บททั้งหมดของ Indebted to the Mafia King: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

EleniI struggle to tamp down my libido as Dante pulls me out of the sculpture gallery. Cal Duncan? Here? With all the champagne, I forgot the day started with his name. For all my research, I haven’t been able to find a picture of the guy, so I have no idea who to look for in the crowd of well-dressed partygoers.“Mr. Cattaneo.” A man with deep red hair and a lilting Irish accent steps into our path. “And Ms. Calimeris. What a pleasant surprise.”Before I can reply, he takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I blink, fighting for coherency. Instead, I notice the fine sprinkling of freckles on Cal’s sharp cheekbones and the amusement in his light brown eyes. The charming man in front of me doesn’t match any of the horrifying stories I heard about him.“Mr. Duncan.” Dante’s voice sounds strained as he sticks out his hand to shake. “I was so hoping to see you tonight.”“Is that so?” Cal releases my hand and shakes Dante’s. “I heard you’d been absent from the circuit for a while. It seems

EleniA few days after our night in the hotel, I roll over in bed to find the sheets empty. Instead of getting frustrated, I flip the other way and grab my phone. As expected, a text from Dante sits at the top of my notifications.Piacere all day today. Probably won’t be back until late. Dinner?I type out a quick affirmative and smile. Since I agreed to stay—and agreed to go to Tandon, though there was no way I was going to live on campus—he’s obviously been trying. He tells me where he’s going, or at least as much as he knows, and offers new plans every time work pulls him away. Butterflies riot in my stomach. I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling.Christos made Dante kill him because he got so focused on the prize, he couldn’t see anything in his way. That sounded like my brother. As much as I loved—love him, Christos could be a bulldozer. So maybe, just maybe, letting Dante back into my heart isn’t a total betrayal of my family.I get out of bed and ignore the fact I haven’

Eleni“What’s wrong with this?” I ask as I step out of the dressing room in the fourth outfit since I sent Gianna a few pictures of the clothes I was looking at and she dragged me out for actual shopping.She sighs. “Real answer?”I nod. “Clearly, I’m not getting this. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense. Why isn’t this something one of the wives can wear?”Gianna stands and walks over to me. “Well, first, you’re not one of the wives.”I snort. “Tell them that.”“Trust me, they know.” Gianna turns me to the mirror. “But the boss’ girlfriend ranks above any actual wife. If you were a mistress… Well, that’d be different. We wouldn’t be out in public shopping with Dante’s credit card, that’s for sure.”I roll my eyes to the ceiling and groan. “How did I go from boss to boss’ girlfriend in a week?” “Dante woke up.” Gianna shrugs. “It’s not fair, but that’s how everyone assumes it works. If you want something different, you’re going to have to talk to him, and he’s gonna have to convince a

EleniBy the time I finally topple off Dante, sated, the sun is nowhere to be seen, and dinner is long forgotten. My skin clings to the sheets with sweat, and I spend a long time just catching my breath.After that long time passes, I look over at Dante. Tonight wasn’t our most intense session, but usually by this point, he’s up reminding me aftercare is an important part of the process and I’ll get a UTI if I don’t go to the bathroom. Instead, he just lays on the pillow, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling with his gaze distant. Judging by the wrinkle between his eyebrows, business has him worried, not me.Maybe this is where I fit into the Saints now. Not boss in name, but boss in bed. The place he comes to unload the problems he can’t figure out on his own, and I help him unsnarl them. At least for now.“Thought for a thought?” I graze my fingers down the middle of his chest, avoiding the few remaining staples he says Dr. Domino is going to take out in a couple days. The s

EleniI stare at the scene around me in something between surprise and horror. This is Dante’s backyard. I look up and see his house looming over the party. But instead of the yard being filled with gunfire or hushed conversation, classic rock blares from a pair of speakers. Dante himself stands at the grill, flipping burgers and nursing a light beer I’ve never seen him drink before. Tony and a couple other capos hold court by the grill. A few East Asian men Dante warned me when they walked in were representatives of the triads chat with some Saints soldiers. Cal Duncan stands alone by the pool, holding a bottle of dark beer he brought and surveying the scene. I turn away, toward the platter of watermelon salad—whatever the fuck that is—before his gaze can alight on me. Still, it looks like something out of a coming-of-age movie, not a tense meeting between some of the most dangerous men in New York City.The only concession to normalcy is the color palette of Dante’s outfit. Sure,