The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I know fine well she’s called Joanne, but I’ll be damned if he thinks I give a shit about his woman in any way, shape or form. He chose that rancid slut as his bedfellow and hostess, so he can choke on it. He chose her over me. I hope she gave him STDs.

‘She hasn’t been the best choice and now the club is losing money.’ Again, he looks at the floor, and if it wasn’t Alexi the tosser Carrero he would seem defeated and a little submissive. I know better. He’s trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants.

‘Boo hoo. Should have thought about that before you kicked me to the curb then, shouldn’t you?’ I turn away from him and walk to the kitchen with a satisfied smirk, not falling for his BS, to retrieve a drink of water to soothe my parched and raspy throat. Also needing a little head space as his ever-looming presence fills my room like a black cloud. I hate that no matter what; he just pulls all the air out of my orbit effortlessly. It’s like he has his own gravity and I am eternally sucked in by it.

Opening the fridge for the bottles I keep there; I realise it isn’t even on. I close and open it again before feeling inside—it’s completely warm; the sour smell of food going off tells me another shitty appliance in here has packed in and I sigh. Slamming it shut angrily because it’s something else I don’t need right now … I have enough stress. Another little notch on the crap list of crappier things that are trying to send me over the edge this week. My cooker doesn’t work. Now the god damn fridge doesn’t work. The shower already packed in and baths are temperamental. I don’t have a microwave after it exploded and now, I don’t have the money to think about buying anything anymore.

Will anything else go wrong in this godforsaken place this week?

‘I’ll make it worth your while.’ Alexi is behind me almost instantly, scaring the bejesus out of me, and I jump in obvious reaction because I was distracted and didn’t hear him sneak up on me. Cursing him out mentally for scaring me this way, it’s still a sensitive scar—people close behind me in any way. He was probably peering at the darn refrigerator too and I shove him back with my arse aggressively in a bid to make him move, hating that he crept up behind me into my space and made me uncomfortable. Hating that he saw my shitty, empty, rotting broken fridge and knows I am up shit creek with nothing that works. I stalk across the room noisily, sulkily, making it clear I need space from him, carrying my lukewarm bottle even though I have no desire to drink it now.

‘Doubt it.’ I shrug and plonk it on the wobbly table beside my mirror, catching sight of how awful I look, and it’s a shock to the system even though it’s hardly a new reflection … a little punch to the stomach.

My face is black and blue, now that time has allowed it all to come out. My nose is swollen and my top lip has a split that I didn’t see until it got this bad from expansion. I look like I have been run over, specifically my head, and it’s no wonder Alexi is staring at me so weirdly. I would stare too. I look like Quasimodo’s little sister by all accounts.

Brown lifeless hair in a messy bun on my head from sleeping in it, hair falling down everywhere in haphazard untidiness, and I look pale and skinny with crazily huge eyes. A mere shell of the girl he knew and it’s a wonder he thinks I’m capable of being his hostess once more when I look like utter crap. Meghan baby, you really are a plain Jane with shit taste and no skill in making yourself presentable.

Alexi looks at the floor between his feet, and I can’t tell if he is trying to keep that infernal temper of his under control or whether he is at a loss on how to proceed. He seems different but maybe that’s because I’m different.

That hopeless love-sick weak-willed idiot who threw herself at his mercy is now a cold-hearted shadow who wants nothing to do with him. I wouldn’t care if he got up and walked straight back out of my door. In fact, it would give me great joy to see him leave. I wouldn’t cry one single tear if he disappeared back out into the beyond to never return again—I cried over him enough in the first days of leaving, and I won’t ever do it again. I guess he can sense he has lost his edge and is coming up with some devious plan to put me back in line. That’s what he does.

a chance, New

of the apartment above … without me staying there, and a wage rise from managing hostess to club manager; Full control of the club and all aspects of running it.’ He looks up as he says it, disarmingly honest faced and soft, and everything in me flushes down to my toes in surprise as my heart somersaults at the unexpectedness of it. The offer

I hate him when he’s hitting me with an offer that actually makes me second guess my decision to tell him to go fuck himself. I hesitate, swallowing down the sudden lurch of stomach to mouth and fluttering wings in my chest. Instantly light-headed as though anxiety has perked up and my knees go all weak and weird. It’s not

all that after you tried so hard to get rid of me? You dodged answering that … but I need to know!’ I am the one to lock

and club before everything, and we had rare genuine moments between us where our only concern was keeping it ticking over. It is one version of him maybe I can believe in;

you made it tick and I need you to do that again. Only this time with security over your position, so you can’t

of my club in front of me to own and hold as mine. Even if he wants me gone, I’ll still get a cut of the profits as long as he legally gives me the ten percent. He’s offering a binding agreement in case he has a little temper tantrum and tries to push me

apartment, knowing he would

into bed with this man … he will fuck you, fuck you over and fuck you

my tone. He is still seated, rubbing his palms

all that charm and easy

in staring at me than using his actual skill in convincing me. This isn’t the negotiator and lord of mind games I know and despise—this is some weak offer with no real

at his club that

my head at him in utter disappointment that even when throwing me a deal, it seems begrudged … or something. I actually don’t know what it is. He’s infuriatingly unreadable, even if his heavy exhales and frowns

face changes subtly from determined and serious to another unreadable expression, less determined and serious. I don’t even try to fathom what it is, because he looks as tired as I feel, yet

him now he’s closer as a warning to

to hear? I’m sorry for how it panned out, how it ended. I’m sorry for all that I did and said … I was wrong … I was an asshole. I. Am. Sorry! I NEED you in my club, Cam. My club

help the bitter taste that consumes me and the internal anger that comes out of me so easily. I shake my head and do to him what he did to me when I put myself out there

I don’t actually care about your club. It’s nothing to do with me anymore and it can sink for all I care.’ I drop my hands and just stand my ground, obvious toxicity in my tone, watching that unemotional face as he scans mine, and we stand locked in a silent war of stubborn minds—Neither willing to back down, and

my response, irritation rising for sure and I just raise a smug