The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I don’t know why I’m telling him this, I have never had a need to be honest with anyone in my life, but I get the vibe that lying to him about anything would probably be the single dumbest thing I ever did. Possibly the last too, as he seems like someone who can sniff out a lie at a ten-mile distance.

‘‘I’ll take care of it. Call this number in the morning and give my man the details.’’ He extends something to me in the darkness and I catch a glimpse of a card in his hand as he leans in to hand it to me. I take it carefully, my hands shaking so badly and fearful of touching him—in case the devil can suck your soul out by contact alone. That’s the sort of chill I am getting.

‘‘It’s two grand in rent.’’ I blanch at his offer and push the card into the sheet beside me, tucking it under my thigh. You don’t lose someone like Alexi Carrero’s number or leave it lying around for hospital staff to find.

‘‘I’ll add it to your tab ... Do you have a cell?’’ He shifts and moves closer, and I get extremely claustrophobic with the proximity of someone his size; strength emanating like a dark heavy cloak and that aura of an aggressive dominant male. He’s formidable for a man, I remember that much from seeing him in daylight. I wish I could better recall what he looks like, but my memory is hazy with the finer details.

‘‘I tossed it when I ran. I don’t have one anymore.’’ I sink back into my cushions when he steps the last small distance, suddenly right beside me; trying so hard to just make him out when I am blinded by the dazzling light of him switching on the lamp over my bed and I screw my eyes shut. Flinching at the assault, head aching intensely, before blinking myself back to the room and acclimatising slowly as I flutter them open to try and see.

‘‘I’ll have one dropped off in the morning and you can give the details of where to collect your belongings then. When you’re ready for release, you will be taken to my club, and we will talk again. Until then, Miss Walters, try to make the most of your recovery time. I happen to like a full effort from anyone I associate with.’’ He’s so calm and faultless.

of him when I was shacked up in the

could be so 'Phwoar'. Black ruffled expensively styled hair, showing hints of

curling up one side of his neck, under a white button down, with a leather jacket moulded and sculpted to a very fit and toned body. Hints of more dark ink peeking over one hand under

be real. The accent is slightly Italian; I caught the odd twinge in some words but it’s so minor it’s barely there. He has spent a lot of time in Italy if he wasn’t born there for it to leave its mark. He is not the package I was expecting at all and I would put

look of mature and filled out though, that only comes when men move out of their twenties and yet, there is still a boyish charm in the depth of that face. I’m not going to lie; I would sleep with him in a second and enjoy every minute of it. He’s definitely one I would notch a

can be with so little effort when you have good DNA, expensive taste and a great hairdresser. I have never had a full-blown ‘‘take me now’’ moment over any

‘fuck me senseless' moment in my

ability to flirt my way through

faced with a human that I instantly needed to have naked and inside of me before. It’s messing with my brain. My body is warming up to searing levels

well versed in the arts of

and precise. It’s in his neat attire and groomed appearance and the careful slow way he talks while boring your eyes with his unflinchingly; everything deliberate, calm and cool, in a well-played