Stealing Piccolina Read online

  STEALING PICCOLINA

  ROISIN

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also by ROISIN

  Chapter 1

  SOFIA

  “What time do you get off, sweetheart?”

  I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes as I pop the lid on his bottle of Peroni. Three months of working at Carpathia and I’m more than accustomed to the way these men behave once they’ve had a few bottles for courage.

  I smile sweetly at the man in front of me before passing the bottle across the sticky hardwood bar. This part of the club is dark, lit only by the glow of neon blue strips from the shelves behind me, but I can make out enough to see his features. He’s wearing a beige shirt with a brown paisley tie and a look that says he thinks he has a chance with me.

  He doesn’t.

  But, to be fair to him, even a Beckham/ Hardy lovechild wouldn’t have a chance with me.

  “I’m working a double, I’m afraid. Can I get you anything else?” The music is so loud that shouting wouldn’t be effective, so I’m mouthing the words to Mr Beige-Brown who shakes his head and slides off his bar stool.

  It takes less than five seconds before there’s another one sitting in his place. This one has curly hair and his tie half-undone. I’ll deal with him later.

  “Is it just me or is it busier than usual?” I pretend I’m separating the blocks in the ice bucket so I can say the words directly in Jessica’s ear.

  She shakes her head. “You’re not wrong. Was there football tonight?”

  I shrug. It’s a Thursday night. Thursday nights are never dead, but they’re certainly never this busy either. You can barely see the dance-floor from the thick crowds. The girls dancing up on the platforms look exhausted, and there aren’t enough of them to meet the demand.

  It’s just Jessica and I on the bar, since Whitney is on her break, and people are getting agitated. I could walk out. I won’t be back tomorrow, so there’s nothing physically stopping me. I’m not afraid Marco will fire me, because I won’t be here, anyway. But Jessica is my friend, and I wouldn’t leave her to do this by herself.

  “Matt’s having a small get together after work. I may or may not have told him we were coming…” My eyes flit from the ice cubes to the side of her face. She’s so close she’ll be able to feel the warmth of my breath on her cheek, or the sigh of exasperation I just let out.

  “Jessica…” I don’t even need to say it. The last time she dragged me to one of Matt’s small get togethers someone stole his microwave. Yup, that’s how wasted everyone was. I don’t think even Matt knew who the hell was in his apartment. I woke up on the sofa at 3pm the next day, my head on a random girl’s lap.

  “You have to come! We’ll just go for a little while. It’s good for you.”

  We both know what she’s talking about. She seems to think a bit of exposure therapy will cure me of all my issues — like it’s that easy.

  Shaking my head, I give her a weak smile and squeeze her hand. “Not tonight. But you go, take Whitney. I’ll clean up here and do the lock-up.”

  “Really?” She doesn’t wait for me to confirm before throwing her arms around me. “Thank you!”

  “You owe me one.” My words cause a little pang in my chest because I know we’ll never get around to her returning the favor.

  I give the ice cubes one last smash before turning back and trying to work out who looks the angriest in the sea of faces before me.

  Finding that face, my heart sinks when I realize it’s not a customer. Although I’m not bothered about getting fired, being on the wrong side of Marco is still not exactly high up on the things I want to do tonight.

  He lifts a finger at me, silently beckoning me over.

  “You’re needed upstairs.”

  Upstairs? I don’t work upstairs. It’s not part of my contract.

  I turn around, nodding my head towards Jessica, who’s trying her best to make a cocktail while the crowd gets even more irate. “I can’t leave Jessica alone?”

  Marco shrugs. “Whitney’s due back. Come with me.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to argue any further before he turns around and I lose sight of him in the crowd. I already know where he’s going. I’ve only ever been upstairs once, and it was for my interview. I don’t need to go there to know what happens there, though.

  Heading back over to Jessica, I quickly explain I need to go, and give her a weak smile when her face tells me she’s pissed. She doesn’t know I’m leaving for good. Nobody know’s I’m leaving, and I intend to keep it that way — even if it means our last exchange with each other is a pissy face and a half-assed smile.

  I duck under the bar and squeeze through the crowd of people, following Marco towards the back stairwell. I’m trying to fight the knots that are tugging around my stomach while my thoughts spin out of control. Why would I be needed upstairs?

  I’m either in serious trouble, or someone has specifically requested me. If it’s the former, then it’s bad. Marco’s Carpathia isn’t the type of place where misconduct is dealt with by a verbal warning, a written warning, three strikes, etcetera. Marco doesn’t play by normal business owners rules. I knew this when I came to work here, but the money was amazing, and since I had no intention of getting into serious trouble — the risk seemed worth it.

  I take each step towards the upstairs slowly. They’re matte black and so are the walls. The only color comes from the red velvet hanging across the space where the window should be, the only light from the tiny spotlights built in to every fourth step. The music is fading now, and with it the sound of my own heart beating in my ears increases.

  I’m not in trouble. I can’t be in any trouble, I’ve done nothing wrong (unless they count a ten second breather with Jessica at the ice bucket… surely not?).

  The only explanation is that someone requested me.

  Would that be worse than getting in serious trouble?

  I guess that depends on whether I get a choice with whoever requested me…

  When I started here three months ago, Marco offered me a position upstairs. He said I would be perfect. I’m not one of those girls who thinks they’re ugly while actually being a bombshell. I’m actually quite pretty and I have a nice enough figure — my tits are too small but my ass makes up for it. Some men like that, I guess. What I’m saying is, I know I could have made money. Marcus knew I could have made money. But I couldn’t do it. Not for all the money in the world.

  I refused his offer.

  Not because I’m some stuck up judgmental cow who thinks she’s too good to hoe herself out. I refused because I have anxiety when men get too close. Blame it on a shitty childhood and a stepdad who loved me a little too much.

  Marcus knows this.

  So what is he playing at?

  I knock twice on the heavy double mahogany door, shifting from foot to foot while I wait to be called in. At the sound of Marco’s grunt, I turn the handle and push it open, stepping inside and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Cigarette smoke fills the air, turning the warm glow from the lamp at the back of the room hazy.

  Marco sits in a leather chair behind a huge wooden desk. On his lap, a girl who barely looks as old as my eighteen years sits in a light pink babydoll dress. There are men in suits sitting opposite him — men I’ve never seen before, drinking dark liquid from crystal glasses and smoking cigars and cigarettes.

  It feels like walk
ing into the lion’s den.

  “You wanted to see me, Sir?” My words come out with a little croak and I keep my eyes low on the ground. Marco likes his girls submissive and respectful. I’m usually neither of those things, but I’m choosing my battles.

  When Marco doesn’t reply, I let my eyes drift towards him, but he’s not looking at me. He takes a sip of his drink — which I assume is whiskey — and nods his head in my direction. “Is that the girl?”

  Following his line of sight, I see he’s talking to a dark haired man in a black suit. He has his back to me, but when he turns around, I almost lose the ability to breathe.

  I’m frozen.

  Gray eyes so silver they could be bullets meet my own mossy ones, and I blink a few times while he regards me. His hair is black, and longer on the top, no doubt the perfect length to run your fingers through, while the sides blend in with the shadow running along his jaw. Would that stubble tickle, or scratch? The thought leads me to his full lips, currently set in a hard line as if the very sight of me has offended him. I bet it would scratch.

  His cold eyes — so at odds with his tanned skin — move from my face to my body. Naturally I take the opportunity to do similar, even though I could probably stare at his face all night, it’s that fucking perfect. I quickly confirm he has the body to match, wrapped up in an expertly tailored suit that likely costs more than my months wages.

  He raises a hand and runs it along his jaw while he eyes me up and down, his suit jacket bunching at the elbow and revealing a thick silver watch on his wrist. Sitting there with his legs spread wide and that scowl on his face — you’d think he owned the whole building and the ground it was built on.

  He certainly thinks it.

  I’d say this man was at least ten years younger than Marco’s forty-something, but regardless of his relative youth he seems to radiate power in a way Marco doesn’t.

  Marco looks like someone you’d avoid if you crossed paths with him in a dark alleyway. This man looks like someone who has one hundred Marcos ready to go down the dark alleyway for him. I wonder which one is worse?

  Then the thought occurs that if this man requested me, I’m likely about to find out.

  A second ago I felt like I was entering the lion’s den, but now I feel more like a sacrificial lamb. At least ten pairs of eyes are on me. I can sense them but I’m unable to drag my eyes away from the man to confirm. I’m trapped in his appraisal. He’s looking at me as if he’s studying me, trying to work out my value. I should be offended. I should turn around and walk out.

  But I’m still frozen.

  The man drags his eyes from me and turns back around to Marco before shaking his head. “It’s not her.”

  Marco swallows, his head whipping from the man to me and back again like a pin-ball, before finally settling on the man.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Do I look like a man who would be unsure of such a thing?” He cracks the words back at Marco so fast, and with a tone so blunt it makes me flinch. No one talks to Marco like that. We’re in his club, in his office.

  Who is this man?

  “Very well.” Marco’s head snaps back towards me, the anger in him simmering below the surface of his neutral expression. “Sofia, back to work.”

  I swallow down the golf-ball sized lump in my throat before nodding and making to leave. The dark-haired man, the one who was eyeing me up a second ago like he wanted to eat me, doesn’t even glance in my direction now.

  As I cross the room and close the heavy doors behind me, I wonder why I’m not feeling relieved. I should be. I’m not in any trouble, and I wasn’t requested.

  I’m to go back to work, which is what I wanted in the first place.

  So why do I feel something cutting through me, something that makes me wonder if not me, then who?

  Why didn’t he want me?

  Chapter 2

  JULIAN

  Carpathia isn’t somewhere I’d choose to spend my time, if my time were something I had any choice over. It has Marco written all over it, from the garish red velvet to the blatantly lavish fixtures. Everything is designed to show his wealth. His aim is to intimidate, and perhaps a lesser man would feel intimidated. I, however, happen to believe real wealth shouldn’t be flaunted so distastefully, and that Marco should sleep with a gun under his pillow.

  Perhaps I should have ended it for him the second she walked in the room.

  I recognized her straight away. Even with her eyes lowered, I knew it was her. I could feel it, even if I wasn’t able to see it.

  When her deep green eyes met mine, that’s when I saw it. Sofia isn’t exactly an uncommon name, so I had to be sure. And now there is no doubt in my mind. My Sofia.

  My Sofia has beautiful eyes. Witch’s eyes, that’s what Rose, my grandmother used to call them. Green as moss with flecks of amber. I couldn’t tell that from looking at her tonight, but I remember them from before. Eyes you’d want to get lost in before passing them on to your daughter. And her hair, brown as the earth on a rainy day and long enough to wrap a fist around.

  She’s a dream.

  My own fucking personal wet dream, to be more specific.

  And she’s mine.

  I decided the second she walked in the room that Marco could not know.

  For as much as Sofia has always been mine, I know nothing about the girl. I know nothing of her loyalties or if I can trust her. And the second I let Marco know she has a value is the same second he increases the price.

  This way may be messy, but it will work out better for all of us.

  I neck the rest of my whiskey and stand, giving Marco a nod to thank him for his help. He’s helped me more than he will ever know.

  “You’re sure I can’t interest you in anyone else? Maci, here—” Marco nods his head at the little blonde perched on his lap. “She’s one of my best. I’d be sad to lose her, but I’d hate to see you walk away from Carpathia dissatisfied.”

  Out of faux-respect to him, I give the blonde girl the once-over. She’s lovely. Blue eyes and pretty pink glossy lips made for sucking cock. I could take her. I could, but I won’t. I’d just be fucking her while picturing someone else, and I’ve done that long enough.

  Now Sofia’s image is so clear in my mind, no one else will ever come close. I can’t pretend anymore. She was destined for me since the day she was born, when her father promised her to me. Fate unfortunately got in the way, and I lost her. It’s been three months and nine days since she turned eighteen, and I’ve spent every minute of that time looking for her. Now that she’s here in the same building, a thousand half-naked blonde women couldn’t turn my head.

  “Unfortunately this was a business call, but should I need pleasure in future I won’t hesitate to return.” I hold my hand out and Marco shakes it. His hand is hot and sweaty and the thought of them being anywhere near Sofia makes me want to gag.

  Giving my men a nod, we make for the door. On the way downstairs, I feel Kane’s confused eyes on me. He knows it was her, he’s been searching for her for the last four years. Of course, even if he’d found her I couldn’t have taken her. Not back then. She’s only just turned eighteen, so taking her years ago would have been fucked up — even for me. But maybe he could have kept her safer than she was.

  The past no longer matters, though. All that matters is her future, our future. The one only I can give her.

  “Bring the cars around the back. We’re going to have a game of good cop — bad cop.”

  Chapter 3

  SOFIA

  By the time my shift finishes at 3am, I’m exhausted and weirdly emotional. I know that leaving is the right thing for me. This town holds so many memories, and not all of them are good. I want to live in a place where I’m not haunted by the things that I had no control over, where I can drive by the Walmart without remembering everything that happened on the drive home.

  I had planned to run the day I turned eighteen. Sense and lack of money made me stall that plan for thr
ee months. That’s when I took the job here, and I’ve been saving up ever since. I don’t have much, but I have enough to get me far away from here and survive for a couple of weeks until I can find work.

  I just hadn’t expected to find friends here.

  “You sure you’re okay to finish up yourself?” I glance over towards Jessica who already has her suede biker jacket on, car keys in hand. Matt and Whitney are standing behind her. With the customers gone and the bright white lights on, every ounce of ambiance the place had is now lost.

  “I am… just as long as you’re still due me one,” I tell her with a wink.

  She gives me her biggest smile and leans over the bar for a hug. A final hug — although she doesn’t know it. I breathe in the smell of her, a mix of Aussie shampoo and coconut perfume.

  “Text me and let me know you’re home safe, okay?”

  I nod my head as I pull back from the hug.

  When the three of them leave, I spend a few minutes sitting down on the bar stool, letting my pumps fall off my feet and enjoying the cool air around them. The clean and lock-up usually takes around fifteen minutes if we all pitch in, I’m guesstimating thirty by myself. The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll finish… but I still take those few minutes to look the place over.

  It may only have been three months, but these three months have been some of the happiest in my life. Since I was twelve and my mum lost herself at the bottom of a bottle, I’ve been passed around like an unwanted present. Foster parents, care homes, boarding schools for “bad kids”. Some were better than others, but none of them ever felt like home.

  Carpathia isn’t exactly a home either, but here I found people who actually give a shit about me. People who tell me to text them, just to make sure I’m home safe. I’m choosing to give that up because I hope in the long run, it will be worth it.