Book 3: Caught

Eleni

“Thank you,” Mikey, one of Dante’s older capos, says in his gravelly voice. “I know Dante’s been pulling things together for a couple weeks now, but it didn’t feel right starting things up again without toasting the kid.”

I swallow against a lump in my throat and glance at one of the pictures of Seb hung in the room. “I know what you mean. And thank you for your help out here.”

He raises a glass. “Hey, I’ll take the credit, but most of it belongs to my Adrianna.”

His wife, a slightly tidier version of the mafia wives I’ve grown used to in Staten Island, smiles. “Don’t let Mikey trick you. He strong-armed the owner into letting us have the place on such short notice.”

I raise an eyebrow. The quiet event space over the bridge in Partridge is perfect, close enough to the city to get back if something happens but far enough that we all agreed the Russians wouldn’t try to crash. That said, I’m not sure I want someone strong-armed into