His Blood, My Vow

Chapter 2: The suit that screams trouble

Amara wiped her hands on her already-stained jeans and stared at the suit hanging on the mannequin. A tailor’s nightmare and a secret message all wrapped into one. The little stitch she’d sneaked in felt like a ticking time bomb. She didn’t even know *who* was supposed to get it, but somehow, she had a very bad feeling it wasn’t supposed to be *this* guy.

The bell over the shop door chimed, slicing through the quiet afternoon. Amara barely had time to glance up before a man stepped in. Tall, dark, and definitely not here for a casual fitting. He had that kind of presence that made the air go heavy — like a storm waiting to blow up.

He scanned the room, then stopped. His eyes locked onto the suit. “That one,” he said, voice low but demanding.

Amara’s brain hit the panic button but her mouth stayed stubbornly shut. “Yeah, the one with the secret message.” She tried to sound casual but her voice cracked like a teenager on their first date.

The man tilted his head, amused. “You stitched me a message?”

She shrugged, trying to hide the smirk. “Well, I stitched the message, but it wasn’t meant for you. Fashion student mix-up.”

His dark eyes sparkled with something dangerously close to interest. “You’re bold,” he said, stepping closer. “I like that.”

Amara crossed her arms, daring him to say more. “You haven’t seen bold yet.”

The man chuckled, a deep sound that sent a weird shiver down her spine. “I’m Luca Romano. And you just put a target on your back.”

“Great. Just what I wanted today,” Amara muttered. “Listen, Mr. Mafia Heir, I’m just a Nigerian girl trying to make a living here. I don’t do drama.”

Luca’s grin widened. “Drama follows me like mosquitoes in the summer. You should get used to it.”

Amara snorted. “Lucky me.”

She eyed the suit again. “So, what’s the message? And why did it have to come stitched in a suit? Why not text, or carrier pigeon, or, I don’t know, smoke signals?”

Luca’s expression darkened for a moment. “Because not all messages are meant to be intercepted by enemies.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “Enemies? Sounds intense.”

He nodded. “In my world, trust is a currency harder to come by than gold. And right now, I need to know who’s playing me.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said, folding her arms. “And here I thought my life was complicated because my sewing machine has a mind of its own.”

Luca laughed, genuine and rough. “Maybe your sewing machine and I aren’t that different.”

Amara blinked. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. “Maybe we can help each other.”

She smirked, leaning back against her work table. “Oh really? And what’s in it for me? Besides getting tangled in mafia secrets and possibly becoming a target?”

Luca’s gaze didn’t waver. “Protection. Money. And the chance to see how dangerous a ‘bold Nigerian girl’ really is.”

Amara’s lips twitched. “Dangerous? You haven’t seen anything yet. I’m the queen of chaos in this city.”

Luca’s eyes sparkled with challenge. “Prove it.”

Before she could answer, the shop door rattled. Amara’s heart jumped. “I’m pretty sure that’s my cue to disappear.”

Luca grabbed her arm gently but firmly. “No. We start now.”

Amara stared at him, stunned. “Wait. Are you saying… I’m involved now? Like mafia-level involved?”

He nodded. “You stitched a message meant for my enemies. They want to find out who you are. And why you have it.”

Amara took a deep breath. “Okay, so now I’m a target. Fantastic. What’s next?”

“Next, you come with me. Safe house. Then we figure out who sent that message and why.”

Amara hesitated, then shook her head. “No way. I’m not running scared. I’m a Nigerian girl. We don’t run, we fight.”

Luca smiled. “That’s why I want you on my side.”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “You want me as your weapon?”

“Exactly. You’re fearless. Smart. And you have skills I can’t teach.”

Amara laughed, a bold, confident sound that filled the room. “Alright, Mr. Mafia Heir, you got yourself a deal. But I’m warning you, I play by my own rules.”

Luca’s smile was victorious. “Good. Because in my world, the only rule is survival.”

Amara grabbed her jacket, already gearing up. “Then let’s start surviving.”

The two walked out of the shop, stepping into a world neither of them was quite ready for. But one thing was clear: Amara was no ordinary girl, and Luca’s world was about to get a whole lot more interesting.