Page 9 of The Mafia's Seamstress

"One, I don’t care. Two, you don’t need to since I’m just a commoner making your suit. And three, I can't stand your high and mighty attitude and therefore will continue to put you in your place," I said. His fists clenched. Okay, maybe I pushed him too far.

"No one puts me in my place," he spat out. I chuckled.

"Last time I checked I had you sitting in a corner,” I recounted, keeping my eyes on him. Men like Mr. Costa expected people to flinch under his gaze, crack under his words and break beneath his hands. But that was not and would never be me. I didn't look away. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking he intimidated me.

My body began feeling hot as his eyes traveled down my face in what looked like appreciation. I bet he wasn't used to someone going toe to toe with him. I bet no one ever challenged him.

Until me.

The thought excited me. I was a Silva and I was raised to fight and stand my ground. The thought of bringing a man like Mr. Costa to his knees was seductive.

"Put the food down," he commanded. His words crawled up my skin, sending goosebumps everywhere. My heart pounded against my chest.

Was this the voice of a Don? His aura shifted to something darker. Instead of scaring me it called to me. The darker side of his voice was alluring. I wanted more. So I ignored his command. I was intrigued to see what he would do if I didn't.

I leaned against my chair further, taking another spoonful of cake. I closed my eyes, savoring the taste. I faintly heard his chair screeched against the tile floor. When I opened my eyes he began stalking his way towards me. My breathing faltered for a second. The wolf had come out to play. My heart rattled against my chest.

"Stand," he said through clenched teeth. Once again I didn't. "Ora," he said.

I bit my tongue. His Italian was tempting and it did just enough to get me to obey. I set my cake down and slowly rose. I was at eye level with his lips and I let my gaze unfocus. I didn’t need my eyes showing him how he was affecting me. He leaned in. Soft lips brushed my ear and I dug my nails into my palms, fighting back a shiver. His heat was engulfing me, his cologne smothering me.

"Make no mistake that I allow you to be bold. The only reason I haven't snuffed out that little fire you have brewing is because of your grandfather," he said, gripping my chin with his hand. I was forced to stare into his steel gaze. I breathed in sharply at the skin to skin contact. "If that wasn't the case you would have already been on your knees begging for forgiveness," he said. I hated the way my body responded to his statement. I yanked my face away from his hand.

"Begging for forgiveness for speaking the truth? Never. On my knees? When the mood strikes," I said. We stayed staring at each other in a silent battle. For a second I thought he was going to say something, do something by the way his hands kept flexing but then he turned away.

“We need to finish eating so you can work on my suit. We don't have all day," he said. I sneered as the wolf retreated back to his corner. I continued to eat my cake and remind myself that he was a temptation that I couldn't afford. He was a part of the fucking mafia for crying out loud.

The late evening turned into night as I made sure to make a to do list of all the things needed to get done and by when. Mr. Costa’s suit at the moment was top priority due to the deadline but I didn't want to fall behind on my other customers. While sewing the baste stitch on his pants I decided to bring up Mr. Benanti.

"Question. How exactly do you and Luca know each other?" I asked. I heard a sharp intake of breath. I made sure to innocently look up at him. I wanted to know more about their relationship and connection to my avô. His fingers were paused on his cell.

"We’re family," he said, watching me.

"Really?" I asked. Those two were complete opposites. Light and dark and not just with features.

"Sadly," he said as he stretched his legs. After a few more stitches I couldn't resist asking more questions.

"Why do you not like him?" I asked.

"He’s a pain in my ass and always around," he said simply.

“He doesn’t seem like bad company,” I commented. While being around Mr. Costa made me feel like every single one of my nerves were on fire, being around Luca for a few minutes calmed the storm within.

“Because of our status we’re always together and the fucker likes to talk,” he said, stretching his arms. Once again I was enamored by the way his shirt seemed to stretch with his muscles. Where the fuck did he buy his shirts? Did someone make them? Can they teach me?

"Oh I get that. I read about that in a mafia romance book," I said. My hands froze. Fucking shit. Mr. Costa’s eyes bore into mine. His mouth set in amusement.

“What have you read?" he asked. He was intrigued...again. I sewed three stitches before I regained my composure.

"I've read some books," I said. I hoped my tone sounded nonchalant, borderline bored.

"Please continue. I'd love to know what happens in these books," he said. I rolled my eyes.

"I need to sew," I said. He chuckled. It was deep and intoxicating. I was slowly, in a short time of 24 hours becoming addicted to it. I seriously need to get laid. I could not be attracted to a chuckle that came out of a man that beat up people for a living. He’s probably killed someone with his bare hands. Those big, calloused bare hands that would feel great against my bre-

"Fine. But I'm going to bring this up again at some point," he said with a wolfish grin. I bet that was the grin that got him away with plenty of things. Maybe that was the same grin that tricked my family into working with the mafia. But something deep down told me that that was wrong. There was something I was missing.

Some time had passed and the baste stitching was done. I sat back, rolling my shoulders.

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