“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 smacks the top of the counter, and I watch my dad bite down a scowl. He’s always preferred his given name, Gregorio, but he tolerates customers who call him Greg. Frank has only ever called him Georgie. “Got the place all to yourself tonight?”
“No, I—” Baba stops mid-sentence.
I flinch as I realize his mistake. Like one creature, Frank and his men turn to me.
“Oh, I should’ve known little Ellie would be here.” Frank oozes past the rows of packaged goods to where I stand by the garbage can. “You look good in an apron, baby girl.”
I smooth the polyester black half-apron around my waist and smile.
“And even better when you smile,” one of his men calls.
“Bet you’d look best of all in nothin’ but the apron.” The third one smirks.
My face burns, and I start to turn away, but I catch Baba’s eye. As always, when Frank comes in, his dark gaze fills with pain. He hates seeing them treat me like this, but he can’t stop them. Not without consequences. And as humiliating as it is to be treated like a piece of meat, I’ll do anything to keep my family from facing those consequences.
As I turn, one of them smacks my butt. I can’t help it. I squeal loudly.
“You got a screamer here, Georgie,” Frank calls over his shoulder. “But with her tits pressed up to her chin like that and her ass wagging, I bet you already know that. I bet she’s been entertaining the neighborhood for a while now.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and I hurry away into the shelves of the bodega half of the store before Baba can see how much Frank’s words hurt. I know how people look at me. I got Mama’s height, which is to say, none at all, but the body of the women on Baba’s side. Even in my high-necked T-shirt, a sports bra, and loose pants, men always comment on my curves. Frank Lombardi and his men are just the only ones who have the lack of respect to try to touch me where my dad can see.
Frank swaggers back over to the counter, places his order, and receives sandwiches for each of his men.
“Great little place you got here, Georgie.” He taps on the counter. “Be a shame if something happened to it.”
His guys laugh like hyenas as they finally leave. I exhale and step out of the shelves.
“I’m so sorry.” Baba stretches his hands across the counter for mine.
I smile and step forward to take them. His right hand is powerful and thickly calloused from years of working all the different kitchen tools needed to produce the authentic gyros that keep The Greek Corner afloat. His left hand…. I swallow. Back when I was in high school, Baba missed a payment. Frank said he would be kind, since it was Baba’s first. Instead of taking the restaurant, he’d only take three of Baba’s fingers. I grab both his hands and squeeze. The awkward pinch of just his thumb and forefinger feels like home after all these years.
“I know, Baba,” I say. “You can’t do anything about them.”
He glances at the door then leans in. “It’s worse than usual, chryso mou. He just increased the protection rate, and I don’t know if we have it.”
I pale and look at the calendar over his shoulder. This Sunday is circled in red. Only five days to make the money, or we find out what happens when Frank Lombardi isn’t feeling so nice.
***
I scurry into the back of the class, thankfully only ten minutes late. Professor Calhoun catches my eye and frowns, but he doesn’t point me out to the rest of the class. I know he just wants me to do well. I want to do well. I pull out my laptop and peer at the slideshow on the board. We’re still on advanced HTML, which is fantastic, because learning HTML for The Greek Corner’s website was what interested me in computer science in the first place. I’ve barely missed anything.
“Okay, you absolutely can’t tell anyone this, but I heard the craziest thing about this club called Piacere out on Staten Island,” the brunette in front of me whispers to the redhead next to her.
I frown. I can barely hear Professor Calhoun. Just as I’m about to shush them, the brunette continues, “They’re doing a virginity auction. Apparently, some girls get thousands of dollars just to give their virginity away to some sleazeball willing to pay for it.”
The redhead gasps. My heart drops into my toes. A virginity auction. Between how much time I spend helping at The Greek Corner and how much time I spend with Mama and Baba since Christos disappeared two years ago, I haven’t dated anyone since middle school, and I’m not a one-night stand type of girl. I would need a real connection to feel safe.
“You’re joking, right?” the redhead asked.
The brunette shook her head. “Nope. I met a girl who did it last year. It’s like an annual thing, and the next one’s on Saturday.”
Baba has five days to make the money Frank needs. Saturday is four days away. Three fingers and my older brother is enough to lose. I scribble down every detail the girls whisper to each other and start mentally shuffling through my closet for something that might be appropriate to wear to a virginity auction.
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
EleniI whirl. There, on an even softer looking leather couch, wearing another pitch-black suit, sits Dante. He smiles slightly as he swirls a glass of some dark liquor and looks me up and down.“Um,” I say.He stands and prowls closer. My heart hammers against my ribcage. “You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs.“What?” I blink. “I have the same right to be here that all those other girls do.”Dante chuckles, low and teasing. I gulp.“You actually don’t.” He circles around behind me. “Piacere is my club, and everyone knows the Calimeris family—including their charming daughter El—belongs to the Lombardis.”The rage that ignited in me when I saw Baba in the kitchen flames back to life. “My family doesn’t belong to anyone. And I didn’t know this was your club. I don’t know anything about you.”He circles back around so I can see him again and opens his arms wide. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”I mean to ask him why I’m back here, what he wants from me. But I’ve never been good at co
EleniI slip out of the front door of Piacere without looking at the stage, where the auction is still going on, or the line of people outside. People—men—from both groups jeer at me, but I ignore them. The envelope of money weighs down the inside pocket of my jacket. Fifty thousand dollars. I hurry through the streets. I have to get home before Baba and Mama wake. The last thing I want is to worry them.Only when I’m already on the ferry back to the city proper do I think about Dante. My face heats. I threw myself at him, and he basically refused. I bite my lower lip, still tingling from the heat and pressure of his kiss. I really thought he wanted me. Stupid. Men like him only ever want me for my body, but I could tell he wanted someone with more to them than that. He just didn’t see more in me.Tears bead in my eyes, and I shake my head. Sure, I sold more to Dante than I ever wanted to, but I have the money. Mama can stop cleaning up Baba’s blood, at least. When I arrive home, I l
DanteI drop into my leather desk chair and cradle the hot mug of coffee I picked up in the kitchen to my chest. The virginity auction at the club is usually a great way to make some money and pull new eyes. I show up every year, but I’ve never bid before. I’m no saint, but women who’ve never had any kind of sex before tend not to be as…flexible in bed as I prefer. But goddamn Eleni Calimeris. El, as she called herself, one of the worst fake names I’ve ever heard. I can’t get her out of my head. When I went to The Greek Corner the other day, I was just hoping to rile Frank Lombardi. The dickhead gets reckless when he’s mad, so pissing him off is almost always good business. I didn’t expect Eleni. I take a sip of the coffee and allow myself a minute to think about her before I have to do some work. The bun she’d worn to the auction last night made it impossible to think about anything but tasting the skin of her neck. When I asked her what the gyro tasted like to her, her soft blue e
EleniI blink awake and discover someone removed the bag from my head. I lie on a scratchy couch in what looks like someone’s wood-paneled basement, still wearing my sweatshirt and nightgown. A single lightbulb battles against the dark, but it barely reaches the walls. I suck in a breath, and the musty scent of underground combines with just a hint of the metallic stench I remember from the apartment.The apartment. Where I left Baba dead. Mama isn’t here, so at least they haven’t caught her yet. Or they killed her too. Tears fill my eyes, and I lift a hand to swipe them away.Both of my hands move, accompanied by the sharp bite of plastic. I look down. Someone zip-tied my wrists together. And my ankles.
DanteI stare down at Eleni, bloody, bruised, and half-covered. Rage lights in my veins, something deeper and truer than I’ve felt before. I knew Frank Lombardi was scum. I’ve touched enough blood that he spilled to never question that. But violating Eleni like this is something new. It’s the end of the goddamn line for him.She stares up at me, and the confusion in her wide, blue eyes morphs slowly into fear. “Dante? Wh-why are you here?”Fuck. I never want to scare her. I kneel and snap out my switchblade. She flinches, but I can’t do anything about that. I slit the zip ties around her ankles, fix her skirt, then hold out my hands for her wrists, struggling to keep my movements slow and calming.
*Tatiana*I feel like I must’ve gotten run over by a truck. My head is pounding so hard, I feel like vomiting, but even so, I force my eyes to open. There’s no light here except for a dim stream coming through a tiny window near the top of the wall in front of me, so it’s difficult for my eyes to adapt.There are strands of hair in front of my eyes and face, and when I lift my hand to push them aside, I realize my wrists are tied behind my back in what feels like a very thick, tight rope. My legs are also strapped to the chair, both my ankles tied. I can barely move.Panic starts creeping through me as I realize what’s going on. Images of the recent events flash through my mind, making me remember how I ended up here, wherever I am.I look from one side to the other, taking in my surroundings. Even though it’s dark and humid here, I spot some tools and boxes that make me think this has to be a basement. The place is quiet, and there seems to be no one around, although I doubt they’d l
*Angelo*“I’ve got her,” I inform the rest of my men who are all wearing earpieces. “I’m taking her to the car.”“Roger that,” Dice replies right away. “We’ll meet you there.”I toss the woman’s limp body over my shoulder and step out of the alley, ignoring the curious and frightened stares I receive from pedestrians bustling by on the street.The SUV is parked in front of the deli, and when Sal spots me, he climbs from behind the wheel and rushes to open the back door for me. I place the woman in the back seat—carefully, even though I don’t need to be—and go around to the other side so I can sit beside her. I buckle us both in and wait for the others to load up.Even though I knocked her out, and she probably won’t wake up in the next few hours, I still need to keep a close eye on her, just in case she wakes up and tries some funny business. I’ll watch her the entire way until we’re out of this part of the city and safe in our territory where we’re less likely to be attacked.“That w
*Tatiana*Getting someone to help me proves to be an almost impossible task, even once I wander into a populated area of New York City.I know literally no one in this city, and it’s not like I can trust anyone. While I’m fairly certain my adoptive parents had allies here, I have no fucking idea who they are or how to find them. Oleg must have eyes and ears everywhere, so it makes me hesitant to approach anyone.But in this dress, I’m an easy target for anyone who might be helping him. New York is a crazy place, but I’m probably the only woman in a bloody, ripped-up wedding gown on the streets today. If the mob doesn’t get to me, the police certainly will.My stomach is beginning to ache from the knot that formed in there weeks ago, but I force myself to take deep breaths. At least I’m able to hold back my tears–for now. My whole life turned upside down in a blink of an eye, and having to suppress my feelings so I don’t show my weakness to Oleg and Yakov has taken its toll on me.Pic
TatianaHow the hell am I supposed to escape this place when I have no fucking idea where I am? Running toward the back of the chapel seemed to make the most sense to me since the fighting is all happening at the front–at least for now–so I sprint toward the door the priest likely used and pray it’s unlocked.Thankfully, it is. I slam through it, looking around to ascertain if there’s any danger here. I see the priest huddled in the corner and almost roll my eyes. Hiking my skirt up, I take off toward a door I believe has to be an exit.“You shouldn’t go that!” he shouts. “They’re out there, too!”But my momentum carries me through the door before I can think, and I nearly run into a couple of Oleg’s men who are defending the back entryway against what appears to be another syndicate, one of the many groups of enemies Oleg has accumulated over the years, no doubt.“How the fuck did they find us?” one of the men in front of me shouts to the other in a thick Russian accent. I just have
*Tatiana*A tacky, overly poofy white gown hangs on the back of the bathroom door next to the full-length mirror. I take a deep breath and drag a hand down my face. How the fuck am I getting out of this?I hoped I’d have more time to escape, but this day has come more quickly than anticipated, and now, here I am. The fuckers got me to the church on time.“What do you think?” one of the maids who will be helping me get dressed asks, a timid smile on her face.Arching an eyebrow, I say, “I think I’d be better suited to black.”She laughs nervously and pulls the fancy frock down off the hanger. I have to assume this contraption cost thousands of dollars and was designed by one of New York’s biggest names in fashion.It’s a death trap to me.It would look so much better with a spray of vomit across the front.Telling myself I need to focus, I listen to the maids prattle on about how they’re going to do my hair and makeup and other such bullshit I couldn’t care less about.“This dress is m
*Tatiana*I spend most of my time in “my” room. Images of my parents bleeding out fill my mind, whether I’m awake or asleep. Even sitting by the window, staring out at the serene garden behind the mansion, I can’t shake the overwhelming sadness and revulsion that fills my body with every shuddering breath I inhale.No one comes into my room except for the maids–and that’s a good thing. When I have to see Oleg again, it will be all I can do to keep from lunging at him and trying to take him out right now. I will kill him–but I can’t be impulsive, or I’ll spoil my chance. Something tells me he won’t hesitate to kill me if he feels it’s necessary, regardless of all of his plans for me.No, I need to bide my time. Lie in wait. Strike when the timing is right.When I’m not picturing my parents’ pale bodies sitting in those chairs, I imagine what it will be like to kill him. That’s the only time I allow myself a bit of happiness, a small smile, when I think about what it will be like to hav
*Tatiana*As soon as the plane touches down at JFK airport, a wave of anxiety washes over me. This is my first time leaving my home country of Russia. I’ve spent my entire life looking over my shoulder, waiting for my asshole uncle, Oleg Romina, to show up and finish the job he started twenty years ago when he murdered my parents in cold blood. Now, he’s summoned the only parents I’ve ever known, Lev and Ilya Ivanov, to return to America. I insisted they bring me along, but as we deboard the plane, a sense of unease settles into my chest.My biological father, Petr Romina, used to be the boss of the Romina Empire, a smaller Russian mob that has territory in several countries, including New York where Oleg resides. When I was old enough to understand the kind of life our family used to have, Lev and Illya told me the truth about my parents’ deaths. My mother was my dad’s mistress, and when Oleg learned that they were planning on getting married, his greed made him murder both of them,
*Angelo*Sweat drips from my forehead into my eyes as I run through the streets, in too much of a hurry to even consider finding a car or waiting for someone to come and pick me up. Traffic would only slow me down, and I can’t afford to lose a single second.My heart beats so fast that my chest hurts. My legs grow weak as I try to push forward, shoving away the worst case scenarios in my head. I force my lungs to take in as much air as possible because I certainly need it.More than that, I need to be able to focus. I can’t risk making a single mistake. The streets are empty, proving everyone that says that New York City never sleeps wrong.I round a corner and see my final destination–but I’m too late.The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Several bodies litter the ground. I step over them, afraid to look down in case I recognize some of them. I can guarantee the person I’m looking for doesn’t lie among them.Some of the Saints men arrive right after me. I was nea
CalThe Basilica of St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral hums with excitement. Murmurs from the intimate crowd waiting in the pews whisper through the air, rising to the impressive ceilings as sunlight fans through the stained glass. I’m sweating balls in the tuxedo Tony insisted I wear. It fits like a glove–perfectly tailored–which Tony said was because his tailor is Italian, and they always know best. In fact, Tony’s wife, Chloe, and her mob wife minions put this wedding together for us down to the smallest detail. I don’t know half of the gathered crowd, but judging by the cheetah print and hair gel, most of these people are Saints in some way. The Irish Kings stand out, however, because they’re lining every exit–armed to the teeth. Tony stalks over to where I’m standing near the altar waiting for the ceremony to begin. He glances around, leaning in to say, “I’ve got guys outside.”“Thanks,” I grumble, tugging at my tie. He looks toward the crowd. I know he feels the same way I do abou