It had started all by accident.

Carlina’s grandfather was a tailor, a damn good one at that. While his son had had his sights set on a comfortable office job crunching numbers, the elderly man had cared for his granddaughter. Keeping her safe, rolling fabric onto bolts. As she got older, that extended to ordering and stock organizing of it - especially when he started teaching her everything he knew. The only condition of the knowledge was not to come onto the floor when the shop was open.

He never said why, and she never thought to pry. Until she was older, an adult in her own right, and the long days were taking a visible toll on him. “Nonno, let me help.” Her grandfather hadn’t taught her much Italian, her retention for second languages wasn’t great, but she never forgot the word Nonno. He had reluctantly agreed, on the condition, she promise to be careful - some of their most loyal customers were not people you wanted to get on the wrong side of.

It wouldn’t be long before she saw exactly what he meant.

“Paolo!” a smooth voice rang through the shop, Carlina sure she could almost feel it along the floorboards as she stuck just behind her grandfather’s shoulder when he greeted the man, the voice being familiar enough that she could guess it was a regular. “Where have you been hiding this one?” It took Carlina a moment to realize he was referring to her as her grandfather proudly said, “Michael, essere al settimo cielo!”

“Grazie, my old friend. Who’s this bella signorina?”

“Michael, this is my lovely granddaughter, Carlina.”

The man’s gaze softened to warmth, as if Carlina were a member of his family, a pleased comment of “Keeping business in the family, as it should be.” He smiled kindly as he shook Carlina’s small hand. Afterward, Paolo moved at a shuffle to herd the men to the fitting area while he pulled his tape measure from where it had hung under his collar.

Michael, who seemed to be the ‘head’, was eagerly chatting away as Carlina moved in near-perfect sync around her grandfather, noting measurements given in barely more than a whisper, knowing exactly what bolt he wanted pulled based on even vague half thoughts. By the end of the selection, Michael and his men had bought at least three suits each. Before he left, he was holding Carlina’s face in his old hands. “God forbid the day Paolo passes, but I think this place will be in safe hands with you, nipotina!” The man turned a smile to Paolo, patting him on the shoulder as he exited.

It continued much the same, for nearly a year. In that time, she had come to figure out that a shocking amount of such customs were part of the Italian crime families. A fact only solidified when his shop went up in flames thanks to old wiring - the revolving door of guests to his hospital room looking like a casting for The Sopranos.

While Carlina’s grandfather, Paolo was too broke and old to run his tailor shop, Carlina was intent on keeping the family business going.

Clearing out her savings, she bought a hearse. When it came to bolts of fabric, she picked them with their current clients in mind, kitting it out as something like a portable workbench. She still did most of the cutting and sewing at home, on the floor of her studio apartment, but it served well enough to travel to clients and keep the bills paid.

It was doing well when her grandfather passed. Despite the distraction, her grandfather’s loyalist customers attended the funeral - all wearing his designs. Carlina kept her composure, but couldn’t stop the tears from running at the sight.

Carlina had gotten up early to visit her grandfather’s grave before her appointments. Taking the time to crouch, head resting on the side of his headstone as she spoke to him. Like she did every week. Unsure if she really believed he could hear her wherever he may be. It was times like this she envied his faith, and the comfort it must have brought him in life.

Thankfully, her first appointment of the day was the same man from her first day on the floor of her grandfather’s shop. As always, the man welcomed her at the door by catching her cheeks in his hands and dropping a brisk kiss on her forehead.

“Mornin’,” she greeted, a work bag hanging from her shoulder as she unlocked the door.

Something was different, there was a new face today with the old man. He didn’t look much older than Carlina, but her patience was running thin at the way he was looking at her.

“This is my son. Michael Jr., this is Carlina - Paolo’s granddaughter.” The predatory look turned to something softer.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry for your loss.” Michael’s voice was gentle, not as rumbling as his father’s, but you could hear the family resemblance.

“Not a loss. We know exactly where he is,” Carlina said, helping RJ onto the folding platform as he chuckled (used to her dark humor method of coping by now). However, that day would be the start of a series of events she would later come to loathe.

The elder Michael passed and his son took over the ‘business’. Despite having gone to law school, Michael, Jr. used that knowledge in nowhere near the intended way. As the landscape of New York had changed, and the elders had faded away, he’d gradually worked Carlina under his wing. Useful, given that it meant she carried his protection like a younger sister would - and he often confided in her like an older brother may.

It was rare that Michael leveraged that relationship, aside from when dealing with women in his life (in the beginning it had been ushering out clingy flings, in later years it was advice to keep his wife sweet) or as a distraction (often, he could bring her to a meeting he wanted to go well, she was certainly more widely liked than he was, him seen as an equal and her someone to be nurtured, and could often sweeten deals with some tailoring if need be.)

Until their neighborhood had a bit of a shuffle. More fresh blood was brought in from outside the borough. No matter, it was a lot of young officers just starting in life who were easily bought off just like their predecessors. The only sticking point was their Chief - an old southern sheriff type, content with what he had and too dedicated to the job for his own good. Sniffing far too close to their work, getting under Michael’s feet as he tried to expand their business - but Michael had a plan.

“That’s it, Michael, you’ve lost your damn mind,” Carlina said briskly as her hands flew across the fabric in front of her, wielding a large pair of scissors that seemed to slide through it like a hot knife through butter. He sat wide legged on her tiny couch, quirked a brow as he sat forward, a hand smoothing over his beard. “Careful. I have limits of disrespect I’ll tolerate, even from you.”

Carlina huffed as she sat back on her haunches. “Sorry. I just worry about you. You have a family and business to look after, it’s a lot easier to do when you’re not behind bars.” That earned her a slow small smile, prompting her to continue, “you said it yourself, Chief’s too upright to be bought off. If you try too hard, he’ll squeal, and you’ll have him breathing down your neck, then the Feds.” Carlina resumed cutting, neatly bundling the pieces in folders with the customer names and notes.

It was the methodical way she moved that Michael focused on, graceful and so assured.

That could be exactly what he needed.

Honey, rather than vinegar.

“You’re right. I think we should welcome the new Chief as our new neighbor. What about a two-piece suit for the guy?” There was a scheming look in Michael’s eye, like he always got when he thought he’d checkmate whatever opponents he was dealing with. “Hey, I happen to know the best tailor in New York.”

Throwing in some flattery with a smile, Michael knew from experience had a great chance of getting Carlina. She rolled her eyes but then grumbled yes, Michael.

Deputy Chief of Police, RJ Brown, the new deputy chief of police at Brooklyn’s 62nd Police Precinct had not followed in drunken father’s footsteps - instead, he wanted to be a police officer. Bright-eyed and full of moral enthusiasm. That had faded over the years as he rose through the ranks and became jaded to the small community in which he’d been raised in Houston. He’d turned to drink, curb-crawling, treated it like support to prop himself up with as pieces of himself gathered dust and the loneliness gnawed at the corners of his mind - till someone suggested he ran for sheriff; an honorary more than practical role. Despite the allure, RJ realized he couldn’t do it anymore.

Moved to New York, went where ever he was assigned, got sober, and traded one vice for what most would consider a better-paying option. Forget about those damn cinnamon buns from Cinnabon a block away from the precinct. It had cushioned him up a bit, or maybe that was age - either way, his uniform was a little snug when he got promoted to Chief and slung off to this precinct. One that hadn’t been paid much attention till near half its staff were due to retire the same year.

Now, here he was, attempting to bring the place up to speed when it seemed even the force had neglected it for a lot longer than anyone let on.

Another waste of time, pompous meeting with an overly important public figure. RJ was grateful to unbutton his jacket as he sank into the chair behind his desk, huffing as he flicked through his tasks and lists for the day ahead.

That was, until that smooth talker knocked on his door. Law school kid, extensive family, very nice car - Chief had a feeling he was the one pulling the strings on the puppets that had been trying to butter up his cops in his district. But he called for the guy to come and meet him anyway.

“Evenin’ Chief,” Michael greeted having a cocky smirk as they made small talk about some community projects. As RJ shifted in his seat, trying not to let on it was an attempt to shift the sharp waist of his pants, Michael saw his chance and pounced.

“That looks like a little snug, you got there? I know the feeling. My father was very cautious about the diet we grew up on…”

Chief Brown kept a deadpan expression rather than giving Michael the reward of a reaction.

“Hey, I know the best tailor in New York, even does house calls. Let ‘em know I sent you. They’ll cut you a nice deal,” Michael said, fishing a card out of his inner pocket. He held it out between his fingers as he got to his feet.

Chief Brown took it and read over it as Michael excused himself.

“Be seeing ya around, Chief.”

Chief Brown reached for his desk phone - punching in the number on the card and anxiously waited as the phone rang.

“Paolo’s Tailoring. How can I help you?”

Chief could almost hear the beam in the woman’s voice as he forced his brain to work, his mouth to form the right words. Clearing his throat, he was grateful to hear his voice come out unaffected. “Callin’ bout lettin’ out a suit? Michael Maccioni had recommended you guys.”

The Chief heard a soft chuckle that made him anxious to know more about the person on the other side of the line.

“Oh yeah! Michael and his family have been coming to the shop for years. If it’s small, it shouldn’t take no time at all. We could work on it later tonight and have it ready for you by tomorrow—let’s say five—if that’s okay?”

Chief Brown glanced to the chair where his uniform was hanging up, thanking his past self for bringing it in. “Sure, no problem. Can I trouble you to come to the station to pick it up? This is the Chief of Police.”

“Sure, no problem.”

Once Carlina confirmed the address, she made assurances the uniform would be finished in time. Meanwhile, Chief Brown wasted no time getting back to work.

At a light knock at the door, RJ answered it properly this time, eyebrows raising at the petite Italian woman with the bulky workbag standing on the other side, who he’d assumed was a shop assistant.

“Here to let out a suit?” the woman said, prompting Chief to wave her inside his office. Extending a hand, he cast a slowly roving gaze over the young woman. “You can call me Deputy Chief or RJ.” It clicked into place at the name - oh, Michael was getting a piece of her mind the next time she saw him.

“Carlina,” she said with a slight smile, setting her workbag down on the chair.

Deputy Chief Brown shrugged on the jacket, holding his arms away as Carlina slung the tape measure around him, acutely aware of just how damn close she was. “Need some help down there’?” he asked in that relaxed drawl, watching her. On instinct, she raised her gaze to his as she spoke and directly regretted it.

Normally, the kindhearted customer was much older or soft around the edges. The younger ones, who were brave enough to flirt, had all the muscles in the world and insensitive pitches. Yet, here’s a guy who looks just the right amount of older, not really too much out of shape or at least that’s what Carlina had supposed. He was big enough down there for Carlina not to help but think about situations which are definitely not suitable for the task at hand.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can let out the pants based on measurements, so I’ll be out of your hair in no time. I should have this done for you by tomorrow.”

Carlina wanted to kick herself, seeing that she was dangerously close to babbling. She slid the Chief’s jacket from his shoulders and folded it in her bag with the rest of the suit.

“Thanks a lot. Definitely appreciate it.” Chief smiled and Carlina seemed just a touch flustered. It had been a while that any man had that effect on Carlina.

Carlina had torn Michael a new one on the phone, while she ran the Chief’s suit through the sewing machine. He’d listened to her little rant, huffing a bored noise when she was finally done talking.

“I see an opportunity for something good, Carlina.”

“I’m a seamstress, not a damn lookout!”

“Watch your tone. I know that. If Chief’s got eyes on you, he’s not looking at us.”

“So, what, I’m your bait now?” Carlina sighed.

“If he were hungry, you would be. He’s just a nice guy from Texas trying hard to do his job in my New York⁠—”

“I think you’re underestimating him, Michael.”

“I think you’re forgetting your place.”

Then, the line suddenly went silent.

Carlina reminded herself of just how lucky she was to have the connections she did. It was literally her job to support her family, and that came with loads of bullshit. Being an Italian growing up in New York was like living in Goodfellas the movie, but that’s the perception everyone believes we live in.

“I love you, Carlina.” Michael’s soothing tone snapped Carlina out of that spiral of worry as she picked up the handset, turning it back off speaker.

“Love you too, Michael. I’m sorry, you’re right…”

”Good girl! Keep me posted about brother RJ.”

“Goodbye, Michael. You’re so rude.”

True to her word, as much as the situation made her feel a little uneasy, Carlina was right back at the police precinct the next evening with a slightly less snug suit. She’d hastily stepped out when she’d prompted him to check it fit and heard the tell-tale clink of a belt - whether it was done for his comfort or hers, she wasn’t entirely sure. It wasn’t usually an issue. Waiting at the door, one shoulder blade resting on the frame, but the other on the door, Carlina stumbled slightly when it was opened.

Pivoting on her heel, “All good?” she asked brightly as Chief Brown strolled to sink into his chair, motioning her to shut the door behind her. Carlina perched on a seat across from him. “That’s some good work, quick too. What do I owe ya?” A ghost of a smile on his lips, tone relaxed as Carlina frowned momentarily.

She replied slowly, amusement as if it were obvious weaving in her words, “Nothing, it’s a small thing, really. But if you’re ever in need of a tailor, hope I’ll be the first you call.”

That warm charm came so easily when it was attached to her work, unlike off the clock where she fumbled with her words more often than not, feeling put on the spot.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be giving you a call as long as I have this weight around her.” Chief Brown grabbed his stomach making Carlina blush. “Least, let me say thank you and buy you dinner.”

“Hmm—maybe another time. I’ll be seein’ ya soon, Chief.”

Chief Brown nodded disappointed that he hadn’t been more pushy, but hearing the word Chief roll off her tongue the way that it had did had tempered his spirit a bit.

It continued like that over the next two months. A split seam here, a missing button there, all small things Carlina could do with her kit - all little jobs that she ended up doing just sat in his office for less than an hour.

Meanwhile, Michael was happy.

Kind of.

He had been pressing Carlina for dirt, information, anything to tip the scales in his favor.

One night at the tailor’s shop, Carlina had had enough, slamming her heavy scissors on the table as she paused cutting. Taking steadying breaths, she tried to keep her tone polite as she stood. “Look, Michael. The Chief’s very busy with all those crimes in the black neighborhood, okay—There’s no need to go on the offensive when things are just working out the way they are.”

Air was knocked out of Carlina’s lungs as Michael surged forward to back Carlina into the wall, pressing his holster deliberately into her hip.

“You’re not a fuckin’ kid anymore, Carlina, so I’m not about to treat you like one.” His hand flexed warningly around her throat, “You’re like family, so you know the nature of this business. If you want the insurance it affords, you’ll remember your place.”

Michael then let go of her neck, stroking her cheek gently as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I just want to keep everyone safe, okay? And that includes you. Now please, just do as I tell you.”

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry, Michael,” Carlina gasped.

Safe.

It wasn’t about feeling as safe as it did. Carlina had this awful feeling inside her like she was on the verge of panic and couldn’t shake it loose. Something felt off, wrong, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Maybe it was the lack of sleep getting to Carlina, strange noises at her door had been waking her up at random hours for weeks now. But she’d yet to find the source, and none of her neighbors said anything, so she was thinking it was all in her head.

Tipping the waitress on her way out of one of her favorite restaurants, Carlina pulled her jacket a little tighter, as if it would do anything against the rain. She was about a third of the way home before she heard someone pull up not far behind her, the sound of heavy boots on the wet pavement before she found herself in a patch of dry. Well, kind of. She found herself under the Chief’s jacket as he held it over their heads.

“You’re soaked! Get in before you become sick.”

This wasn’t the usual charming drawl, this was an order. This was not Michael aka I’m the fuck-in-charge rather it was the sweet Chief of Police. Not helped by the way his elbows caged her head with how he held the jacket, the heat of him close at her back as he ushered her into the car. When Chief dropped into the driver’s side, he stowed his jacket in the passenger footwell before turning in his seat to face Carlina. “Where to? I’m not about to let you walk home in that shit.”

Carlina had opened her mouth to argue, opting instead to snap it closed with a sigh as she rattled off her address. Waiting until they were crawling through traffic, Carlina frankly said,” Bensonhurst, a few blocks from Seth Low Playground.”

With the car’s heat on, Carlina was now warming up. Chief Brown didn’t take his eyes off the road as he responded with a vague smile. “No sweat. It ain’t every day I get to play hero for a good-looking girl like yourself.” His comment prompting a very undignified snort of laughter from Carlina.

“A sunken rat who was too stubborn to carry an umbrella,” Carlina said, annoyed at herself as she twisted to shrug off her jacket when she felt the water soak through to the shirt underneath.

His gaze lifted, just briefly, from the road. Skimming quickly over the dipped neck to settle on that expression he’d grown unfortunately familiar with. The frown when she disappeared into her head, chewing herself out over the slightest thing like it was a heinous crime.

“Hey, none of that, okay—” Chief liked how efficiently his voice snapped Carlina back to reality. “You’re being too hard on yourself.” His tone left no room for arguments, the pair sitting in silence as they got closer to her place.

Chief pulled into the curb, trying to minimize the distance Carlina had had to cover to get inside, despite how much the raining had slackened up. He was rewarded with that sweet smile that reached her eyes.

“Thank you again for helping me home.”

Keys already looped around her thumb, jacket in hand like Carlina was ready to whip it over her head the second she stepped out.

“No problem, any time,” Chief said as he watched Carlina disappear past her front door.

Michael wasn’t happy.

The sight of the police cruiser rolling through the neighborhood had ruffled a few feathers. His rant about the Chief, as he paced her living room, was cut off sharply.

“Can you please stop it, Michael?”

All that did was turned his frustration to Carlina with a set jaw and hard eyes as she took a breath to continue in her best attempt at being respectful. “I got caught in the rain at the restaurant. Chief was driving down the street and offered me a ride home.” Her explanation seemed to soothe Michael a little, if only for the fact it confirmed the police chief had been in a different neighborhood if he was patrolling and not sniffing around.

“Seems like the Chief’s gotten quite the soft spot for you,” Michael said, sounding calmer.

He was met with a bitten-out response from Carlina, though.

“Maybe he’s thinking like you. I’m some tool being used in some testosterone-fueled game of chess.”

Carlina wasn’t expecting a reaction; a noise of anger bubbling in her throat as Michael loosed his gun from the holster, gesturing with it as if it were the most normal thing to do in the world.

“Here’s the thing, we all are. It’s the name of the fuckin’ game.”

Michael looked angrier than Carlina could recall seeing him, pressing herself further into the sofa as if a few inches would make her any safer.

“Fuck!” his fist hit the doorframe with a sickening sound. Carlina jumping to her feet to grab an ice pack from the fridge. Her concern etched deep in her expression as she fussed. For her countryman, she was always the most caring.

Michael sighed, sliding his gun back into the holster to wrap his arm around her, huddling her against his chest as he spoke with a deep rumble like his father. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It isn’t fair to keep blowing hot air. I’ll back off.” He nudged her chin with his ‘injured’ hand, near forcing Carlina to hold his gaze as he painted a caring expression on his face. “Maybe the Chief’s being straight up with you. I’ll let you find out what you can. While his attention is on you, he shouldn’t be a problem.”

He hugged Carlina tightly, tucking her head under his chin.

“I trust you like family, all right?”

“Yes, Michael. We’re family…” Carlina sighed.

Well, that meant Michael would still be watching, keeping an eye on Carlina, but this way he could keep her in his grasp. It was better than pissing her off and losing a valuable asset.