Page 7 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

Even so, I told her I was getting used to it. It was busy almost every night, but I was slowly finding my feet. She didn’t respond straight away. Instead, she studied me over the rim of her cup as though she was trying to decide whether I truly believed what I’d just said. A quiet laugh escaped me as I remembered my first night.

“I’ll admit...my first night at the bar could have gone better.”

One of her eyebrows lifted immediately, and the curiosity on her face deepened. “What happened?”

I told her about the accident with the beer and the customer. Or at least that was what I thought he was, until I saw him handling security every night at the bar. Sofia laughed so hard she began to cough.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” she said.

“I wish I was,” I replied. Looking back on it now, I could almost laugh, too. At the time it had felt like the end of the world. I’d been convinced I’d lose the job at the bar before my first shift was over.

“He was really nice about it. I couldn’t quite understand why. I expected shouting, anger, maybe a complaint to the manager. Instead he looked at me for a second, realized it was an accident, and just let it go. I didn’t expect kindness from a stranger that night, especially not in a place like the bar, where everyone is so confident and intimidating.”

Sofia’s smile faded. “You got lucky. Places like that bar can attract people who aren’t worth your time. Most customers are probably fine, but all it takes is one person who’s had too much to drink or one man who thinks he can get away with anything. If something doesn’t feel right, don’t stand there trying to be polite. Walk away. Let security deal with it.”

I nodded because there wasn’t much to say. The advice wasn’t new. I’d been reminding myself to be careful every night since I started working at the bar. Maybe that was why I found it difficult to relax until I walked out the doors at the end of each shift. Sofia studied me for another moment before nodding, apparently satisfied.

Neither of us spoke after that. We finished our drinks in silence, listening as the noise outside the staff room slowly grew louder again. The post-lunch crowd had started arriving. Before long we would both be back on the café floor, smiling at customers and pretending our feet didn’t ache.

I glanced at the clock on the wall as the timer for our break ran out. A few hours remained before I would leave the café behind and hurry across the city to begin my shift at the bar. I couldn’t ignore the familiar feeling that my day was only half over.

***

My shift at the bar ended at midnight. I took off my apron and folded it neatly before putting it in my locker. Then I put on my cardigan, grabbed my bag, and said goodnight to everyone.

The city was really quiet. All I could hear was the hum of distant traffic. I’d walked home from work before, so I knew the way really well. Everything seemed normal as I walked past the pharmacy. For a minute, it felt like any other night. Then I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn’t think much of it at first. The sound of the footsteps just blended in with the sounds of the street. I kept walking without looking back. It wasn’t until I got to the next crossing that I realized I was still listening for the footsteps. I expected to hear them.

When the traffic light changed and a car drove by, the footsteps were still there. I frowned, because they’d been walking behind me for several blocks now.

As I turned the corner, I saw a dark sedan parked under a streetlamp. The engine was running. Someone sat in the driver’s seat, looking at their phone. If I’d seen the car during the day I probably wouldn’t have even noticed it, but for some reason I found myself thinking about it even after I passed it.

The neighborhood got really quiet as I approached my apartment. A bus drove by, and I found myself listening to the small sounds around me. I heard another set of footsteps in the distance. This time, I looked over my shoulder. A man in a jacket was walking on the side of the street. His hands were in his pockets. He didn’t look in my direction. He just kept walking, and then he disappeared behind a row of cars.

I faced forward again. Was it the same person as earlier? Was someone following me? The question stayed with me as I turned another corner. Then someone wearing what looked like the same dark jacket appeared ahead of me. They walked through the glow of a streetlamp. I slowed down. A couple walked between us.

When they passed, the man was gone. I stood there for a second. I searched the pavement ahead. Everything looked normal, but I found myself walking a bit faster.

By the time I saw my apartment building, I was gripping the strap of my purse tightly. I felt relieved when I climbed the steps and unlocked the door. Before I stepped inside, I glanced back at the street. It was calm, almost empty. A taxi drove around the corner. Another car drove lazily through the intersection. Nothing seemed unusual, but I still felt like something was off.

I stood there for a moment. Then I slipped inside and locked the door behind me.

My fingers stayed on the lock longer than they needed to. I tested the handle once. Then I turned away, but I found myself reaching for it again before I’d even taken two steps. The second check should have been enough, but I stood there for another moment. I stared at the door until I sighed. Then I tried the handle another time. When it refused to move, I forced myself to step back. I was irritated that after all these years I still couldn’t stop doing this. The habit had crossed an ocean with me. It survived every new start I tried to make.

There had been a time when a locked door meant nothing.

Victor had taught me that long before I was old enough to understand it. People always imagine men like Victor as monsters. They think these men announce their anger by shouting. Victor was never like that. His temper arrived quietly.

The silence that settled over the house whenever it did was more frightening than any raised voice. That quiet meant he was thinking. I learned to recognize Victor’s footsteps before I learned to solve fractions. I memorized every creaking floorboard in the hallway.

I could tell where he was without opening my bedroom door. Some nights his footsteps carried on past my room and disappeared into the master bedroom. I would stay awake for at least another hour before believing I was safe enough to sleep.

In the morning, my mother always found a reason to explain it away. Victor had been under pressure at work. He’d had too much to drink. He hadn’t really meant it. I listened to those excuses for years. Eventually they all began to sound the same. Somewhere along the way, I stopped hoping my mother would choose me over her husband.

Her choice had already been made long before I was old enough to understand it. My mother never stepped between us. She never told him to stop. She simply carried on as though surviving beside Victor was the life we deserved. I quietly began to realize that I was the only one who would save myself.

I stared at my phone for a moment before unlocking it. Maeve’s name was near the top of my recent calls. Seeing her name brought me comfort I didn’t know I needed. Nothing had happened on my walk that I could explain to someone without sounding crazy, but the uneasy feeling followed me into my apartment and settled somewhere I couldn’t ignore.