Indebted to the Mafia King

Never Again

Eleni

I 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 curls. Despite that, I can still feel someone watching me. Or, I think I can. But it doesn’t feel like the chills I get when Frank and his men watch me in the restaurant. I still have goose bumps, and it’s a little unnerving to be watched no matter what, but it’s more like…when Mama used to stand in the door until I’d crossed the street for the bus before school. Like someone is watching over me, rather than just watching. A strange warmth takes up residence in my chest, and I hurry the rest of the way home.

When I arrive, the restaurant lights are already off. My stomach flips. Sometimes Mama and Baba close up early when I have class, but almost never on Fridays. There’s too much money to be made off drunk people stumbling in, starving and willing to buy anything you so much as mention. I open the door slowly. Nothing seems out of place. The register is closed up properly, and all the cook surfaces are turned off. But something is definitely wrong.

I creep up the stairs to our apartment on the second floor of the building. The door is slightly ajar, and I can hear voices within. My stomach jumps like I missed a step. Someone’s in our house! But then, the voices resolve into Mama and Baba.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Gregorio,” Mama says in a soft voice I know means she’s trying to make sure I don’t surprise them in the middle of the conversation.

I hesitate in the middle of the steps. Usually, when my parents keep things from me, they have a good reason. But they were wrong about Dante. He was very polite the whole time I served him, tipped well, and hasn’t come back since. And sometimes, they still treat me like the youngest daughter, the little treasure they have to protect from the world. If something bad enough to make them close the shop on a Friday night happened, I deserve to know. I sneak up the final few stairs and peer into the crack of the door.

Mama leans over Baba, blocking my view of him. On the counter next to her sits our first aid kit.

“What was I supposed to do, astéri mou?” Baba asked. “Let him have what he wants? Is that why we came to America, to sell our daughter?”

I press my hand to my mouth to smother my gasp. Sell me? That has to mean Frank was here, and he wanted something terrible.

“No, of course not. I only mean you shouldn’t have aggravated him so.” Mama steps aside to grab ice from the freezer, and I see Baba for the first time.

My stomach drops. Bruises litter his olive skin, and a dark line of dried blood seeps from a cut on his cheek. Mama’s already cleaned the cut on his forehead and closed it with a few spidering black stitches. He looks like he’s been in a fight with a brick wall. Or Frank Lombardi, a man with as much grace and tact as one. A deep, fiery emotion starts to build in my gut, one I’m not very familiar with. As Mama applies ice to a few of Baba’s bruises and he winces, the emotion becomes clear.

Anger. I am furious that anyone thought they could touch my family. I clench my jaw and turn to go back down the stairs and pretend like I’ve just come in now. I need to get to the virginity auction in time to keep this from ever happening again.

“I didn’t mean to aggravate him,” Baba said. “I thought he was joking, at first. Our Eleni, marry his Luca? I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine a man who thinks children are things to be sold off like brood mares.” He spits. “There’s no choice, Maria. You and Eleni will go to Parikia.”

Luca Lombardi, a man only separated from his father by twenty years of pickling in his own noxious evil. He hadn’t been in the restaurant in a while, but I didn’t remember a time he’d been in and not tried to touch me. My anger burned brighter. Frank should’ve never put Baba in that position. My dad would do anything to keep harm from coming to me. Now, I had to do the same for him.

“I’m not leaving you alone, Gregorio—”

I tiptoe down a couple stairs, then stomp back up them. “Mama? Baba? Everything okay?”

By the time I swing the door open, the medical supplies have disappeared from the counter, and Baba has disappeared with them. Mama stands alone in the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel I know held ice to Baba’s forehead mere seconds ago.

“Ah, zouzouni.” She smiles tiredly. “We didn’t mean to scare you. We just got tired and decided to close up early tonight. Your baba’s already gone to sleep.”

I nod and try to smile like I believe her. I’ve never lied to my mom before. I’ve never seen her look so tired before, either.

“You should get some sleep too,” I say softly as I cross the room to her and hold my hand out for the dish towel. “I’ll clean up here.”

She kisses my cheek and lets me take the towel. “You are too good to us. Tell me about your class tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” I watch her trudge down the short hallway to her bedroom then look down at the dish towel. A little bit of bright red blood stains the blue-and-white checks, and that hot anger kindles in my belly. Never again. I clean up the kitchen, then head for my room. The virginity auction awaits.