Chapter 1 - Not Yet
The first thing I learned about Noah Moretti was that everyone was afraid of him.
The second thing I learned was that I wasn't.
At least, not enough to keep my mouth shut.
My father's tailor shop on Fourth Street had survived forty-two years, two recessions, one fire, and a neighborhood that had slowly forgotten how to appreciate handmade suits.
But three months behind on rent was proving more dangerous than any of those things.
Every morning, I opened the shop at eight and pretended not to notice the final notices beneath the register.
Every evening, my father counted the day's money twice.
Neither of us talked about the landlord.
Neither of us talked about closing.
And neither of us admitted that we were running out of time.
Then Noah Moretti walked through our door.
I knew who he was before he introduced himself.
Everyone in Little Italy knew.
Noah Moretti was thirty-four, owner of several legitimate businesses, rumored owner of several illegitimate ones, and the youngest man ever to control the Moretti organization.
People said he had inherited his father's empire.
People who knew better said he had taken it.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a charcoal overcoat that probably cost more than our monthly rent.
Two men followed him.
One was Paulie, his enormous bodyguard.
The other stayed outside.
Noah removed his gloves.
"I need a suit."
My father appeared from the back room.
"We can do that."
Noah's eyes moved toward me.
"I was told your daughter handles fittings."
My father glanced at me.
I stepped forward.
"I do."
Noah studied me for a second too long.
"Good."
I pointed toward the fitting platform.
"Arms up."
Paulie looked at my father.
My father looked at the floor.
Noah raised an eyebrow.
"You always talk to customers like that?"
"Only the difficult ones."
A tiny smile touched his mouth.
I pretended not to notice.
He stepped onto the platform.
I wrapped the measuring tape around his chest.
Six feet three inches of expensive danger stood perfectly still while I worked.
His shoulders were broad.
His waist surprisingly narrow.
I wrote down the numbers.
Then I reached beneath his coat.
My fingers brushed the unmistakable shape of a pistol.
I froze.
Noah looked down.
I looked up.
Neither of us said anything.
I finished the measurement.
"You could've warned me."
"You didn't ask."
"Most people don't carry guns into a tailor shop."
"Most people aren't me."
Fair enough.
I measured his sleeve.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I charge for tailoring. Conversation costs extra."
Paulie coughed.
I glanced at him.
"Was that a laugh?"
"No."
"It sounded like one."
"It was a medical emergency."
Noah's mouth twitched.
I climbed onto a wooden stool to mark his shoulder.
His face was close now.
Too close.
I could smell coffee and expensive cologne.
I tried to focus on the chalk.
Then he asked:
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
My hand stopped.
I looked at him through the mirror.
"No."
He waited.
I should have returned to measuring.
Instead, I smiled nervously.
"Not yet."
The lighter in his hand snapped shut.
Paulie's chewing stopped.
My father dropped something in the back room.
I slowly climbed down.
"What?"
Noah's expression had gone completely still.
"Not yet?"
"Yes."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I don't have one."
"Yet."
I folded my arms.
"Are you interrogating me?"
"No."
"Then why do you sound like the FBI?"
He stepped off the platform.
His eyes remained on mine.
"Because I'm curious."
"About my dating life?"
"About who you expect to become your boyfriend."
I blinked.
"That's none of your business."
"You're right."
He said it so calmly that I almost relaxed.
Then he added:
"I still want to know."
My heart beat faster.
I hated that it did.
I hated even more that he seemed to notice.
Noah leaned closer.
"When a woman tells me she doesn't have a man yet, I start wondering who she expects to become that man."
I swallowed.
"And?"
His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.
"And I discovered I don't like wondering."
Thunder rolled outside.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then Noah stepped back.
"I'll take the suit."
"What color?"
"Black."
"How original."
"Surprise me."
He walked toward the door.
I thought that was the end of it.
Then he stopped.
"Friday."
"Friday what?"
"I'll come back for the fitting."
"You don't need an appointment?"
"No."
"Why?"
He looked over his shoulder.
"Because you said yes."
"I said you needed an appointment."
His almost-smile returned.
"Same thing."
Then he left.
I stared at the closed door.
My father slowly emerged from the back.
"Do you know who that was?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what he does?"
"Yes."
My father lowered his voice.
"Then don't get involved with him."
I looked at the door.
"I wasn't planning to."
My father sighed.
"Good."
But that night, when I locked the shop, I found a black envelope tucked beneath the door.
Inside was a handwritten note.
For the woman who told me "not yet."
And beneath it:
Friday can't come soon enough.
I stared at the handwriting.
May you like
My heart did something extremely stupid.
It skipped.
