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
DanteI slam my fist down on the counter, making the cat statue with its paw in the air topple over. “That’s not fucking good enough.”Wing, the boss of the biggest triad in Chinatown, looks at me without a flicker of emotion in his eyes. “You storm into my shop. You set your goon outside to scare away reputable customers. And then you tell me I haven’t met your expectations?”I suck in a breath and grab for the fraying remains of my hold on my temper. A week and a half. She’s been gone for a week and a half, and I’m not any goddamn closer than I was the night she disappeared.If I didn’t know about the three armed bruisers behind the curtain in this stupid fucking tea shop Wing and I both know handles a paltry portion of their money laundering, I’d already have my gun out. As is, I glance at Tony through the plate-glass store windows and remind myself he can’t get in here fast enough.“Is there anything else?” I ask, not bothering to keep the strain of desperation out of my voice.“N
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
DanteI slide into the booth in the tiny, barely-Brooklyn diner across from Henry Alcott and a man I don’t know, and I think about killing them here and now. We agreed to be subtle about this. I picked a place outside of any territory worth talking about. I changed in the car, into one of the patterned button-downs I only keep for the barbecue and a pair of shorts. And here these two assholes sit with their high-and-tights, cop shoes squeaking on the stained linoleum, badges and guns bulging their crap impersonation of what normal people wear to lunch. They need to know who the fuck they’re dealing with, and that I’m not fucking around anymore.“Who the fuck are you?” I ask the stranger with no preamble.He prickles. “All right, dickhead, you—”Henry holds his hand out between us. “This is Jace Covett. He’s…a friend.”“Covett.” I roll the name around in my mouth. The shape of it is familiar to me. “There was a Covett in the remains of Thano Coppola’s books.”“Don’t fucking say that n
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
DanteI sit in an armchair I dragged into the master bedroom in my safehouse upstate, watching Dr. Fletcher and his nurse tend to El. She looks so small in the bed, the hollows of her cheeks sunken and her hair lank. Not seriously injured, the EMT said. Still, I’m thrilled I had enough time to hire Fletcher and the nurse before the raid. They’re discreet, professional, and fast. They talk to each other in snippets of conversation that give me the barest hint of what’s going on.“Saline. Her veins are shrunken.”“Heart rate elevated, but not dangerously.”“That laceration is likely infected. We need penicillin and a disinfectant.”I don’t dare interrupt them. I can’t imagine stealing a second Eleni might need to get better. Tear streaks mark her face, and she was already crying when I got in the ambulance. In the end, Camila had her in that fucking house for two weeks. Two goddamn weeks. I am counting my blessings she’s not in more danger, but I’m fucking terrified.Tony leans in the d
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
Tony“Check on the fucking capos,” I mutter under the music as I soar down the Verrazano Bridge in the dead of night. “Call them back. Check in with Cal fucking Duncan. Take out my goddamn laundry while I play house upstate. I’m the don, don’t forget.”In my mind, I hear Seb’s response. You sound like a cranky toddler, Tony. You two love each other. He’s dealing with a lot. You’ll be back to normal in no time.“He’s dealing with a lot?” I demand. “I’m talking to my dead fucking brother in my mind as I drive to meet the head of the Irish Kings.”The Seb in my mind only shrugs. I win a lot more arguments since—I crank the music to drown out my thoughts.After weaving through city traffic, I pull up in front of McCreegan’s Pub and leave the music blaring for a few extra seconds. May as well give the little dick something to complain about. Then, I shut off the car and head inside. Just like last time, the bartender leads me through the freezer, into the second bar Cal installed in the b