“Not Yet,” She Told the Capo—Then the Mafia Boss Silenced the Entire City With His Jealousy.48

The new front windows were reinforced glass, though Lyra told customers they were installed for energy efficiency. The damaged hardwood floors had been restored rather than replaced. Her father’s pattern cabinet stood in the cutting room, its scorched edges preserved as a reminder of what had survived.

Above the register hung the photograph of her father and nineteen-year-old Noah.

The neighborhood celebrated the reopening as if it were a holiday.

Children drew chalk pictures on the sidewalk. Local restaurants delivered trays of food. Former customers returned with jackets they did not need altered and insisted on paying double.

Lyra refused every excessive payment.

Noah secretly bought gift certificates instead.

She discovered this after three days.

“You bought forty thousand dollars in tailoring credit under false names.”

They stood in the cutting room after closing.

Noah wore a charcoal three-piece suit she had made for him. The jacket fit his shoulders perfectly, though he had complained throughout every fitting merely to extend the appointments.

“I have many associates who require clothing.”

“One of the names was Abraham Lincoln.”

“He dresses formally.”

“Another was Theodore Roosevelt.”

“A broad man. Difficult shoulders.”

Lyra tried not to smile.

Noah stepped closer.

He had changed in ways the city noticed.

The illegal gambling rooms on the west side had closed. Several warehouses had been converted into legitimate shipping businesses. Men who had once carried weapons now carried employee identification cards.

Noah had not become innocent.

But he had begun making choices.

The transition came with enemies. Some of his own people called him weak. Others left to join rival crews.

He allowed them to go.

Those who stayed discovered that Noah Moretti remained dangerous, but no longer without direction.

Lyra had changed too.

She no longer mistook independence for isolation. She accepted help when it came without hidden ownership. She hired two apprentice tailors, started an online custom clothing service, and paid the shop’s bills before their envelopes turned red.

The lease was no longer a problem.

After Victor Crane’s arrest, the building went into foreclosure. Lyra purchased it using a city compensation settlement and the money recovered from her father’s accounts.

Noah offered to buy it for her.

She refused.

He smiled when she did.

That had become the foundation of their relationship: offers instead of orders, questions instead of commands.

He still struggled.

Once, after a delivery driver asked for Lyra’s phone number, Noah purchased the delivery company.

Lyra made him sell it back.

Another time, he had Owen the accountant investigated despite already knowing Owen was happily married.

Lyra did not speak to Noah for two days.

He sent flowers.

She returned them.

He sent pastries.

She ate them but remained angry.

He finally apologized in person without making excuses.

Progress, she had learned, was not always graceful.

That evening, Noah stood near the fitting pedestal, watching as Lyra covered the sewing machines.

“You’re quiet,” she said.

“I’m thinking.”

“That usually frightens people.”

“Does it frighten you?”

“Occasionally.”

He approached the cutting table and placed his gold lighter on the wood.

Lyra recognized it instantly. The same lighter he had snapped shut after asking whether she had a boyfriend.

“You stopped smoking years ago,” she said.

“It gives my hands something to do.”

“When you’re nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.”

“You bought a delivery company because a man smiled at me.”

“He was overly familiar.”

“He asked whether I had weekend plans.”

“Exactly.”

Lyra leaned against the table.

“What are you nervous about?”

Noah looked toward the shop door.

“Come outside.”

It was raining.

Not violently, as it had the night of the shooting, but softly enough to turn the pavement silver. Lights glowed beneath the new awning. The street was unusually quiet.

Too quiet.

Lyra narrowed her eyes.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Noah.”

A violin began playing from somewhere above them.

Lyra looked up.

Musicians stood on the fire escape of the building across the street. Warm lights appeared in every neighboring window. One by one, people stepped onto the sidewalks.

Her apprentices.

Owen and Patrick.

Paulie, walking with a cane after months of recovery.

Even the nurses Noah had accused of incompetence.

“You invited everyone?” Lyra asked.

“They insisted.”

“No one insists on anything with you.”

“They were persuasive.”

Paulie called from across the street. “He threatened us for three hours until we agreed!”

Noah turned his head slowly.

Paulie raised both hands. “I’m still recovering. You can’t hit me.”

Laughter moved through the crowd.

Lyra looked back at Noah.

He reached into his coat.

Her heart began beating faster.

“No.”

He paused.

“That isn’t my answer,” she said quickly. “I mean, no, you are not proposing to me in the street like some kind of normal person.”

“I was told public proposals were romantic.”

“By whom?”

“Paulie.”

“Paulie was shot in the chest. His judgment is questionable.”

“It’s true!” Paulie shouted.

Noah ignored him and lowered himself onto one knee.

The most feared man in the west side knelt on the wet pavement in a thousand-dollar suit.

The street became silent.

Lyra covered her mouth.

Noah opened a small black box.

Inside was not an enormous diamond. He knew her well enough to understand she would reject anything extravagant.

The ring was elegant and simple, made with a small oval stone set between two delicate bands.

“The diamond belonged to my mother,” Noah said. “The gold came from the lighter.”

Lyra looked at the bare space on the table through the shop window.

“You melted it?”

“I no longer needed something to keep my hands occupied.”

His voice was steady, but she could see the tension in his shoulders.

“Lyra Bellini, you are the only person who has ever looked at me and seen both the man I am and the man I could become.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“You refused my money, my orders, and most of my invitations.”

“Your invitations sounded like kidnappings.”

“I’ve improved.”

“You have.”

“You taught me that protection without choice is a prison. You taught me that love cannot be taken, purchased, or demanded.”

Noah lifted the ring.

“I cannot promise I’ll never be jealous.”

A laugh broke through her tears.

“I cannot promise I’ll always be reasonable. But I promise you will always have a choice. Every day, for the rest of our lives, I will ask you to choose me.”

The violin continued softly above the street.

Noah’s dark eyes held hers.

“Do you have a husband?”

Lyra laughed.

“Not yet.”

His expression tightened with familiar jealousy.

She dropped to her knees in front of him and placed both hands around his face.

“But I will soon.”

She kissed him while the entire street erupted in applause.

Paulie shouted loudest.

One year later, Noah wore a suit sewn entirely by Lyra as he waited beneath a flower-covered arch in the courtyard behind Bellini Bespoke.

He had asked for black.

She made it midnight blue because, as she explained, the groom did not control every detail.

Paulie stood beside him as best man. Owen and Patrick sat in the front row. The neighborhood filled every chair and stood along the brick walls when no seats remained.

Lyra walked toward Noah carrying a small photograph of her father inside her bouquet.

For one brief moment, Noah looked toward it.

Then he placed a hand over his heart.

A silent promise to the man who had once believed he could still choose a better path.

Lyra reached the altar.

Noah took her hands.

“Still frightened of me?” he whispered.

“Occasionally.”

“Good.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It keeps things exciting,” he added.

The officiant cleared his throat.