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

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

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 like he’s asking me to fuck him, but somehow it has the same

need to know!’ I am the one to lock eyes on him this time, keeping my distance because I don’t trust him to come near me and yet, I can’t help believing

manipulation mode and right now, it’s all deadpan business and lack of devious. He looks relaxed and normal; human like. I saw this version of him when he put his money and club before everything, and we had rare genuine

the club is losing money and clients, and it’s running itself into the ground. You built it, you made it tick and I need you to do that again. Only this time with security over your position, so

a part 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 out again—he thinks it

tempting; so is the apartment, knowing he would

in my stomach is acting as a healthy sign of foreboding. Never get into bed with this man … he

and decided it was time to pick me back up out of the gutter, right?’ I can’t hide the hurt in my voice or the disdain, even trying, and Alexi sighs heavily at my tone. He is still seated, rubbing his palms together slowly, and moves to lounge casually back on the

charm and easy schmoozing?

seems half-arsed and more interested 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

me at his club that bad after

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 hint that

toes feebly. Knocked by his sudden movements and losing every ounce of courage. His face changes subtly from determined and serious to another unreadable expression, less determined

stumble. Glaring at him now he’s closer as a warning to back off—nervy of his

panned out, how it ended. I’m sorry for all that I did and said … I was wrong …

of an Oscar with that almost believable performance. Almost! I can’t 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 and tried to tell him how I felt, fuelled with complete abhorrence at his

incapable of remorse or guilt, and 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

irritation rising for sure and I just raise a smug brow and smile at him