Indebted to the Mafia King

Eleni

“Baba, I have to leave for class in half an hour,” I say as I clear paper plates and cups off one of the high-top tables in the back of The Greek Corner. “I need to change.”

My dad huffs a sigh and shoves up from his chair behind the counter. “Yes, chryso mou, I know. But your mama was supposed to be done taking inventory by now to handle customers. Can’t you wait a little?”

I bite back a frown and nod. He’s been looking more and more tired since we lost Christos a couple years back. I love the night classes I’ve been taking at the community college a few blocks over, but I’m not going to force my baba to wait tables just so I’m not late. I dump the trash into the garbage can in the back. 

The bell over the door jingles, and I turn with my customer service smile already plastered on, then freeze.

Frank Lombardi, the broad, sneering mobster who’s held my family under his thumb since they came to America, saunters in with a few of his guys. My skin goes cold.

“Georgie!” Frank smacks the top of the counter, and I watch my dad bite down a scowl. He’s always preferred his given name, Gregorio, but he tolerates customers who call him Greg. Frank has only ever called him Georgie. “Got the place all to yourself tonight?”

“No, I—” Baba stops mid-sentence.

I flinch as I realize his mistake. Like one creature, Frank and his men turn to me.

“Oh, I should’ve known little Ellie would be here.” Frank oozes past the rows of packaged goods to where I stand by the garbage can. “You look good in an apron, baby girl.”

I smooth the polyester black half-apron around my waist and smile. 

“And even better when you smile,” one of his men calls.

“Bet you’d look best of all in nothin’ but the apron.” The third one smirks.

My face burns, and I start to turn away, but I catch Baba’s eye. As always, when Frank comes in, his dark gaze fills with pain. He hates seeing them treat me like this, but he can’t stop them. Not without consequences. And as humiliating as it is to be treated like a piece of meat, I’ll do anything to keep my family from facing those consequences.

As I turn, one of them smacks my butt. I can’t help it. I squeal loudly.

“You got a screamer here, Georgie,” Frank calls over his shoulder. “But with her tits pressed up to her chin like that and her ass wagging, I bet you already know that. I bet she’s been entertaining the neighborhood for a while now.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and I hurry away into the shelves of the bodega half of the store before Baba can see how much Frank’s words hurt. I know how people look at me. I got Mama’s height, which is to say, none at all, but the body of the women on Baba’s side. Even in my high-necked T-shirt, a sports bra, and loose pants, men always comment on my curves. Frank Lombardi and his men are just the only ones who have the lack of respect to try to touch me where my dad can see.