Eleni
I yank on the stubborn zipper of my suitcase to no avail. It won’t shut. I release with a sigh, and the top flops open to reveal the picture of Dante and Christos I stole from his room. I swallow. I know stealing it is stupid. I don’t really know either man in this picture. But it just feels wrong, leaving this image behind in the shadow of what happened here.
I want to remember them like this. Innocent and young, before the Mafia pulled them under.
I don’t have any pictures of myself. Mom packed those up and took them with her to Greece. I wonder if I’d even recognize the girl I used to be.
My phone vibrates, and I curse. That’s my ten-minute alarm. If I’m not in the car on the way to JFK by the time the last one goes off, I’m going to miss my flight. Gianna convinced me to tal
