1. Sofia

1

SOFIA

I smooth the fabric over Jimbo’s broad shoulders, my fingers working with practiced precision. The rich, charcoal wool drapes perfectly, a testament to Zip’s impeccable patterns. My grandfather, Giuseppe—also known as Zip—stands beside me, all five feet five inches of him practically vibrating with energy despite his advanced years.

“Jimbo, my boy,” Zip says, his wrinkled face crinkling with a mischievous grin, “you’re gonna knock ’em dead at the funeral. Well, not literally. Poor Antoni’s already taken care of that part.”

I shoot my grandfather a warning glance, but James Ginetti—also known as Jimbo—just chuckles, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the light as he shakes his head. “Zip, you old rascal. Romero sends his regards.”

“Tell him I’m still waiting on that rematch from our last poker night,” Zip quips, winking at me.

I can’t help but smile. Even at his age, Zip’s charm is infectious. The men in the neighborhood respect him, not just for his tailoring skills, but also for the way he’s always treated everyone with kindness–regardless of their positions or affiliations.

“How’s the fit feeling, Mr. Ginetti?” I ask, guiding the conversation back to business.

Jimbo rolls his shoulders, admiring his reflection in the three-way mirror. “Like a dream, Sofia. Your grandfather taught you well.” The consigliere of the Pirelli family smiles at me.

“She’s got the talent, this one.” Zip beams, patting my arm. “Just like her mother. Ah, Cher… Antoni always did have good taste in music and women.”

A pang of hurt hits me at the mention of my mother, but I push it aside. “Let’s check the sleeve length,” I murmur, reaching for Jimbo’s wrist.

Suddenly, the bell above the shop chimes. I turn, expecting to see Mrs. Rossi picking up her dry cleaning. Instead, I’m faced with Gino Timpone, his presence filling the shop like a storm cloud.

“Don Timpone,” Zip says, his voice losing its playful edge. “What can we do for you?”

Gino’s eyes narrow as they land on Jimbo. “Thought I’d find you here, Ginetti. Don Pirelli sending his lapdog to pay respects?”

Jimbo tenses under my hands. “Now, Gino,” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Don Timpone,” I say firmly, stepping between the two, “We’re in the middle of a fitting. If you’d like to schedule an appointment, I’d be happy to?—”

“Save it, Sofia,” Gino snaps.

I feel Zip’s hand on my shoulder, gently pulling me back. “Now, Gino,” he says, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of steel I rarely hear. “Your father was always welcome here, and you are too. But we have rules. No business talk in the shop. You want to chat with Jimbo, you do it outside.”

Gino’s lips curl into a sneer as he turns back to Zip. “You think I’m here for Jimbo ? Christ, old man, your mind’s going faster than your hairline.”

I feel my cheeks flush with anger, stepping forward before I can stop myself, shrugging off my grandfather’s hand. “How dare you speak to him like that?” I snap, glaring up at Gino.

He towers over me at 6’1”, his dark brown hair and grey eyes giving him an unsettling appearance. There’s a coldness in those eyes that I never saw in his father’s. At barely over 30, Gino Timpone already has a reputation for being ruthless and cruel—a stark contrast to Antoni’s compassionate nature.

Gino’s gaze shifts to me, a mixture of amusement and contempt in his expression. “Careful, little girl. You’re speaking to the new Don now.”

“Sofia,” Zip warns softly, but I’m too wired up to back down.

“Don or not, you don’t disrespect my grandfather in his own shop,” I retort.

Gino’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Funny you should mention the shop,” he says, his voice deceptively calm. “Because that’s exactly why I’m here. It’s time Perfezione started paying for protection like every other business in the neighborhood.”

Zip steps forward, placing a calming hand on my arm. “Now, Gino,” he says, his tone measured. “You know that’s not how things work with us. Your father understood?—”

“My father,” Gino interrupts, spitting the word like it’s poison, “is dead. And his old arrangements died with him.”

“That’s not true,” Zip insists. “Antoni and I had an understanding. Perfezione works with all of La Familia. We don’t take sides, we don’t cause trouble. In return, we’re left alone.”

Gino scoffs. “Left alone? You mean given special treatment. Those days are over, old man.”

I can see the wheels turning in Zip’s head, trying to find a way to defuse the situation. But I know Gino. He’s not here to negotiate. He’s here to assert his newfound power, to show everyone that he’s not his father.

“Your father respected the work we do here,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “For the community, for everyone. Including La Familia.”

“My father was weak,” Gino snarls, “always worried about the ‘community’. Well, I’m not him. And you two had better learn that fast, or this little shop of yours might find itself in some trouble.”

Zip straightens his back, his eyes meeting Gino’s with a defiance I’ve rarely seen. “We won’t be handing over any protection money, Gino. That’s not how we operate, and you know it.”

For a moment, the shop is silent. Then Gino’s face contorts with fury. Before I can react, his fist connects with Zip’s jaw, sending my grandfather stumbling backward.

“Nonno!” I scream, lunging forward to pull Gino away. But he’s too strong, too angry. He whirls on me, his hands gripping my shoulders as he shoves me hard against the wall. My head cracks against the wood paneling, and for a terrifying moment, I can’t breathe. Gino’s face is inches from mine, his eyes wild with rage.

“You think you’re special?” he snarls. “You think you’re above this?”

I hear the distinct click of a gun being cocked. “That’s enough, Gino.” Jimbo’s voice cuts through the chaos, low and dangerous. “Back off. Now .”

Gino freezes, his grip on me loosening slightly. I can see Jimbo over Gino’s shoulder, his gun trained steadily on the new Don.

“This is neutral ground,” Jimbo continues, his voice ice-cold. “You know the rules. We all do. Now step away from the lady.”

Slowly, Gino releases me and takes a step back. My legs feel weak, and I have to brace myself against the wall to stay upright.

This is only a temporary reprieve. I know Gino will be back the moment Jimbo isn’t here, and the bruise rapidly forming on Zip’s face will be the nicest thing he will do. Heart pounding, I make a decision.

“Fine,” I gasp out. “Fine. We’ll… we'll get you the money.”

“Sofia!” Zip gasps, but I ignore him, eyes trained on Gino. “Just… give us a few days.”

A cruel smile spreads across Gino’s face. “Now that’s more like it. Let’s see… twenty thousand. Cash. By Tuesday.”

The blood drains from my face. Twenty thousand dollars? In three days? It’s impossible, and Gino knows it.

“You can’t be serious,” I start, but Gino cuts me off.

“Oh, I’m dead serious, sweetheart. Twenty grand, or maybe next time, I won’t be so gentle.” He glances at Zip, who’s being helped to his feet by Jimbo. “Clock’s ticking. I’ll be back Tuesday.”

With that, he turns and strides out of the shop, the bell chiming mockingly in his wake.

As soon as he’s gone, my knees give out and I slide down the wall. Zip rushes to my side, his own pain forgotten as he checks me over.

“Sofia, Tesoro , are you alright?” he asks, his voice shaking.

I nod numbly, my mind racing. Twenty thousand dollars. By Tuesday. As I look around at our little shop, at Zip’s concerned face, at Jimbo’s grim expression, one thought keeps echoing in my head. What are we going to do?

Jimbo spits on the floor, his face twisted with disgust. “That fucking mook,” he snarls. “Gino’s a real piece of shit, I tell ya. No respect, no honor. He’s gonna run the Family into the ground faster than a rat up a drainpipe.”

Zip sinks heavily into a nearby chair, suddenly looking every one of his years. He rubs his jaw where Gino struck him, a dark bruise already forming. “Times are changing,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“This ain’t right,” Jimbo continues, holstering his gun. “I’m telling Don Pirelli about this bullshit. Gino’s outta line, way outta line. Threatening neutral territory? That’s asking for a war.”

I push myself up from the floor, wincing at the throbbing in my head. “We need to finish your suit, Mr. Ginetti,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

Jimbo’s expression softens as he looks at me. “Sofia, honey, don’t worry about the suit. I can come back tomorrow. You should rest, maybe see a doctor?—”

“No,” I interrupt, more firmly than I intended. “I can do this. Please, let me finish the fitting.”

Jimbo exchanges a glance with Zip, who gives a small nod. “Alright,” Jimbo sighs, looking conflicted. “If you’re sure.”

I guide Jimbo back to the pedestal, my hands only shaking slightly as I pick up my measuring tape. The earlier easy banter is gone, replaced by a tense silence. I work methodically, marking adjustments and pinning fabric with practiced precision.

“Little tighter in the waist,” I murmur, more to myself than to Jimbo. He stands still, watching me with concern in his eyes.

As I work, I can feel Zip’s gaze on me. I know he’s worried and that he wants to talk about what just happened. But right now, I need this. I need the familiar routine of measuring, pinning, and adjusting.

It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

Finally, I step back. “There,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “That should do it. We’ll have it ready for you by Thursday morning.”

Jimbo nods, carefully stepping down from the pedestal. “Thank you, Sofia,” he says gently. “You’re one hell of a professional, you know that?”

I manage a small smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. As Jimbo changes back into his regular clothes, I can hear him and Zip talking in low, urgent tones. I know they’re discussing Gino, the threat, the impossible demand for money. But I can’t bring myself to join the conversation.

Instead, I focus on tidying up, putting away pins and fabric scraps. It’s a poor distraction from the looming deadline and the fear gnawing at my gut, but it’s all I have right now. Tuesday is coming, and with it, Gino Timpone.

And I have no idea how we’re going to survive this.

After Jimbo’s departure, the shop falls into a tense silence. I turn to Zip, the gravity of our situation weighing heavily on both of us.

“Nonno,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper, “what are we going to do?”

Zip sinks into a chair, rubbing his bruised jaw absently. “I don’t know, Fee. Twenty thousand… it might as well be a million.”

I nod, leaning against the counter for support. “We have the ten thousand in the safe, but…”

“But that’s everything,” Zip finishes for me. “Our operating costs, supplies, food… everything.”

I run my fingers through my hair, frustration and fear battling for dominance. “And even if we gave them that, we’d still be short ten grand. There’s no way we can come up with that kind of money in three days.”

Zip’s eyes meet mine, filled with a mixture of worry and determination. “We could try to get a loan, maybe sell some things…”

I shake my head. “No bank would give us that kind of money on such short notice, and what do we have to sell that’s worth anything near that much?”

We lapse into silence again, the ticking of the old clock on the wall seeming to count down our remaining time.

“Maybe… maybe we could reason with Gino,” I suggest, knowing even as I say it how foolish it sounds.

Zip’s bitter laugh confirms my doubts. “Reason with Gino Timpone? Fee, that boy’s got a heart of stone and a head full of greed. He’s not interested in reason.”

I slump against the counter, feeling the weight of our predicament crushing down on me. “So what do we do? Just… wait for Tuesday and hope for a miracle?”

Zip stands, moving to put a comforting arm around my shoulders. “We do what we’ve always done, Tesoro . We keep working, we keep helping where we can, and we face whatever comes together.”

I lean into his embrace, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. But as I look around our beloved shop, at the suits and dresses we’ve poured our hearts into, at the small kitchen where we feed those in need, I can’t shake the feeling that everything we’ve built is balanced on a knife’s edge.

Tuesday soon arrives, and I’m on edge. We’ve managed to pull together another two thousand dollars, but it’s not enough. My heart is in my throat as I unlock the door to Perfezione. Zip took Lou to school at my insistence. I don’t want him here when Gino arrives.

I don’t know when Gino will arrive, and the anxiety is killing me.

I nearly jump out of my skin when the shop bell chimes. My heart races, expecting to see Gino’s menacing figure. Instead, I’m frozen in place by the sight of the man who enters.

He’s tall, easily 6’1”, with broad shoulders that fill out his expensive suit perfectly. Dark brown hair, just long enough to run your fingers through, frames a face that could have been chiseled from marble. His stubbled jaw gives him a rugged edge, contrasting with the refined cut of his clothes. But it’s his eyes that capture me—deep brown, intense, and filled with an intelligence that seems to see right through me.

I realize I’m staring and quickly try to compose myself. "Welcome to Perfezione,” I manage, my voice slightly breathless. “How can I help you?”

His lips curve into a smile that’s equal parts charm and danger. “Don Angelo Pirelli, Jr.,” he introduces himself, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “I’m here for a fitting. I understand you’re the best in the business.”

I swallow hard, willing my professional demeanor to take over. “You’ve come to the right place, Don Pirelli. For the Timpone funeral, I assume?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “A somber occasion, but one that requires looking our best.”

As I lead him to the fitting area, I can feel the heat of his gaze on my back. I turn to face him, tape measure in hand. “If you’ll step up here, we can get started.”

Don Pirelli moves with a fluid grace that belies his imposing frame. As he stands on the pedestal, I begin taking his measurements, acutely aware of every point where my hands brush against him.

“You have a gentle touch,” he murmurs, his eyes following my movements. “I can see why your reputation precedes you.”

I feel a blush creeping up my neck. “Thank you,” I reply, proud that my voice remains steady. “It’s all in the details.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, a hint of something more in his tone. “And you seem to have quite an eye for… details.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the air between us feels electric. I clear my throat, breaking the spell. “How do you prefer your jackets, Don Pirelli? More fitted or with a bit more room?”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eye. “I like things that fit… just right. Snug in all the right places, but with enough give to move when necessary.”

I nod, trying to ignore the double meaning in his words. As I continue the fitting, our conversation flows easily, punctuated by moments of charged silence. Despite the looming threat of Gino’s return, I find myself enjoying the process, even laughing at Don Pirelli’s subtle jokes.

As I finish up, pinning the last adjustments, I step back to admire my work. The suit drapes perfectly over his form, accentuating his broad shoulders and trim waist.

“Well, Don Pirelli,” I say, allowing a small smile, “I think we’ve achieved the perfect fit.”

He turns to the mirror, adjusting his stance. “Sofia,” he says, his voice low and intimate, “I believe you’re right. It’s… perfect.”

The way he says my name sends another shiver through me. As our eyes meet in the mirror’s reflection, I can’t help but feel that this fitting has altered more than just fabric.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. “Please, call me Fee,” I say softly. “It’s what my friends and family use.”

Don Pirelli cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Fee?” he repeats, his voice wrapping around the nickname like a caress.

I nod, then feel heat rising to my cheeks as I realize how forward I’m being. “I mean, if you’d like to, of course. I didn’t mean to presume?—”

He cuts me off, gently tipping my chin up with one finger until I’m looking directly into his eyes. They’re a deep, rich brown, like freshly tilled earth after rain, with flecks of gold that seem to catch the light. But it’s the intensity in them that truly captivates me—a smoldering heat that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world.

“Fee,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I like it. It suits you—short, sweet, and leaves me wanting more.”

Holy shit .

I feel like I’m in a trance as I move to the cash register, my hands trembling slightly as I ring up his purchase. When I tell him the total, he hands over far more than necessary.

“Oh, this is too much,” I protest weakly, but he just smiles, a slow, dangerous curve of his lips that makes my heart race.

“Keep the change,” he says, his eyes never leaving mine. “Consider it a down payment. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the shop, the bell chiming his departure. As soon as the door closes behind him, I lean against the counter, fanning my face with my hand.

“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself, still feeling the lingering heat of his gaze. “That man is gorgeous .”

I try to shake off the effect he’s had on me, but it’s no use. Even as I turn back to my work, I can’t help but replay our interaction in my mind, wondering when I’ll see Don Angelo Pirelli again—and what will happen when I do.

The bell chimes again, and I look up, hoping to see Don Pirelli. But my heart sinks when Gino saunters in, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent.

“Well, well,” he drawls, running his fingers along a rack of suits. “If it isn’t little Sofia. All alone today?”

I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “What can I do for you, Don Timpone?”

He chuckles, a sound devoid of humor. “Oh, I think you know exactly why I’m here.” He picks up a pair of shears, examining them closely. “Nice craftsmanship. Be a shame if something happened to them.”

My hands clench at my sides. “I have some money for you,” I say, hating how my voice trembles.

Gino’s eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Some? I believe I said twenty thousand. All of it.”

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “I… I only have twelve thousand.”

His face darkens instantly. “ Twelve ? I told you twenty, you stupid girl. Twenty thousand.”

I desperately wish that Zip were here, or even Don Pirelli. Anyone to stand between me and Gino’s growing rage.

“I don’t have it all,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You knew twenty thousand would be too much. You set me up to fail.”

Gino’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Set you up? I gave you a number. It’s not my fault you can’t deliver.”

He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively back away. The tension in the air is palpable, and I’m acutely aware of how alone and vulnerable I am.

“Please,” I try one last time. “We can work something out. The twelve thousand, plus maybe some kind of payment plan?—”

“Payment plan?” Gino scoffs. “This isn’t a department store, sweetheart. You don’t get to negotiate.”

“I really don’t have it,” I repeat, my eyes darting to the door, hoping for a miracle.

Before I can react, Gino’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm with bruising force. “You think you can play games with me?” he snarls, shaking me. “You think you can cheat me?”

My heart races, and I try to pull free, but his grip tightens, “Please, Gino, I?—”

He cuts me off with a backhanded slap across my face, the force of it sending me staggering, Pain blossoms in my cheek, and I taste blood.

I scream, more out of frustration and fear than pain, and swing my fist at him. He dodges easily, laughing as he catches my wrist and twists it painfully. “Feisty, aren’t you?”

I try to kick at him, desperate to break free, but he blocks my attempts, shoving me against the wall. Panic floods my senses as he looms over me, his face a mask of fury. “You think you can fight me, little girl? You’re nothing .”

Suddenly, the door opens with a crash, and Don Pirelli storms in, a dark and furious presence. “Let her go, Gino,” he commands, his voice cold and deadly.