Chapter 2 - The Man Who Was Not Supposed to Care
For the next three days, Lyra tried not to think about Noah Moretti.
She failed.
Every time she measured a sleeve, she remembered the hard line of his shoulders beneath the fabric.
Every time the shop bell rang, her stomach tightened.
Every time rain struck the windows, she remembered the way he looked at her after she said, Not yet.
But Noah did not return.
Paulie did.
On Thursday afternoon, he entered the shop carrying a paper bag from a bakery two blocks away.
Lyra looked up from the sewing machine.
“Is Mr. Moretti hiding in the car?”
Paulie glanced behind him.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He put the bag on the counter.
“Boss said you have not eaten.”
Lyra stared at it.
“I had coffee.”
“That does not count.”
“It counts emotionally.”
Paulie looked like he had never heard anyone say that before.
Inside the bag were two warm spinach pastries, a sandwich, and a carton of soup.
Lyra looked toward the door.
“I did not ask for this.”
“No,” Paulie said. “That is apparently his favorite kind of request.”
She sighed.
“Tell him I said thank you.”
Paulie hesitated.
“You can tell him yourself tomorrow.”
“He is coming?”
“For the fitting.”
“Of course he is.”
Paulie nodded, then stood awkwardly by the counter.
Lyra looked at him.
“Is there something else?”
His face became serious.
“Do not walk home alone tonight.”
The casual irritation drained from her.
“Why?”
Paulie’s jaw tightened.
“Someone asked questions about the shop.”
“What kind of questions?”
“The kind that make men like me pay attention.”
Lyra looked toward the rain-streaked window.
Across Fourth Street, a dark sedan sat beneath a broken streetlamp.
It had been parked there for nearly an hour.
She had noticed it.
She told herself it belonged to someone waiting for an appointment.
Now she was not so sure.
“Who?” she asked.
Paulie shook his head.
“We do not know yet.”
“I am not involved in Mr. Moretti’s business.”
“No,” Paulie said. “But somebody may think you are.”
Fear moved through her slowly.
Not panic.
Something colder.
A calculation.
Her father had spent his entire life avoiding criminal men. He tailored suits for them because tailoring was safer than asking questions, but he never attended their parties or accepted favors beyond payment.
Before he died, he told Lyra one rule.
Do the work. Take the money. Never let them believe they own a piece of your life.
Noah had been in the shop for one fitting.
And already, someone was watching.
“I can take the train,” she said.
Paulie looked at her with disbelief.
“No.”
“I do not need a bodyguard.”
“You need to remain alive long enough to be stubborn tomorrow.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It was not meant to be.”
The shop bell rang.
Both of them turned.
A young man stepped inside, rainwater dripping from his hooded jacket.
He looked around the shop without interest.
Then his eyes landed on Lyra.
“Lyra Vale?” he asked.
Paulie moved before she could answer.
“Shop is closed.”
The man smiled.
“It does not look closed.”
Paulie stepped between him and the counter.
“It is now.”
The stranger’s smile faded.
“I only came to give her a message.”
Lyra’s mouth went dry.
“What message?”
The man reached into his coat.
Paulie’s hand moved toward his own weapon.
But the stranger only removed a small white envelope and placed it on the counter.
Then he backed toward the door.
“Tell Moretti,” he said, “that the west side does not belong to him anymore.”
He disappeared into the rain.
Paulie picked up the envelope without touching the seal.
Inside was a single photograph.
Lyra, leaving the shop the night before.
May you like
And written across the bottom in black marker were four words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID YES.
