Island to sell my virginity? Am I really willing to give that to someone who’s willing to buy it?The skin on the back of my neck prickles, and I whip around. A couple makes out on a stoop nearby. An older man with a bottle clasped in a brown paper bag shoos away pigeons collecting in front of him. A few homeless people sleep on benches and blankets. No one seems to be looking at me. I rub my neck under my loose ponytail of brown curl
EleniI push the hangers holding my every-day clothes to the side and stare at the few special-occasion dresses I’ve accumulated over the years. I can’t wear my prom dress. The long, glittering baby-pink dress with the lacy sleeves seemed perfect when I picked it out, but I’d stick out like a sore thumb on the ferry. I don’t really want to wear my birthday dress. It stops at my knees, so I might be able to hide it under a long coat, but I picked out the yellow polka-dotted dress because it looked so cheerful, and I don’t want to think of this virginity auction every time we go out to dinner for Mama’s, Baba’s, or my birthday. That leaves me with my funeral dress. I pull the black sheath from the closet and hold it up to my body. It is sleeveless, with just wide straps holding it up, and the skirt doesn’t flare nearly as much as my birthday dress. Every time I wear it to a funeral, I get a little nervous that people might think it’s too sexy because of the fitted top.Perfect.I slide