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1
SOFIA
Ismooth 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 forJimbo? 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’sexactlywhy 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.
