Page 15 of The Mafia's Seamstress

"You sit there, I'll bake," I said. I had pointed to the bar stools in front of my kitchen counter.

"But I came to help," he insisted. I shook my head.

"It'll stress me out," I confessed. I couldn’t stand having another person cook next to me. Having to watch myself cook and then keep an eye on the other person was stressful. He opened his mouth to say something and I raised a finger. I glared at him and he sat down quietly.

I was quickly becoming used to bossing this man around.

We stayed in silence as I began gathering the ingredients and tools to bake bread. Before my avó had passed she had begun passing me some recipes. I always enjoyed baking bread with her the most. I opened my fridge and frowned. If I had bacon and linguiça I could make folar but I would have to settle on regular artisan bread.

I heard shuffling from behind me. Mr. Costa had stood up. I looked up at him.

"Mr. Costa?" I said.

"I should leave you alone. You seem…comfortable," he said. My eyes widened at his statement. Now he was willing to leave me alone? I found myself chuckling at his behavior. I thought I had his type figured out but maybe there was more to him.

"And what else did you expect? Me to be shaking in my sweats because I have the big bad wolf in my kitchen?" I teased. The tips of his ears reddened and I smirked. So the big bad wolf could be flustered. Interesting. I walked over to him.

“I guess since you’re here because you forcibly invited yourself into my home which said home’s location was not given to you I’ll put you to work,” I said, placing my hands on my hips.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You said you wanted to help. Now while I am perfectly fine at baking bread on my own there is something else you can do for me Mr. Costa,” I said. He eyed me warily which was a good thing.

My mom and avó taught me a few lessons before passing. A Portuguese woman can get anyone to do anything with the promise of food. So if this man wanted bread he was going to work for it. A rush of exhilaration coursed through my body.

“I hope you realized Ms. Silva that I am not a maid,” he hissed. While his voice may have sounded scary to anyone it had the opposite effect on me. I stood off to the side, watching him.

“If the whole mafia thing doesn’t work out you would make an excellent house cleaner. You were very thorough with my ceiling fans and I appreciate it,” I said with a pleasant smile. He leaned in until our noses brushed.

I stood staring at him in amazement. I should be scared right now. I should be terrified that a man of his nature was in my apartment.

Hell, I never gave him the address. For some reason none of that phased me. His nose twitched slightly. I smirked. I enjoyed putting a man like Mr. Costa in his place.

“I cleaned your ceiling fans, air vents and tops of your cabinets. What am I going to get in return?” he asked.

“I’m baking bread which you can take with you,” I said, nonchalantly. He let out a dark chuckle.

“Bread for cleaning? Really?” he said in disbelief. I glared at him.

“I already have one day left to make your suit. I’ve been working overtime for you. I think this is the least you can do Mr. Costa,” I said.

“I’m paying you for your service,” he pointed out.

“Yes you are because we have a professional relationship despite the fact you found my address and showed up at my apartment. Is there something else you want from me”? I asked. His eyes traveled down to my lips.

“You intrigue me…Lucia,” he said, softly. My heart rattled in my chest. My hands grew clammy and my stomach twisted. My name on his lips was like a calling card, luring me to walk on the darker side. The way he said my name was…erotic. I wanted him to say it again.

“That last thing I want is to be intriguing to someone of the Costa family,” I said. His hands clenched against the kitchen sink. Staring into his eyes, my stomach twisted.

“I cannot change where I come from the same way you cannot,” he said. I nodded.

“We come from different places,” I said, sounding almost breathless. Mr. Costa tilted his head.

“If that is what you think,” he said softly. My throat closed. I didn’t like what he was insinuating. There was a secret beneath his words. Staring into his eyes I was reminded of the questions that I had. Mr. Costa held the answers. I just needed to find a way to get them.

“What do you want in return?” I asked, caving. Clearly he was a man who didn't do anything just for the hell of it but for something in return.

“Call me Dante.”

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