Chapter 1 - The Measurement of Danger
The silence in the tailoring shop stretched so tight it felt like a thread about to snap. Roman Valenti stood mere inches from Evelyn, his dark eyes entirely focused on the erratic pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. He wasn’t touching her. He hadn’t even reached out. But the sheer gravity of his presence felt like a physical weight pressing against her skin.
“Your business?” Evelyn echoed, her voice lacking the usual sharp edge she used to keep dangerous men at bay.
“Yes,” Roman murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before slowly rising back to her eyes. “I don’t like sharing, Evelyn. And I particularly don’t like the idea of an architect who drinks oat milk pretending he knows how to protect you.”
“I don’t need protection,” she lied. The seventy thousand dollars of debt anchored to her father’s shop told a very different story, but her pride was the only thing she owned free and clear.
Roman’s jaw flexed. He reached into the inner pocket of his unfinished charcoal jacket. For a wild, terrifying second, Evelyn thought he was going to pull out the gun she had felt earlier. Instead, he withdrew a folded piece of thick, cream-colored paper. He placed it gently on her cutting table, right next to her tailor’s chalk.
“What is that?” she asked, refusing to break eye contact.
“A solution to your landlord problem,” Roman stated smoothly. “And your bank problem. I bought the building, Evelyn. I also bought the seventy thousand dollars of debt your father left behind. Hart & Daughter Tailoring belongs to the Valenti family now. Or, more accurately, it belongs to me.”
Evelyn felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at the document, the bold legal print confirming her worst nightmare. She wasn’t just in debt anymore; she was owned by a mafia underboss.
“You can’t do that!” she shouted, pushing the paper back toward him. “I didn’t ask for your help! I was going to pay it off!”
“By hemming trousers for pennies? By going on pity dates with men like Andrew hoping they’ll pay for your dinner?” Roman’s voice finally rose, a dangerous, vibrating baritone that rattled the glass in the storefront windows. He stepped closer, finally closing the distance, his large, calloused hands gripping the edge of the cutting table on either side of her hips, boxing her in. “You are mine to protect now. The debt is forgiven. The building is yours. But in exchange, you don’t go on that date on Friday. You go out with me.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. “Is that an order from the Underboss?”
May you like
Roman leaned down, the scent of cedar and gunpowder wrapping around her senses. “No,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “It’s a request from a man who hasn’t slept in three weeks because he can’t stop thinking about the woman pinning his suits. Friday at seven. Wear something you don’t mind getting ruined.”
Before she could form a coherent response, Roman turned, buttoned his coat over the unfinished suit jacket, and walked out into the rain, leaving Sal to rush after him. Evelyn stood perfectly still in the empty shop, the paper burning a hole in her vision, realizing she had just been dragged completely into the dark, terrifying, and fiercely intoxicating world of Roman Valenti.
