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“They?” I narrowed my gaze. “They who?”

“The Twelve. Our syndicate has twelve bosses, most of them related by blood, but some aren’t.” She blinked, resembling an owl with those wide, grey eyes.

That was interesting. I’d never heard of such a structure. Were they that powerful that they needed twelve heads to run it—like the Five Families of the old East Coast? Or were eleven just elevated, but in reality acted like my brother’s captains? Still, eleven capos would be impressive. Alessandro didn’t have that many.

“Let’s finish, yeah?” I said with a smile. I was never good at this gal-pal chit-chat, but the last few months with my sister-in-law had my cooler disposition thawing.

So I tried and made a poor attempt to engage her in light conversation. It took weeding most of the raised beds on the southern portion of the garden to shake the gloom that fell over the otherwise sunny Greek girl.

The weeds piled up beside me, their brittle leaves whispering as the breeze teased them. I straightened for a moment to stretch my back, feeling the ache from being hunched over but enjoying it—it was the kind of ache that came from effort, from doing something with my hands. My eyes scanned the garden bed, now looking much cleaner and more open. The space seemed to breathe easier already, and that realization sent a small thrill of pride through me.

My fingers were streaked with dirt, my nails caked with it, and my knees had smudges of earth from crouching so long. I should’ve felt gross, but instead, I felt accomplished, like every smear was proof of progress.

“I’ve never worked with my hands,” I admitted. My hobby didn’t count. A pianist had to keep their fingers nice and clean.

“Why?” Evangelia asked, head cocked to the side.

“We lived in an urban area,” I explained, brushing off the question.

“Must be nice,” she hummed dreamily.

The truth was too hard to admit. Manual labor and manicures didn’t go together. I’d spent the last two-plus decades of my life locked away from the world, with nothing meaningful to fill my days. And yet, as a prisoner of this mob, walking a dangerous path in their world, I’d never felt better. Gardening was...peaceful, in a way I hadn’t expected. Each weed I pulled felt like I was clearing space, not just for the veggies but for myself. It was strange how satisfying it was—dirty hands, sweaty back, and tired limbs. I found myself smiling as I rubbed my hands together. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 7 – Serena

By the time noon came around, my stomach ached. Dorothea brought us a tray of meats, cheeses, and veggies. Everything was fresh, and despite the wholesome simplicity, it was scrumptious. Say what I would, these Greeks knew how to eat. Leaning back against the patio chair, I winced at my soiled clothing. It would take soaking and gentle scrubbing to remove the dirt from my bare feet. The bruises, scrapes, and small abrasions would likely swallow microscopic bits of filth.

Hopefully it didn’t make me sick or something.

But the clothes I wore—there would be no saving them.

“Is there anywhere to shop around here?” I sighed, twisting my ankles back and forth. There was a scrape in the faux leather pants that was going to open in a tear.

“Not in the village, but in town,” Evangelia said hesitantly. She looked toward the door and leaned forward. “I don’t think you’re allowed to leave here.”

A sigh whispered past my lips. I guessed as much.

“But, if you need something to wear, I have lots of clothes!” the woman added brightly.

I was proud of how I hid my reaction. Dressing like a traditional peasant girl was not something I would have contemplated outside of a costume party.

“Will they fit?” I hedged.

Evangelia was a head taller than me, but whereas I was willowy and slight, she was curvy and generous.

“I have regular clothes, if that’s what you mean,” Evangelia giggled. “Jeans, shorts, tanks—swimwear. Whatever you want, my closet is yours.”

Sharing something as intimate as swimwear was an even stranger idea than the cultural costuming. But it made me wonder. “Are we near the ocean?”

There was that reaction I was becoming quite familiar with on this woman’s face. She looked at me as though I suddenly sprouted three heads. It would be comical if it didn’t make me feel utterly silly every time I asked a question that produced the effect.

“Don’t you hear it?” she laughed.

That sound....

The rhythmic crashing haunting my bedroom at night.

“The beach is on the other side of those trees.” Evangelia pointed her finger to the side of the patio.