Page 10 of The Mafia's Seamstress

"What kind of stitch is that?" he asked, walking back to me.

"It's a baste stitch. Essentially the stitch is really long so that when you try it on if it's too big or tight I can pull out the string easily without damaging the fabric and sew again," I said. “I needed to give my machine a break so I did the last bit of it by hand.”

"That makes sense," he said, nodding at the fabric. I fought back a smile. This was the first time someone had seemed to take genuine interest in what I did. I stared at the garment in my hands. It was a talent to take something and transform it. It’s why I loved sewing. When it came to fabrics there was endless creativity and possibilities. I nodded, standing up with the pants.

"Is this the part where I strip?" he asked. I grabbed my pincushion and made my way to the dressing rooms.

"This is the part where I try not to stab you," I said over my shoulder. He chuckled, following behind me.

Once in the back of the shop Mr. Costa slipped behind the curtain. There was a tiny stage that was surrounded by three mirrors and about four dressing rooms. I secured the pincushion to my wrist before walking to hand Mr. Costa the pants.

“Here’s the pants,” I said in front of his dressing room. The curtain abruptly opened revealing Mr. Costa in his black boxer briefs. His legs were long, thick and muscular like a soccer player. My weakness.

He had a black lines that swirled around from his ankle, up his left leg that slipped underneath his briefs and reappeared to crawl up to his left pec. My gaze eventually made its way to his face. He truly was handsome. Without a word of acknowledging my blatantly staring he gave me a lopsided grin as I handed him his pants.

“You didn’t need to take off your shirt,” I pointed out.

“Can’t concentrate?” he teased. I rolled my eyes, turning away from him. There was a bit of rustling behind me.

I stood in front of the stage and watched Mr. Costa take center. I held my breath. Not because he was going to be wearing something that I designed but because I always got anxious during this part.

If my measurements were too big that was an easy fix. But if it was too small and there wasn’t enough space I would have to recut the fabric all over again and that would be a pain in the ass. The fabric glided up his legs and laid slightly loose at his hips.

I sat back on my heels, staring at where the fabric sat on him. It could be tighter in certain places, specifically the inside of his thighs. My focus shifted gears to work mode as I began pinning. I made my way down his legs before going back to his thighs. I checked the way the pants shaped across his muscles.

While I wanted it to fit in certain places I also wanted the fabric to move with him. There was a tap on the top of my head. I glared at Mr. Costa. His eyes were like melted silver.

"See. I told you, you would be on your knees,” he said.

“Please remember I’m holding pins,” I said deadpan. His eyes sparkled with mischief. My hands made their way to tighten his waistline.

Right now they sat slightly too loose at his hips. My eyes wandered to his toned stomach and the way the waves of his tattoo. He had scars. Some were tiny scratches, some red and raised and some jagged. I swallowed. These were the markings of a man whose life revolved around fighting and surviving.

"So about those mafia romances?" His question interrupted my thoughts causing me to slip a pin into his hip. I gasped although he didn't flinch. I immediately looked at him.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaimed. He chuckled.

"A little pain never hurts," he said softly. My cheeks warmed. I bit the inside of my bottom lip as certain scenes began filtering through my head. He was right. A little pain never hurts, not when done in a delicious way. A safe, delicious way of course.

"I told you we wouldn't be talking about that," I said. I checked the other side of his hip and glanced down. The ankle is a bit wide on this side.

"I mean I can't tell you if what you read is true but there's a few things I could show you," he said. My stomach dropped.

“What do you mean show?” I asked, my eyes fixated on his right ankle. He hummed softly. He was going to drive me insane. He was a walking temptation.

I shook my head, backing away from him. The left calf needed to be taken in as well. Other than that it didn't look too bad. I stood up and he lifted my wrist that had the pincushion wrapped around it. His fingers moved softly across until he found the end of a pin. His eyes flickered up.

The air around us began spinning, pushing and pulling until my chest brushed his. His warmth cocooned me. His tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip and I couldn’t stop myself from watching. My eyes went back to his finger. He pressed against the thin metal and I gasped as a bead of blood formed.

“If you read mafia romances then you know that there is an overlap between pain and pleasure,” he began. My heart banged against my chest and my thighs clenched. He brought his finger to his lips and licked it clean. “And like I said, a little pain never hurts.”

A phone blared from the dressing room slicing through our tension. I waved him off, needing to get myself under control. My face and frankly my whole body was boiling.

Of course I thought about those things. I’ve read about women getting tied up, slapped across the ass and ears filled with filthy words that make them pant. Those things intrigued me. But I wasn’t sure if that was something I was into. I glanced at Mr. Costa. I wondered if he could show me.

“Shipment..tonight…” My ear kept picking up bits and pieces from his phone call bringing me back to reality.

All of a sudden I was reminded of what Mr. Costa was, of whom my avô really worked for. It was one thing to be around him but to actually hear parts of a life I only read in books and seen on tv was another thing. Now it felt too real.

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