The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I still feel shaken, even hours after coming down here and welcoming the first flow of Alexi’s clientele and I cannot shift the feeling of foreboding and anxiety gnawing at my bones. He has yet to appear, he never followed me out of the apartment when I fled, and he hasn’t summoned me back upstairs either. I would be happy if he stayed upstairs for the rest of the night and sobered up, but I know he needs to be down here for his club’s very first night.

I don’t like the side to him I met, and I have no desire to see it again so soon. The confidence in the opinion I formed of him over these last weeks has been shattered, and I am back to feeling like I don’t know him at all. That sinister man from my hospital room and how in awe I was. I should have realised then that he had more layers than an onion and I have barely taken the top one off.

Alexi aside, everything is going smoothly. We have drunk men molesting half dressed women as they all sit and smoke, getting high in the lounge. The strip act has turned lesbian show on our new stage and drinks are fast flowing as they are served to both the lounge and the bedrooms where some have already taken their spoils. Alexi has two important suits in the VIP lounge upstairs and our trio of experienced Dom ladies are up there giving them a private party. Everything is ticking along like a well-oiled machine, even if I am a complete nervous wreck.

I am the hostess with the mostest. Smiles with charm and tending to everyone’s needs, making sure security are watching every room discreetly, keeping an eye on all that is going on while appearing to be sipping champagne and schmoozing enjoyably. I have double checked that all weapons were checked at the door and put under lock and key. Alexi has this club set up for maximum control, thought of every detail, and yet he’s nowhere to be seen on his first night. I can’t stop watching the door in angsty anticipation, dreading the moment he does appear.

I expected him down hours ago. He is too anal about being in charge to not show at all, so I am under no illusion that he will stay away.

I wander around checking drinks, checking the supply of precious white powder and that other preferred narcotics are being dished out in low doses. We want fun not death, and we have the men keeping limits on all they hand out. We must take care of our members when they become too intoxicated for their own good. They come to kick back and relax and it’s our job to make sure it stays that way.

One of the men nods my way and I take it as a gesture to go over, moving across to where he’s stood, and he nods towards one of the boudoir doors that is sitting open. I frown, pissed that we gave every member a personal key card for these rooms and told them to keep them closed when in use. Our security has access that overrides all locks should we need to rescue one of our escorts and yet here we are with one sitting open while in use during busy time. Anyone could wander in and start unnecessary drama or embarrassment.

our school girl fetish jumps on the bed singing nursery rhymes to him. It’s more than enough for me and I yank the door shut so it latches with a loud click over the top of the loud house music. I could see the pleasure he got from being seen and I guess he is a bit of an exhibitionist who likes to

name if I am going to be dealing with this kind of weird shit. Our members have no idea the rooms are filmed for safety, and I am not about to tell our kink prick in there he can be watched with

doors in the narrow hallway and move to head out to the quiet part of the bar on the far end, nearer the main entrance where it’s quieter. There’s

me from behind and I turn in fright, losing my calm demeanour in a flash and I try to reel it back in

the eye. Heart resumes previous unearthly pounding as my body runs cold and hits high alert. I feel awkward around him, like the first night I ever met him. Out of my depth and unsure how to

normal once more, maybe a

‘‘I can’t leave your first night unsupervised. It’d be very irresponsible of me, Boss.’’ I smile softly hoping I sound genuine, look relaxed and unaffected, when really, my sweaty palms and trembling body tell me that is not entirely true. Truth being I

sighs heavily and clicks his fingers at the bartender, motioning two at him and points at the wall of expensive whiskies we had imported for his members. He serves only the best in here and his drink of choice is anything that puts hairs on your chest with one sip. I don’t refuse the drink choice, knowing better than to find fault with a command

sit obediently. Relieved he has compromised for a ringside seat and I can at least relax that he would not publicly flog

and rests his arms on the bar and I just sit stiffly, regarding him quietly. Not sure if this is another charm offensive to smooth over, seeing glimpses of the real him, or a genuine apology. I know I don’t know him. In fact, I have not even nearly begun to graze

I jest with an empty smile plastered in place and a smooth tone to mask how

either, so disregard it. It’s about getting back at me and nothing to do with you. He’s still sore about me hitting him when we were teens and when he’s on something he turns into a shithead, a bit like I do.’’ He gives me a one-shoulder shrug and dips his head as he works out a knot in his other. Avoiding my eye for a second and I think I am seeing the very