Page 5 of The Mafia's Seamstress

“Does your grandfather know just how much of a vixen his granddaughter is?” he asked. I sucked in a breath. I had never been called a vixen before and hearing it from his lips about it made my heart pound.

“Have a lovely day," I said, holding the door open. Two men in black suits stood outside. They reminded me of the men from this morning. I wondered just how many people that I walked by on a daily basis were wolves in sheep’s clothing. They glanced at me then at Mr. Costa. Mr. Costa nodded.

“Bye Cinderella,” he said as he walked out. Once the door was shut and I was safely alone I sucked in a deep breath. Tears pricked my eyes as I wandered around the shop I grew up in. I loved this place. I loved my family.

And yet staring at the walls I helped decorate, everything felt like a lie. It was like the home I’ve known my entire life was covered in wallpaper decorated with warmth, lavender and love. But now it was ripped open to reveal a house filled with lies, broken bones and blood.

The fucking mafia. I kept repeating in my head. Everything made sense now. The secretive appointments, the amount of times I needed to stay in the back room or leave, the hush whispers behind closed doors. It all made sense now. How hadn’t I noticed any of it?

My hands began to shake. My throat tightened and my stomach threatened to throw up my breakfast. How could this be? My sweet avô working for murderers. Did they have something on him? Was it his choice? Like a house of cards crumbling beneath a gentle breeze my life was being swept from under me.

Staring at my phone I debated on calling him. He had answers to the questions taking root in my mind. But the business trip he was on was too important. It meant spreading the Silva name across seas.

In these moments I wished I still had my parents. I wished I had some kind of family to rely on. But my only source of truth and warmth was six hours across the Atlantic. My thoughts drifted back to Senhora Maria. Did she know?

Taking a deep breath I reminded myself that if he's been doing this for years so could I this one time. This would be the only time. I could keep up the pretense of knowing nothing and continue on with my days.

I would make Mr. Costa his suit and that would be the end of it. I didn’t need to be anymore involved then this one time and I was going to make sure my avô would no longer be either. Whatever agreement he had with the mafia was going to end one way or the other.

Shaking my head I got back to work. I had two pants to hem and one dress that needed extra lace before I could work on Mr. Costa’s suit. It was time to do what I did best.

Swallow the pain and stress and get shit done.

The next day I was working with a throbbing headache. The Gomes family needed all of their kids' pants to have alterations for their cousin's baptism for the weekend. My fingers were cramping and I skipped lunch. Again.

I could hardly sleep. My brain kept replaying nightmares. I was trapped in a tower in a torn gown with nothing but a broken mattress and a sewing machine. Men in dark suits with faces hidden beneath the shadows of moonlight were threatening me to make clothes.

I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding in my chest. I would rather attempt to spin straw into gold than work for the mafia but somehow my avô trapped us in this situation. A situation that I was purposefully left in the dark about.

A glance out the window showed people bustling, leaves falling and a cool breeze blowing. Everyone seemed at ease. They were oblivious that the mafia was walking among them. Not aware that this tiny family owned shop worked for them. My hands trembled as I tried to sew the final stitch on Ms. Gomes' son's pants.

"Miss?" An easy voice called out. I flinched. I hadn’t even heard the bell chime because I was so focused. My vision focused on a tall, lean man with blonde wavy hair and blue eyes. He had an easy smile with dimples. He wore a dark blue dress shirt, tucked into gray pants.

My head tilted as I took in his clothes. Shirt was standard but the pants were molded across his legs. As he took a step inside they stretched across his thighs. They were most likely mainly polyester.

The door closed gently behind him as he walked through. He offered another smile as he made his way towards me with a model's grace. Two hot men in two days. That was definitely a record. I gave him a warm smile, the customer service mask turned on.

"Sorry! Spaced out a second. How may I help you?" I said as I made my way quickly behind the cash register to meet him.

"That’s okay. Are you new?” he asked. A bubble of laughter erupted out of me. No one had ever asked me that. Everyone knew everyone or knew someone who knew everyone in Loba Vista.

“I didn’t mean to laugh, sorry. This is my grandfather’s shop,” I said. His left eye twitched and recognition dawned on his face.

“You’re Lucia?” he asked softly. I blushed at his tone. It was a mix of gentle awe and surprise. I nodded politely.

“Wow. He’s always talked about you. How talented and beautiful you are. He was definitely right,” he said, moving to stand directly in front of me. I had to slightly tilt my head up to meet his eyes. He looked at me warmly. I bit the inside of my cheek. Staring at the man before me I would have definitely remembered if he had been in the shop.

But if he knew my avô well enough to know about me. Was he one of the clients I wasn’t supposed to know about? A dark feeling began crawling up my body.

“You haven’t seen my talent yet, only my beauty,” I pointed out. A smirk tugged on his lips before he dropped his elbows on the counter, cocking his head. Now we were eye level and I could see just how blue his eyes were. There were flecks of honey around the pupil; like a sunflower against a clear sky.

“If you work for Diogo you must be talented,” he said.

“Are you flirting with me?” I asked. His gaze traveled all over my face and my heart skipped. This man was ungodly attractive.

“This is me being me,” he said. I shook my head but then he leaned forward and I got a sniff of pine. Hot men who smell delicious might be a weakness I didn’t realize I had. I felt trapped in his gaze.

“If I was flirting with you, you wouldn’t be questioning it,” he said. I blushed furiously. Fuck, he was smooth.

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