“Not Yet,” She Said When the Capo Asked About a Boyfriend—Then the Mafia Boss Went Silent With Jealousy

The rain had returned, slicking the cobblestone streets of the city with a mirror-like sheen.

Lyra was working late. The shop was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic hum of the vintage sewing machine as she finished the lining of a bespoke overcoat. She had locked the deadbolts, but the tension from Silas Vane’s visit still hummed in her veins.

At 1:00 AM, headlights swept across the frosted glass of the shop window.

A heavy knock rattled the front door.

Lyra paused the machine. She walked quietly to the window, peering through a small gap in the curtains.

It was Noah. He was standing in the rain, his coat drenched, looking at the lock.

Lyra quickly unbolted the door and pulled him inside. "Noah, what are you doing here at this hour? You’re soaking wet."

Noah didn't answer immediately. He locked the door behind him and turned to face her. The adrenaline of the sit-down was still radiating from him in waves. He looked at her, truly looked at her, as if making sure she was real.

"I handled it," Noah said, his voice ragged. "Silas won't touch you. The Commission won't touch you. I secured the transition."

Lyra let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She reached out, her hands resting on his wet lapels. "You didn't use violence."

"I used leverage," Noah replied, resting his forehead against hers. "Just like you asked."

For a moment, there was only the sound of the rain against the glass and the heavy, synchronized beating of their hearts.

Then, the back door of the shop exploded inward.

Wood splintered violently across the cutting room floor. Two men wearing tactical gear and ski masks rushed into the shop, suppressed weapons raised. Silas Vane had lost the political war, so he had bypassed the Commission. He had sent a hit squad.

"Get down!" Noah roared.

He tackled Lyra, shielding her body with his own as a hail of bullets tore through the shop. The antique mirrors shattered. The mannequins exploded into fiberglass dust. The beautiful suits Lyra had spent weeks crafting were ripped to shreds.

Noah pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster while still pinning Lyra behind the heavy oak cutting table.

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

The suppressed gunfire chewed through the wood above their heads.

"Stay here," Noah commanded, his eyes completely pitch black. The monster had been unleashed, and this time, Lyra didn't try to stop it.

Noah rolled out from behind the table. He fired twice.

The first assailant dropped instantly, a bullet tearing through his kneecap. The second man returned fire, forcing Noah to dive behind a rack of heavy wool coats.

Lyra was paralyzed, her ears ringing. She looked around frantically. The second gunman was advancing on Noah’s position, pulling a fresh magazine from his vest.

Noah was pinned.

Lyra saw her heavy, ten-inch steel fabric shears lying on the floor three feet away.

She didn't think. She moved.

She lunged across the floor, grabbing the cold steel handles. As the gunman passed the cutting table, aiming his weapon at Noah’s cover, Lyra drove the pointed steel shears directly into the back of the man's calf with all her strength.

The man screamed, his leg buckling. His aim jerked wildly, firing into the ceiling.

Noah capitalized instantly. He surged forward, disarming the falling man with a brutal strike to the wrist, then kicked him squarely in the chest, knocking him unconscious.

Silence descended on the ruined shop, broken only by the groans of the first wounded hitman.

Noah stood amidst the wreckage, his chest heaving, his gun pointed at the floor. He turned slowly, looking for Lyra.

She was sitting on the floor, covered in fiberglass dust and splinters, staring at her shaking hands.

Noah dropped his weapon. He rushed to her, dropping to his knees, his hands frantically checking her for wounds.

"Lyra. Lyra, look at me. Are you hit?"

She looked up. Her face was pale, but her eyes were entirely clear. "I ruined my favorite shears."

Noah let out a sound that was half a sob, half a laugh. He pulled her into his chest, burying his face in her hair, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.

"I'm sorry," Noah choked out, looking around the destroyed shop. The legacy her father had left her was in ruins. "I brought this to your door. I destroyed it."

Lyra pulled back. She looked at the shattered mirrors, the torn fabric, and then at the man kneeling in front of her.

"A shop is just wood and cloth, Noah," she whispered fiercely. "We can rebuild it."