Rejected at Every Door

Alessia's Pov

The man in the cheap suit smirked at me as he slid a crumpled bill across the counter, his eyes lingering far too long on my chest. I could barely resist the urge to shove it back at him.

"Keep the change, Alessia", he drawled, his grin crooked and irritatingly self assured.

I stared at the greedy bill like it might catch fire. " Change? This isn't even enough to pay for the damn coffee"

His smile flattered. " What did you just say?" 

"You heard me" , I shot back, crossing my arms " Next time try tipping the barista instead of ogling her ". 

The man's face turned red, his smile replaced with a sneer. " You're lucky I'm feeling generous today, sweetheart." 

" And you're lucky I didn't pour this coffee down your damn throat."

The sharp bark of my boss's voice yanked me out of my anger, I turned to see Carlo stomping towards me, his beefy hands balled into fists, his face already blotchy with rage.

" What the hell is wrong with you!!"

I gestured at the man, who was now stomping out of the cafe, muttering insults under his breath. " He was trying to stiff me!".

"And what do you think you're doing, You don’t insult the customers!” Carlo waved his hand towards the now empty door like the man had been his most prized patron. "Do you know how many jobs you've lost because of that mouth of yours?"

He wasn't wrong. This was my 39th or probably Even my 40th job over the last 6 months. It’s bad enough having to do this laughably low-wage job. It was busier today, and tips were low—earning money from pouring a cheap cup of coffee for drunks and tourists who thought tipping was optional . I folded my arms across my chest and more or less defiantly chose not to move.

"I need this job, Carlo," I asserted, to keep my voice calm. "And you know why." 

He had the scowl of a man forced to be unpleasant but still trying to maintain some veneer of authority. I thought he might take back his awful order. "Alessia…" "Please." 

I swallowed hard again and made myself breathe. This could not be happening. "I promise I'll keep my mouth shut." For a moment he looked at with me in way that seemed pitiful but that expression was quickly overshadowed 

"I can't. I told you the last time was your final warning." "So you're firing me?" "I'm giving you a choice." I didn't need to hear what came next. It was just too shameful.

I felt utterly humiliated to be standing here in front of him, the way he expected me to, vulnerable, peeved, and ugly-crying. 

I stormed out of the cafe ,the door slamming behind me so hard the bell above it jingled angrily. The chill of the morning wind but at my face as I stepped onto the bustling Sicilian street, pulling my coat tighter around me. My chest heaved with frustration but mostly shame.

Fired again.

The weight of my situation hit me like a truck, I had no savings left. My mom's hospital bills weren't going to pay themselves, and now I was one step closer to losing everything.

I needed a job and I was running out of options.

When I reached the run-down bar located in a forgotten corner of Palermo, my anger had turned into determination. The bar's neon sign flickered and buzzed faintly, casting an inauspicious, sickly red glow over the cracked pavement.

The Rusted Barrel. Not exactly prime dining real estate. But I needed to find a job. I stepped inside. The air was thick with the odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies, the conversation buzzing low and hum-like, punctuated by the occasional laugh or loud toast. 

At the far end of the bar sat Marcello, the owner, propped up on a stool and wiping a glass with a ragged dishcloth. He looked up when I approached, his brow raised and bushy eyebrows giving the appearance of a man who was about to have some fun.

Marcello's good-humored face belied the fact that he had just fired me when I had last worked here.

"Back again?" he asked mildly, as though keeping things light. "Marcello, please," I said, softening my tone. " I need this job,you know I can handle myself.

He snorted, his mustache twitching, " Handling yourself is exactly the problem. You've been fired multiple times in a few months. That's a record, even for you".

"I'll be better this time I promise" 

"Better?" He learned back crossing his arms as his lips curled into an amused grin last time you worked here, you broke a man's nose."

"He grabbed my ass. What was I supposed to do?, smile?.

Marcello chuckled, shaking his head. " You're trouble, Alessia. And I don't need that in my bar”

" Marcello please, I need this job. My mom..." I let the words trail off, letting the unsaid weight of my mother's illness hang in the air between us. 

Marcello's smile faltered, and I willed myself not to feel bad for using my mother's health as bargaining power. But I needed this job, and I had no other leverage. Marcello was a former colleague of my mom before she got ill and he got fired for smoking but my mom was there for him as he was for us. 

"Ugh, Fine. One last chance. But if you break anything — or anyone — you're out."

Relief washed over me. " I won't let you down" 

"You'd better not" he shot back 

"When do I start?" I asked. "Now" he said, tossing me a jacket. 

I walked over to the counter tying up my her into a ponytail.

And then he walked in.

I saw him the very second he crossed the threshold. You couldn't not see him. I continued to wipe down the counter, pretending not to care. The last thing I needed was another arrogant man who thought his expensive clothes made him interesting. 

"Who's that?" I muttered to Marcello, who was now sorting through a box of dusty liquor bottles. He glanced up, then quickly looked back down, as if the sight of the man made him nervous. "No one you want to get involved with." "That's not what I asked." Marcello fixed me with a hard stare. "Serve him if he asks, but keep your mouth shut." I rolled my eyes. "Relax, Marcello. I'm not interested.

"The man looked dangerous, like the kind who could command a room with a single word. I didn't know if people respected him or feared him, but there was something about him that made everyone give him a wide berth.

Who on Earth are you? I thought, keeping him in my sight but out of my mind as I concentrated on wiping down the bar. Behind me, the door swung open, and two men stumbled in, already laughing and carrying the scent of cheap cologne. 

The scent preceded them, for they were not in any condition to be subtle. They might as well have shoved a bottle of cologne in my face and told me to inhale deeply, for it would have made no more sense and would have been no less rude. 

These were not just any two men, though. They were two men who should have known better—two men who I might have thought would play straight with a woman behind a bar more often than not. But no. One of them elbowed me in the side as he moved me out of the way to the bar.

“Watch it,” I said. "Calm down, sweetheart." And then I heard it, a snap!. That was the sound of my last nerve getting hit. I felt the heat rise up my neck to my cheeks. "Call me sweetheart again, and you'll be going to the dentist next week for some serious oral reconstruction."

"Feisty, I like that." One of the men said 

"Yeah?", I grabbed the nearest bottle . "Let's see how much you like it when I smash thi

s over your head"

"Alessia!!!" 

Marcello barked.