The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I must be drunk! He finally lets me go as I cover the cloth with both my hands, letting me loose on my own shaking legs and pausing for a moment to make sure I can stand unaided. Closing the door behind him when he lets me go, so I’m locked in here alone, back in complete silence and blinking in disbelief at how this just went down.

I know no one else will get in here if he is standing outside and I let out a long slow breath of relief. My life is always drama and violence.

I completely sag against the wall and sink a little. Overcome with adrenaline and yet complete confusion. That moment was almost tender, Alexi was almost kind and it completely threw me. He’s the devil incarnate who doesn’t have a heart, yet he didn’t seem that way right now, he seemed almost nice and genuinely concerned about me.

Who knew he could be so gentle with his touch?

I trace my fingers over where he held my face and can still feel his heat tingling there. No idea why his touch could leave a mark more effectively on my skin than what that arsehole just did to me and I push it away. Unnerved by something so stupid and shake it off.

I straighten myself up and walk back to the vanity, catching sight in the mirror of the chaos I’m in.

My hair is falling down badly, pulled and messy, my face bright red and swelling on the left side. My lip is split and my nose is bleeding from the impact of the punch. I run his handkerchief under cold water and press it to the areas that are swelling trying to get myself under control, and trying not to baulk at the mess that arsehole has made of my face. I’m enraged that he’s ripped my new four-thousand-dollar dress and has ruined it completely!

I manage to tuck the torn fabric into my bra, so it at least looks like it's meant to be and not like its hanging off, and pull my hair down, so it falls in soft waves around me, concealing a lot of my injuries instead. I rummage in my bag and use whatever makeup and wipes I can to clean myself up and limit the obvious damage. Hiding and tidying all signs of anything amiss, so I can get out of this building with no one asking questions.

Alexi doesn’t like attention directed his way and this would draw a lot of concerned looks. I’m a dab hand at this kind of quick clean-up; I should be a complete pro at hiding bruises and cuts on minimal tools at short notice. I spent the first nineteen years of my life doing this on a daily basis at either my mother’s hands or the sea of men that came after.

lesson in makeup was how to cover a black eye at a

to conceal the damage and smooth out the torn seams to sit flush before I finally venture outside as tidy as I can be. Nerves are also evened out with my respite and I feel a little surreal but completely

not stirred, as 007 would say. My

man who belongs in grand buildings like this every day of his life. He’s typing on his phone and glances

are nowhere to be seen, and he pushes himself

day of the week and even more so right

my cheek to pull my face up to him once more in an easy commandeering movement. I guess he wants to investigate the damage on show, probably checking I can pass without drawing eyes our

it so matter-of-factly that it completely takes me by surprise. An unchecked statement said without thought and I blink at him in

at him, and he just frowns at me as though I said the most absurd thing; letting my face go and smoothing down his jacket while putting a little space back between us. That weird giddiness from his close proximity is still swirling inside of me and

on women no, I like control and sometimes restraint, but I don’t believe in violently dominating an unmatched sex. Everything I do is consensual and relatively pain free, there is more pleasure in offered submission than taking what you want forcibly.’’ He says it so seriously. I have to laugh at the irony in that statement, coming from him. He sounds normal but

am speechless and literally do not know what to say. Not what I envisioned of sinister sexy Alexi

me to have my doctor check you over?’’ He startles me with an even more unexpected question and now I know I must be dreaming.

him as though he has two heads and

flower Alexi; you can stop worrying I may keel over with dramatics.’’ I point out and smooth out my own attire one more time as though to prove the point. I would never admit that it has left me shaken and a tad

gaze for a long moment in silent thought. Unreadable as usual and I just dismiss overthinking it. He is good at scrutinising and making you feel

nods down the corridor after a moment, clearly letting it go for now, motioning