Lovenap

Chapter 4

The sleek black Alfa Romeo glided to a smooth stop in front of a modest but charming brick building nestled in a quiet Chicago neighborhood. Flanking it were a small bakery wafting the irresistible aroma of fresh bread and a flower shop with colorful blooms spilling out onto the sidewalk. Above the tailoring shop, second-floor apartments showed signs of lived-in warmth — fluttering lace curtains, potted herbs on windowsills, and the occasional sound of laughter drifting down.

In the front display window, a mannequin posed confidently in a sharp pinstripe suit, looking like it had stepped straight out of a classic gangster film. Above the door, a weathered green metal sign swayed gently in the breeze, its elegant gold cursive lettering proudly declaring: Fine Italian Tailoring.

Bianca killed the engine. The sudden quiet was filled only by the distant hum of city traffic and the soft ticking of the cooling car. She glanced over at Dimitri, a mix of determination and nervousness flickering across her face.

“Ready?” she asked, though it sounded more like she was steeling herself.

Dimitri offered her one of his easy, teasing smiles. “Lead the way, Zayka.”

The moment they pushed open the wooden door, a cheerful brass bell tinkled overhead, its bright ring cutting through the calm interior. The shop smelled of fresh fabric, cedarwood, and faint traces of starch — comforting and old-world.

From the back room came the slow shuffle of footsteps. A short, older man with a slight hunch hobbled into view, wiping his hands on a well-worn measuring tape draped around his neck. He lifted the glasses hanging from a colorful spectacle retainer, squinting through them as his eyes adjusted. Recognition dawned instantly when his gaze landed on the girl.

“Bianca! So good to see you, darling!” His voice was warm and raspy with age.

He gripped her arms with surprising strength and pulled her closer, planting two firm, affectionate kisses on her cheeks. Bianca’s face flushed a lovely pink, her eyes crinkling with genuine delight as she returned the embrace.

“Nice to see you, Uncle Louie. How’s business been?”

Uncle Louie bobbed his head side to side in a classic shrug, his expression turning comically resigned. “So-so. Not many young men these days appreciate a quality suit…” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Everyone wants fast fashion and stretchy pants. What happened to pride in appearance, eh?”

His eyes shifted past her and locked onto Dimitri. The warmth evaporated in an instant, replaced by a deep, suspicious scowl that carved lines across his weathered face.

“I guess some still do, at least,” he muttered, looking Dimitri up and down. “Here for real clothes, Russky?”

Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, offering a disarming half-smile. “Apparently…” He glanced sideways at Bianca, letting her name roll off his tongue like a caress. “According to Bianca, anyway.”

Her cheeks burned an even brighter red. She shifted on her feet, suddenly very interested in a rack of ties to her left, avoiding his gaze entirely.

Uncle Louie raised a single bushy eyebrow at the charged little moment but wisely chose not to comment. Instead, he smoothly slid the measuring tape from his shoulder and gestured toward the back wall where a large three-way mirror stood under soft lighting. “Step right up, big guy. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Dimitri moved into position without protest. Louie worked with surprising speed and precision for his age, wrapping the tape around Dimitri’s broad shoulders, muscular chest, arms, waist, and inseam. He muttered numbers under his breath, occasionally clicking his tongue in approval or muttering about “these modern fabrics.”

Bianca, meanwhile, had curled up in a plush velvet armchair off to the side, her legs tucked beneath her. She watched the process quietly, though Dimitri caught her stealing glances more than once — especially when Louie had him lift his arms or turn.

After a few minutes, Louie bustled around the shop like a whirlwind, pulling shirts, pants, and accessories with expert efficiency. He thrust a generous pile of garments into Dimitri’s arms and pointed to a small curtained changing room. “Go shed those rags and put these on. No arguing.”

Dimitri disappeared behind the curtain. The new navy button-up shirt felt incredibly luxurious against his skin — soft, breathable cotton with a subtle textured weave that caught the light just right. He buttoned it carefully, then stepped into the tailored charcoal pants. They fit like they’d been made for him. The black leather belt and suspenders were supple and high-quality. He rolled the sleeves neatly to just below his elbows, exposing the dark ink swirling over his forearms.

When he stepped back out in front of the three-way mirror, the shop fell momentarily quiet.

He could feel Bianca’s eyes on him. Her gaze traced the way the shirt hugged his chest and shoulders, lingered on the rolled sleeves and the strong lines of his arms. A faint flush still colored her cheeks.

Uncle Louie clapped his hands together enthusiastically. “Evvai! Perfect fit! Look at you — you clean up nice for a Russky.”

Dimitri turned slowly, admiring the reflection. The outfit moved with him perfectly — sharp, powerful, and surprisingly comfortable. “Uncle Louie,” he said with real admiration, “I think I just found my new tailor. This is incredible work.”

Louie straightened his shoulders, pride beaming across his face. “Of course it is. I don’t do anything less than perfect.”

Bianca stood up and approached her uncle, shaking his hand firmly. In one smooth, practiced motion, she slipped him a thick wad of cash. The exchange was so seamless and natural that most people would have missed it entirely. Dimitri, however, had been watching her closely — he noticed everything.

Without missing a beat, Bianca turned toward the door. “Thanks, Uncle Louie. We should get going.”

Dimitri followed her like an eager puppy, unable to tear his eyes away from the sway of her hips and the confident way she carried herself. As the bell tinkled behind them and they stepped back into the afternoon sunlight, he leaned in slightly.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low and teasing, “if this is how you treat your hostages, I might have to start causing more trouble just to stay around longer.”

Bianca shot him a flustered look, but the corner of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile.