The underground tunnels beneath Queens were a labyrinth, forgotten subway lines, abandoned storage rooms, and hidden passageways that only the city's ghosts seemed to know. Luca moved through them like one of those ghosts, his boots barely making a sound against the damp concrete. Enzo followed close behind, eyes constantly scanning the darkness.
They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes when they reached a rusted steel door marked only by a faded number spray-painted in red: 713.
Luca turned to Enzo. "Who is she?"
Enzo exhaled through his nose. "You don't want to know."
Luca smirked. "That means I need to."
He pushed the door open.
Inside was a tailor's workshop unlike any other, a blend of old-world elegance and underworld secrecy. Mannequins stood frozen in mid-motion, draped in unfinished suits and coats stitched with invisible seams. Rolls of fabric lined the walls, but beneath them were hidden compartments, small drawers filled with microfilm, lockpicks, and even a few silenced pistols.
Behind a long wooden table covered in half-finished garments sat a woman no older than fifty, her fingers deftly threading a needle through black silk. She didn't look up as they entered.
"You're late," she said without missing a stitch.
Luca stepped forward. "I wasn't aware I had an appointment."
She finally looked up, dark eyes sharp as broken glass. "Oh, you always have an appointment. Whether you know it or not."
Enzo shut the door behind them. "Seamstress, this is Luca Varga."
Her hands stilled for just a second before continuing their work. "I know who he is."
Luca studied her carefully. "And you are?"
She smiled faintly. "Just a seamstress. But some say I stitch more than clothes."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "Like secrets?"
She nodded. "And lies. And sometimes, revenge."
Luca pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "Then I need something tailored."
She set down her needle and leaned forward. "What kind of suit are we talking about?"
"Something dangerous."
Her smile widened. "Now you're speaking my language."
She reached under the table and pulled out a bundle wrapped in cloth. With careful hands, she unfolded it, revealing a perfectly cut suit made of midnight-black wool, lined with soft gray silk.
"This," she said, running her fingers along the lapels, "was made for your grandfather. He never got the chance to wear it."
Luca ran his hand over the fabric. It was smooth, almost too perfect.
"There's more," she added, lifting the jacket slightly. "Hidden lining. Inside pockets. Some for documents. Others for listening devices. One compartment even holds a concealed blade."
Luca met her gaze. "You knew what he was planning."
She nodded. "I knew what he wanted to plan. Whether he ever acted on it is another matter."
Enzo shifted uneasily. "We don't have time for riddles, Seamstress."
She gave him a cold stare. "Then stop interrupting."
Luca held up a hand. "Enzo... calm down. Let her speak."
She continued, voice low. "Anton came here weeks before he disappeared. He told me Rocco was moving. That war was coming. He wanted to be ready."
Luca leaned in. "Did he tell you where he was going?"
She shook her head. "Only that if anything happened to him, I was to wait for you."
Luca frowned. "How did you know I'd come?"
She smiled again, enigmatic as ever. "Because blood always finds its way back to the source."
Luca stood, slipping into the suit. It fit like a second skin.
She handed him a tie next. "Wear this. It has a tracker embedded in the knot. If things go wrong, I'll find you."
Luca tied it slowly. "And if I don't want to be found?"
She tilted her head. "Then maybe you're not ready for what's coming."
Outside, the city pulsed with unseen threats.
Inside, a new player had entered the game.
And the web was tightening.