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Chapter seven
Joey
Throughoutthenight,Joeystole glances at Marco, observing him as he mingled with staff and patrons alike. There was something magnetic about the way he moved, an innate confidence that commanded attention and respect from everyone around him.
"Focus, Joey," he whispered to himself, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He needed to concentrate on his job and keep his distance from Marco.
He'd kidnapped Joey.
His family ran the gambling dens that forced his father into hell.
He was just trash.
With a deep breath, Joey turned his attention back to the customers at the bar, determined not to let this feeling—whatever it was—interfere with his work.
But as the night wore on, Joey couldn't help but steal glances at Marco, who was now sitting at a corner booth, surrounded by a group of his friends. They were all laughing and joking together, and Marco seemed to be the life of the party.
It was hard not to watch him, with his broad shoulders and muscular arms, that dazzling smile that seemed to light up the room.
What was even harder was trying to reconcile this seemingly carefree man with the ruthless Mafia member that Joey knew that he was.
"Joey, you're staring," teased Sasha, as she sidled up next to him behind the bar. "Can I get a round of tequila shots?"
"Am I?" he replied, feigning innocence as he got out the shot glasses. "I guess I was zoning out."
"Uh-huh, sure," she smirked, rolling her eyes playfully. "You've been watching a certain slab of muscle all night. But don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
"Thanks," Joey mumbled, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He tried to focus on pouring drinks, but it was getting harder and harder.
"Hey, don't sweat it," Sasha said gently, nudging him with her elbow. "He's hot. You could do worse."
"Could I?" Joey asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. "He's in theToscanos, Sasha. That's hardly boyfriend material."
"Maybe," she conceded, shrugging her shoulders. "But people can surprise you, you know?" She took the shots, holding them expertly. "Thanks!"
After she disappeared, her words lingered in Joey's mind.
Could there really be more to Marco than just his dangerous occupation?
Was it possible that beneath the cocky exterior, there was something genuine?
Across the club, Marco suddenly looked up, locking eyes with him. The room seemed to fade away as he said something to his friends and then approached the bar.
"Hey, kid," Marco called out, his voice smooth and oozing confidence. He approached the bar with a swagger that had every eye in the room following him. "How's business?"
Joey patted the tips in his pocket. "Could be a little better," he said, wry. "Turns out that when someone goes to a strip club, they're not exactly interested in tipping the guy behind the bar."
He slid Marco his bourbon. "If you really wanted this debt paid, you probably should have left me in the Java Jive. At least its customers actually tipped."
A toothy smirk spread its way across Marco's face. "That bad, huh?"
There was a small safe under the bar. Inside of it were two things: everything that he'd earned over the week, too risky to carry around in a place like this, and the ledger that recorded everything that he'd passed on to Gina.
Like most of the girls, Gina didn't work there every day. Every few days, she came back from working at the other bars she moonlighted at. At the end of her shifts, Joey took his meager earnings and handed them over to her.
She always tallied his earnings up with a businesslike flick of her fingers that surprised Joey, and then opened up the safe to write his total down in the ledge. The figure slowly stepped higher and higher over the days, accompanied by her signature in an administrative flourish.
Joey entered the combination to the safe, and hauled out the ledger. He opened it to the first page—one of many. There was a terrifying amount of blank space to fill…
