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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 tookLou 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.”
