Chapter 8 - The Morning After
At 8:00 AM on Sunday morning, South Philadelphia was quiet under a soft, golden autumn sun.
The brass bell above the door of Bennett Custom & Bridal chimed as Marco carried three large cardboard boxes into the shop, setting them carefully on the cutting table beside Claire’s Singer machine.
Claire was sitting at her desk, wearing an oversized gray cashmere sweater and jeans, a mug of hot coffee in her hands.
"What are those, Marco?" she asked, looking up from her ledger.
"Delivery from Milan, Ms. Bennett," Marco said respectfully. "Mr. Moretti ordered twelve bolts of silk velvet, four spools of gold thread from Venice, and a new iron press from Germany. He felt your current iron was dangerously outdated."
Claire shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "He is incorrigible."
"He’s very thorough, ma'am," Marco repeated with a small bow. "Also, Mr. Hayes called this morning."
Claire paused, her coffee mug hovering near her lips. "Ethan? Is his studio wiring alright?"
"The city inspectors cleared his studio at seven AM," Marco said smoothly. "Mr. Hayes expressed his gratitude to Mr. Moretti for sending his private electrical crew to replace his entire breaker box free of charge. Mr. Hayes mentioned he would be sending you a gift basket of fruit as an apology for canceling Friday."
Claire smiled. "Adrian paid for his electrical work?"
"Mr. Moretti prefers clean infrastructure in his neighborhood, ma'am," Marco said neutrally, turning toward the door. "Oh, and Mr. Moretti will arrive at 1:00 PM for his fitting."
"He doesn't have a fitting today, Marco," Claire said. "His jacket was repaired two hours ago."
Marco stopped at the door, his hand on the brass handle. He turned back with a faint, knowing smirk.
"He tore his trouser leg at ten o'clock this morning, Ms. Bennett," Marco informed her. "He claims he caught it on a desk corner. He estimates it will take at least three hours to repair."
Claire laughed, leaning back in her chair, watching Marco step out into the crisp morning air.
She looked around her shop—at the bright sunlight streaming through the clean windows, at the original deed to the building sitting framed on her wall, at the dark emerald velvet dress hanging proudly on the mannequin in the corner.
For three years, she had fought to keep this small corner of the world alive.
May you like
Now, she had a floor that didn't shake, a roof that didn't leak, and a six-foot-two crime boss who tore his expensive suits just to spend an afternoon listening to her sewing machine hum.
She picked up her darning needle, threaded it with fine green silk, and waited for the brass bell to ring.
