Indebted to the Mafia King

Eleni

I stand on the wrecked stage of Piacere and turn in a slow circle. The two bars glisten under thick drifts of broken glass, and puddles of spilled alcohol drool away from them. Not a table stands upright. More than half of them are splintered. Under the brilliant daytime lights of the club, goosebumps pepper my skin. It feels like looking at a ghost.

It feels like looking at The Greek Corner, the day after Baba's murder and my rescue, when Tony took me back.

Dante storms up the stairs. "They took a good fucking chunk out of the basement, but either they couldn't find the secret door, or they couldn't get through."

His eyes dance with rage. I step over one of the poles, ripped from its mooring to lean against the stage, and close the distance between us. Still, I don't touch him. There's an electricity radiating off him that I can't catch up with yet. My anger feels dull, faraway. It's too much like that day, the day my whole life changed, for me to touch it yet.

"Anyone hurt?" I ask.

"Massimo," he says. "The bartender. Clubbed with a bottle of whiskey when he went for the gun under the bar."

I suck in a breath through my teeth. Massimo is a new hire, made under my reign. I promised him this was just a club. This is my fault.

"It doesn't make any fucking sense," Dante continues. "Four dancers in the back. Carla in the upstairs office. They swept through the whole goddamn place, if the matchsticks I have for furniture are anything to go by, but they only hit Massimo." "Is he okay?" I ask.

Dante waves my words away. "Domino's en route. He's conscious."

Not dead. I exhale sharply. "You said there were other people? Did they see anything?"

He whirls on me. "Do I look like I'm in the mood to play fucking good cop, bad cop right now? You go fucking talk to them, if you care so goddamn much."

Like a spark on paper, my numbness burns away. I shove Dante. He doesn't move.

"Watch who you're fucking talking to like that," I spit. "I'm going to go talk to your goddamn people who were attacked in your goddamn club and see if I can get something more useful than a fucking attitude out of them."

I don't give him time to respond, just turn on my heel and march into the back. Carla will be with the dancers at this point, making sure they're okay. And Dante will cool the fuck down if I give him a second. Let him take his rage out on a broom if he's so pissed.

The door to the dressing room stands open when I reach it, and I duck in to find Gianna with Crystal, Sabrina, and Tiff in the corner, and Carla furiously typing on her laptop next to them. When she sees me, Gianna bursts from the huddle of dancers and throws herself at me. I wrap her in a hug.

"What the hell happened?" I ask.

"We were just getting ready," she says. "We didn't even know anything was happening until the big crash."

"Crash?"

Carla meets my gaze. "The first bar, I suspect. I heard the doors burst open. Which means I had the chance to intervene before they hit Massimo, and these young women did not."

Gianna releases me and whips around. "Don't do that. If you tried to get involved, they'd have hit you too."

"Or worse," Sabrina adds.

Carla returns to glaring at her laptop. "Does this mean Dante is here?"

I nod.

"Good," she says. "I have information for him."

She starts to stand, and I put up a hand.

"He's in a bitchy mood. Give me the information, and I'll let him know when he's less likely to blow up."

She purses her lips. "Will he not blow up at you?"

"I know how to handle him." I smile wanly.

As one, the dancers look at my hand. Despite the fear still quivering through most of their limbs, my engagement pulls attention. I know Gianna told them. I just haven't had time to go to Piacere since it happened.

I sit on the floor with them and hold out my hand for them to admire as we talk. "Did any of you see anything?"

"Three men," Carla says.

"Four," Gianna corrects. "But two of them were twins or so damn similar it doesn't matter, and they tried to stay apart."

Carla inclines her head. "They dragged us all out into the middle of the club."

"It was only half-destroyed." Crystal's lower lip quivers. "When they made us sit. We had to watch while they did the rest. And they had us sit back to back and shot the ceiling if we moved."

"They had guns, but they didn't use them?" I ask.

"Not on us," Carla replies.

I frown. She nods in agreement.

"It was kind of like they wanted to be scary, but not messy," Gianna says. "Like they didn't want any more clean up than would cost a fuckload of money."

"Okay." I nod slowly. "And what did they look like?"

Everyone starts talking at once. I pick out a few details. All white men. Mostly tall and broad. One with bad teeth. All of them were bald. No, one had a ponytail. The twins moved like the same person. Carla puts up her hand, and the rest of them fall silent.

"They had tattoos," she says. "And I'm writing down everything I can remember about them now."

I take a deep breath in relief. Tattoos, we can use. The rest could be feds-doubtful, but it could be or the Irish, or the Russians, or some enemy we don't even know about yet. I put out my hands, and Carla gives me her laptop. I skim the lines of text quickly and feel the blood drain from my face.

"Russians," I say.

Gianna winces. The rest of the dancers murmur amongst themselves.

"Okay." I give Carla back her laptop and stand. "I'm going to go talk to Dante. I'd bet we're going to be closed tonight, so if Gianna took all of you to that spa in the city we went to with Mama the other day, I could find a way to get that paid for." Gianna pats my leg. "You're a good boss."

I laugh, half out of overwhelm, and head back out to the front of the club. Dante stands in the middle of the mess with Tony, pointing people in this direction and that as clean-up begins. I walk right up to him.

"It's the Russians," I say.

"I fucking know that," he snaps.

I raise an eyebrow at him. He takes a deep breath.

"How are they?" he says quietly.

"They're going to a spa," I reply. "You're paying."

Tony snorts. Dante punches him, then kisses me on the cheek.

"Thank you, El. You're right."

I grin, partially at Tony, and take in the mess of the club again. Now, having made sure everyone I love is safe this time, it looks less like The Greek Corner. It looks more like a fucking insult I can't wait to pay back. The old anger simmers back to life in my veins.

"So who's the boss of the Russians?" I ask.

"Count Dracula," Tony replies.

"Stupid name." I smile. "He'll-"

Dante shakes his head. "Tony's being a dick. We don't...know, exactly."

I stare around me, my stomach sinking. Whoever this was stepped onto our territory, messed up our shit, and we have no idea who to hit back?

"Don't worry, El." Dante wraps an iron arm around my waist. "We're going to find out. And they're going to fucking pay."