Chapter 3 - Thirty Days
Sophie stared at the photograph until the room disappeared around her.
Walter Pike looked exhausted.
His white hair was disheveled.
One side of his face was bruised.
But he was alive.
At least when the photograph was taken.
Luca reached toward the briefcase.
Adrian closed it.
“Careful.”
Luca’s voice became terrifyingly quiet.
“You walked into a public business carrying evidence of kidnapping.”
Adrian smiled.
“Did I?”
“You’re getting sloppy.”
“I brought a photograph someone mailed to me.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
Sophie stepped around Luca.
“Where is Walter?”
Adrian looked at her.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether you stop interfering with things you don’t understand.”
“He brought his jacket to me.”
“He made a mistake.”
“You hurt him because of a memory card?”
Adrian’s eyes flickered.
There.
Confirmation.
Tiny.
But Sophie saw it.
Tailors spent their lives reading small signals.
A shoulder lifting before someone admitted trousers were too tight.
A bride biting her lip before confessing she hated the dress her mother chose.
A businessman repeatedly touching one pocket when worried about the envelope inside.
Adrian knew exactly what was on that memory card.
Sophie folded her arms.
“What’s on it?”
“No idea.”
“You’re lying.”
Adrian’s smile thinned.
Luca moved beside her.
“Sophie.”
She ignored him.
“Walter hid it in a jacket because he was afraid of you.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened.
“Did you open it?”
“No.”
Another tiny reaction.
Relief.
Sophie noticed that too.
Luca did.
His eyes met hers briefly.
They were suddenly communicating without speaking.
Adrian tapped the briefcase.
“My offer is simple. Terminate your lease. Sell whatever interests you hold in the rear easement. Give me Walter’s jacket and anything you found inside it.”
“In exchange?”
“Walter goes home.”
Sophie felt sick.
“You want me to trust you?”
“You don’t need trust. You need practicality.”
Luca spoke.
“Leave.”
Adrian laughed.
“You really are spending time in tailor shops now?”
“Apparently.”
“What happened to you?”
Luca smiled without warmth.
“I met someone who throws me out when I’m irritating.”
Mrs. Alvarez covered a laugh.
Adrian’s face tightened.
Then Luca reached for his phone.
“You have thirty seconds before I call Detective Hernandez.”
Adrian looked at him.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
Something passed between them.
History.
Sophie saw it.
Adrian shut the case.
He leaned toward her.
“Friday.”
Then he walked out.
The door closed.
Immediately Luca said, “We’re going to the police.”
Sophie stared at him.
“You just said Cross hadn’t done anything provable.”
“He changed that.”
“He’ll say the photograph was anonymous.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“But Hernandez isn’t stupid.”
“Who is Hernandez?”
“A detective who dislikes me.”
“That sounds like half the city.”
“This one does it professionally.”
Sophie looked at the customers.
“This shop is closed for the day.”
Nobody argued.
Mrs. Alvarez hugged Sophie before leaving.
Professor Grant offered to stay.
Sophie thanked him and refused.
Within fifteen minutes, the shop was empty except for Sophie and Luca.
She locked the door.
Then she retrieved the spool container.
Luca watched.
“Where did you hide it?”
“In plain sight.”
She opened the container.
Empty.
Sophie froze.
“No.”
“What?”
“It was here.”
Luca’s entire posture changed.
“When did you last see it?”
“Last night.”
“Who entered today?”
“Customers.”
“Names.”
“I’m not giving you—”
“Sophie.”
She heard urgency.
Not command.
She thought.
Mrs. Alvarez.
Professor Grant.
A bride named Jenna.
Two brothers collecting suits.
Luca.
Adrian.
Then she remembered.
A courier had entered at eight fifteen.
Thirty seconds.
Dropped off a package.
Stood near the thread display.
Sophie turned.
The spool container had been on the lower shelf behind that display.
“Oh, God.”
Luca understood from her expression.
“Someone took it.”
Sophie ran to the front counter.
She pulled up the security camera feed on her old laptop.
The footage was grainy.
At 8:16, the courier entered.
Baseball cap.
Blue jacket.
Package in hand.
He approached the counter.
Sophie had been in the fitting room.
The man looked around.
Reached behind the display.
Took something.
Then left.
Luca called Marco.
“Get every exterior camera from Mercer between seven-thirty and nine.”
He listened.
“Now.”
Sophie stared at him.
“You really talk like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like periods are expensive.”
He almost responded.
Then Sophie’s laptop beeped.
EMAIL RECEIVED.
Sender: WPIKE74.
Sophie stopped.
“That’s Walter.”
Luca came around the counter.
She opened it.
Subject: IF YOU FOUND THIS
The email had been scheduled.
Sophie read aloud.
“Sophie, if you receive this, I failed to come back for the jacket.”
Her voice shook.
“I’m sorry for placing you in danger. Your mother once saved my life by refusing to stay silent. I believed you might be the only person left stubborn enough to do the same.”
Sophie swallowed.
Luca went still.
The message continued.
“The card is only one copy. The second copy is hidden somewhere Eleanor would understand. Do not trust Cross. Do not trust anyone who claims Antonio Moretti was your mother’s enemy.”
Sophie stopped reading.
Luca stared at the screen.
“What?”
She looked at him.
“Your father.”
“I heard.”
“There’s more.”
She continued.
“Your mother and Antonio discovered what Cross’s father had built beneath Mercer Street. They tried to stop it. Antonio died before they could finish. Eleanor kept the last proof.”
Luca grabbed the counter.
His knuckles whitened.
“My father died in a car accident.”
Sophie whispered, “Apparently Walter disagreed.”
The email ended with six words.
ASK WHAT ELEANOR SEWED FOR ANTONIO.
Sophie looked at Luca.
He looked almost pale.
“My father was buried in one of your mother’s suits.”
Sophie’s skin prickled.
“What?”
“He had all his suits made here.”
“I never knew.”
“You were probably a teenager.”
“My mother never mentioned your family.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
Luca looked away.
“My father asked her not to.”
Sophie felt suddenly angry.
“Everyone knows pieces of my mother’s life except me.”
“Maybe she was protecting you.”
“I’m tired of being protected by people who refuse to explain anything.”
Luca turned back.
“Then we find the explanation.”
“How?”
“We start with her records.”
Sophie’s mother had kept everything.
Receipts.
Patterns.
Customer measurements.
Handwritten notes.
Twenty-seven years of tailoring history lived in metal filing cabinets downstairs.
They spent two hours searching.
Antonio Moretti.
The folder was thick.
Measurements.
Fabric samples.
Invoices.
Sophie found the final order.
FUNERAL SUIT — NAVY WOOL.
Special instruction handwritten by Eleanor:
DOUBLE LEFT LAPEL CANVAS.
Sophie stared.
“That makes no tailoring sense.”
Luca leaned close.
“What?”
“You reinforce both lapels evenly. Not one.”
“Meaning she hid something there.”
Sophie looked at him.
“In a suit that was buried.”
Luca understood.
“No.”
“I’m not suggesting—”
“You absolutely are.”
“We need records first.”
He called someone.
Sophie paced.
“You cannot dig up your father.”
“I am aware there are laws.”
“Good.”
“And procedures.”
“Luca.”
He held up one finger while speaking.
That annoyed her.
She slapped his hand down.
He stared at her.
“No finger.”
He ended the call.
“You really don’t fear me.”
“Oh, I fear you. I simply find you irritating at the same time.”
Something softened in his expression.
“You should fear Cross more.”
“Stop trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to keep you alive.”
The words landed harder than expected.
Sophie looked away.
“What about your absurd engagement idea?”
“It’s less absurd now.”
“No.”
“He knows we’re working together.”
“So?”
“Cross will assume I’ve protected you financially and physically.”
“Have you?”
“Not financially.”
“Physically?”
“Marco has been across the street since seven.”
Sophie marched to the window.
Marco sat inside a coffee shop pretending to read a newspaper upside down.
She turned.
“You put surveillance on me?”
“Protection.”
“Without asking?”
“Yes.”
“Terrible fiancé behavior.”
Luca’s eyebrow lifted.
“So we’re discussing performance standards?”
“No.”
But Sophie was smiling.
She hated that.
He noticed.
She hated that more.
Then his phone rang.
Marco.
Luca answered.
His face changed.
“Where?”
He listened.
“Send it.”
A photograph arrived.
Luca showed Sophie.
The courier who stole the memory card had been captured entering a building owned by Cross Urban Development.
“He has it,” Sophie whispered.
“Probably.”
“Then Walter’s in more danger.”
“Yes.”
Sophie looked around the basement.
At her mother’s files.
At Luca.
At the impossible situation swallowing her ordinary life.
“Thirty days?”
He blinked.
“What?”
“The fake engagement.”
Luca became very still.
“You’re considering it?”
“I’m considering using your reputation.”
“That’s romantic.”
“Don’t get excited.”
“Impossible.”
“Rules.”
“Of course there are rules.”
“No controlling my shop.”
“Fine.”
“No entering without taking a number.”
His mouth twitched.
“Fine.”
“No bodyguards inside unless there’s an actual emergency.”
“Negotiable.”
“Not negotiable.”
“Fine.”
“No pretending to kiss me for cameras.”
He paused.
Sophie pointed.
“That pause was too long.”
“I was thinking.”
“Think faster.”
“Fine.”
“And if we find Walter, stop Cross, and secure my shop before thirty days, it ends early.”
Luca held out his hand.
“Deal.”
Sophie looked at it.
Then shook.
His hand was warm.
Steady.
For some reason, letting go felt stranger than taking it.
By lunchtime, Luca’s publicist had released one photograph.
Sophie and Luca leaving Bennett Tailoring together.
The headline traveled across the city within minutes.
LUCA MORETTI SECRETLY ENGAGED TO MERCER STREET TAILOR.
Sophie stared at her phone.
“You could have chosen a better picture.”
Luca looked over her shoulder.
“You look good.”
“I look like I’m threatening you with a purse.”
“You were.”
“Your face looks smug.”
“I was enjoying myself.”
“You need hobbies.”
“I have one.”
“What?”
He looked at her.
Sophie’s cheeks warmed.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
The shop phone rang.
Sophie answered.
“Bennett Tailoring.”
Silence.
Then Walter Pike whispered, “Sophie?”
She froze.
Luca saw it.
She put the call on speaker.
“Walter?”
“I don’t have much time.”
“Where are you?”
“I escaped the room.”
“Tell us where.”
“I can’t see outside.”
“Listen to me,” Luca said. “Any sounds? Trains? Bells? Traffic?”
Walter breathed hard.
“Water.”
Luca looked at Sophie.
“River?”
“Maybe.”
Walter continued.
“And machinery. Something heavy.”
Sophie thought about Mercer Street.
The old warehouse district.
Water.
Machinery.
Then Walter gasped.
Footsteps sounded through the phone.
“Walter?”
He whispered urgently.
“The second copy isn’t in Antonio’s grave.”
Luca stiffened.
“What?”
“Eleanor moved it.”
“Where?”
Walter’s breathing became ragged.
“Sophie, your mother left it inside the last thing she ever made for you.”
Sophie stopped breathing.
The line went dead.
Luca grabbed his coat.
“What did your mother make you?”
Sophie stared toward the stairs.
A memory crashed into her.
The final garment Eleanor Bennett had sewn before entering the hospital had never been finished.
A wedding dress.
Sophie’s wedding dress.
For a wedding that never happened.
It had been sealed inside a cedar garment chest for five years.
Sophie ran upstairs.
The chest stood in the storage room.
She opened the door.
Then stopped.
The cedar chest was already open.
May you like
The wedding dress was gone.
And someone was standing beside the empty hanger.
