They should never have met.
Each one of them lived in different parts of the world. She lived in the light, an ordinary existence while he kept to the shadows, the underworld.
But one fate encounter brought them together and no matter how hard the...
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Stella
Smiling I flipped the 'closed' sign over, thankful for another busy day having passed. This store used to be a small closest space when my grandmother first started as a tailor.
Now I have expanded the store making it large enough for a dress show case with rows and rows of dresses, suits, fitting rooms along with an office for me to meet with clients to design their own gowns.
It is my dream come true and I would never give this store up. My grandmother started this business and now it's in my hands, hands that will ensure I do the store and my grandmother proud.
Reaching down I grabbed the trash and moved to take the back exit out of the store to the trashcans so I can head home for Netflix and wine. Just as I opened the back door it flings open with someone slamming into me, quickly turning around and forcing the door shut. The sounds of a lock clicking in place the moment it was closed.
"Who are you and what do you think you're doing?" I yelled taking a step back staring at the man who slumped on the wall with a groan. Hearing my voice, he turned to look at me.
The second his dark brown eyes connected to mine I couldn't help the gasp of air lodging in my throat. The man screams Italian god with his dark eyes, perfectly groomed hair and small beard. The mystery man let out a groan clutching the left side of his abdomen with a mutter of Italian drawing me back to the present situation.
The man who barged into my store past closing had blood- wait blood? Yeah, dark red blood oozing out his side. "Holy shit your bleeding!"
"Well spotted Signorina. Phone." He said in a deep smooth voice while I looked him over. What the fuck does someone do in this type of situation?
Against anyone's better judgement I rush towards the man, my hands connecting with his side forcing his hand away to see the amount of blood coming through his suit.
"Is this a gun-shot wound?" As the man said nothing but lean against the wall I figured that was the least of the problems to discuss right now. And possibly an answer and story I do not want to know. "Never mind. Come on there's a couch right over there you need to sit on. I'll get you a phone after we get this bleeding under control."
He must have agreed or was too tired to fight me and allowed me to help him to the couch in the middle of the room, the black fabric taking in his blood the moment he sat against the cushions.
"Where am I?" The man asked as I bent down tearing away his blazer and shirt trying not to focus on his heated gaze or abs but rather the wound that bled.
Clearing my throat, I got up and ran to a first aid kit that was in a table for when brides faint over their dress. It has happened more than you would think.
"London Threads on Washington Street." I bent down putting an alcohol wipe on the wound making him hiss out in pain. Taking my phone out of my back pocket I unlocked it then passed it to him. "Here is a phone, names Stella since I have started tearing your clothes off."
