Eleni
I blink awake to an ache in the back of my head so intense that, for a moment, I expect to see a cheap couch and smell gas like I did in the basement of Frank Lombardi’s garage. But the surface underneath me is cheap vinyl, like a couch from the fifties, and I smell…salt? I run my hand over the back of my head and find a huge bump.
Wait, I run my hand over my head? I’m not restrained. For a split second, I let myself hope I missed the fight while unconscious, that I’m already in some new safe house of Dante’s. I open my eyes a crack and peek around.
No such luck. Men with guns parade through the warehouse around me. I lay on exactly the sort of couch I was picturing, which happens to be blue, against one wall. Most of the men wear T-shirts from the garage and barely ever stop touc
