All Chapters of Indebted to the Mafia King: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

DanteI scream up to the house, but I know what I’m going to find before I even get out of the car. My front door hangs dangerously open, warm light pouring onto the lawn I spent so much of my goddamn life, so much goddamn money keeping within HOA-approved lengths. That doesn’t stop me from leaping out of the driver’s seat, engine still running, and sprinting inside.Ben stares up at me, a grinning death’s head. One bullet hole, in the middle of his throat. A distant part of my brain registers that they had to get close, that it’s a quick death.The rest of me shouts, “Eleni?”I expect the silence, but it’s like stepping in front of an oncoming train. The pain doesn’t hurt any less because I know it’s coming. My breath turns ragged, scraping in and out of my throat as I step over Ben’s corpse.The next trail of blood leads me to the front sitting room and Andrea. Fuck. Another throat shot, like a signature. My head of house, the only woman keeping me alive before Eleni, weeps blood on

EleniI roll over in the thin cot, my whole body aching, and stare blearily at the dull gray ceiling. The crack in one corner looks like it might’ve grown another millimeter since I last checked. Not that I know how long it’s been. There are no windows in here and just one heavy, metal door without even one of those little, barred windows you always see in movies to give me a clue what time it is. Camila dropped me off days or hours or months ago, and I haven’t seen her since. I push myself up to sit, intending to do whatever kind of exercise I can in here to pass the time or keep in shape for whatever empty opportunity I get. So far, all opportunities have been met with beatings. Bruises collect on my body between bright incisions where the edge of a nightstick or gun caught me.My stomach twists. I lurch to my feet, stumble a few steps, and fall to my knees in front of the flat approximation of a toilet they allow me in here, the only furniture other than my cot. My breakfast—or

EleniAnother millimeter on that crack in the ceiling. Or maybe the same millimeter as last time. If the cot were a little higher, I could trace it with my fingers. Yagdash hasn’t been back in three meals, and I don’t know whether I dreamed his message anymore.“—the fuck do you mean, no?” a woman shrieks.I lever myself up on an elbow. I haven’t heard a woman’s voice since Camila last left.“I need more protection here!” The voice grows louder, as if approaching, and I realize it is Camila. “Are you fucking listening to me? At least half a dozen men.”Someone murmurs a response, but their voice is too low for me to hear. Their statement ends in a thud I can’t make sense of from inside my concrete cell.“Last night, those fucking redheaded gnats hit the White Winter. We lost people. And I put my ass on the line, promising the White Winter was fucking untouchable,” she yells. “That means they’re closing in.”“No,” the other voice rumbles. “It means your ass is on the line. He’s not goi

EleniI pace the few steps back and forth in my tiny concrete cell, trying to keep my thoughts in order. Somewhere outside, someone made something with cabbage, and the reek of it is making it hard to think. But I need to focus. If I can count all the meals I’ve had, maybe I can figure out how long I’ve been here, and then I’ll know whether Camila was lying about the baby.Nine meals since Yagdash and the message. I think. Or was it ten? No, eight. Okay, that’s too far. I’ve had one meal since I woke up. Before that….I sit down with a groan. Counting is impossible down here, and the stench is only making it worse! My period has always been regular. Dante and I used protection. Surely, I’ll know when I’m pregnant.Deep in the darkest recesses of my mind, I kind of hope I’m not. I can picture a family with Dante someday, but if I’m pregnant now, and Camila knows, she’s going to find a way to make me choose between the baby and him. I just know it.Muffled by the thick cement walls arou

EleniI blink awake to something warm on my face. My stomach grumbles threateningly around its emptiness, and I start to sit up to find the bedpan.Something restrains my left arm. Two somethings. I turn slowly in the sun-drenched bed, fighting for enough memories to put together where I am. The first something is Dante, slumped in an armchair from the living room of the safehouse upstate but still holding onto my hand. He looks actually, properly relaxed, his brow unlined for once. The sun sparkles off something in our entwined hands, and for a heart-racing moment, I think he found my engagement ring. But no, he’s slipped his ring onto my thumb, where it barely fits. Tears fill my eyes as I manage a wobbly smile.The second something is an IV full of clear liquid. Unlabeled bag. My arm aches—everything does—but I feel steadier than I have in ages. Like sleep actually refreshed me. I can even tell someone did something to my mouth because it tastes minty fresh instead of like old vom