The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

‘When you put it like that.’ I cross my arms as though I have every intention of standing here all day and he sighs, moving off the frame and pulls the door with him with a look of ‘Okay then.’

‘Knock when you want in. I’m busy.’ He makes a move to shut the door and I gawp in disbelief, angered at his arseholeness, and then lose my stubborn immediately as it gets dangerously close to being shut and lightning claps the sky overhead. A spark of intense light and head snapping crack above me that makes me yelp out. Heart attack imminent as rain follows in a sudden flash downpour.

‘Wait!’ I half squeak half yell it at him as I make a dash forward, forgetting all resistance and run for safety, ducking down as though I may be struck at a distance by that bolt of scary in the sky and getting sodden for my efforts. I hate that he made me fold, well the weather did, and as the door swings open slowly again to accommodate me getting in beside him this time, I see that smug face of the player I know and despise.

‘You’re a wanker,’ I retort at him, stomping up the stairs and waltz past him haughtily. Refusing to look him in the eye as I get in the door and shake the water from my thin jacket automatically. I hadn’t bargained on bad weather, so I am wearing the thinnest of summer jackets that’s taken the brunt of it.

‘So you keep telling me.’ He follows me into the dark club, dim after the bright daylight outside, and I skirt ahead trying to get my eyes to adjust before he gets too close. Stepping down the low stairs to the sunken floor of the centre of the bar, onto the plush carpeting which makes my feet sink into it deliciously. I look around, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dullness.

I notice immediately that things seem different somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on it at a glance, but there’s definitely enough of a change to make my hackles rise and my eyes start scouring walls, chairs and the bar to try and see what it is that’s making me pause. The initial overwhelming feeling at being back in my space, my first real home, is short-lived as gut instinct takes over and pushes me to start inspecting protectively. This was my palace and something is off.

So many conflicting emotions at being back here and it hits me with a soft pain in the chest just how much I missed this place. A sob catching in my throat at all that is around me, screaming at me to come home. I have to steady my trembling hands against my flat stomach, and for once, something other than Alexi affects me on every level. My club has more presence for me right now than he does, and I am distressed with a feeling that it’s somehow suffering and calling to me. I feel like the long-lost child who has finally come back into the arms of its mother. Well, not my mother, she was batshit crazy … Mother club.

The room is still dark and glossy with the same seating and general outlay, but the walls don’t seem right. The colour seems brighter in the lack of overhead lighting, and in fact, the lack of light makes me look up to see why it is so dim in here. There’s a weird fogginess to the room which kills the cosy atmosphere I spent hours creating.

‘What is that?’ I point up at the ugly globe light thing in the place of the crystal chandelier I hand-picked for this room as I cross the marble floor and fix my eyes to the distasteful intruder. It’s barely enough to see where you are walking, let alone light this room. It also looks ridiculous in this décor and minute on such a vast ceiling that demands grandeur and opulence. It’s like a scar on the dark paintwork.

‘We had a flood from the new sprinkler system, and had to change out some fixtures and fittings, repaint the walls. There was a lot of cosmetic damage that took a few weeks to put right again.’ Alexi offers in way of answer.

That’s it! The walls are a different shade, even in this light I can tell and that thing over my head is dreadful and out of place. The reason it feels like my club is different is because it’s a pale comparison to what I built. It’s been repaired, replicated, yet somehow not. They changed things, made it look thrown together and cheap and it smarts like a bugger. My heart wounded stupidly.

‘You picked that?’ I point up at it and Alexi looks up too, shrugging as he scans the fixture and looks back at me as though he doesn’t understand my obsession with a light fixture.

I was the one who poured over the finer details, not him. He never understood my OCD when it came to finding the right things to go in these rooms, or my inability to settle for a compromise in décor choices. He left me in charge for that very reason.

to see what’s wrong with this picture. Annoying me immensely and

is failing, if they ignore what makes it high class

pacing as something else catches my eye, halting in outrage impulsively, as Alexi walks right into the back of me with a thud that makes me yelp. Colliding ungracefully and hurting my arse and shoulder

… Don’t stop suddenly.’ He snaps accusingly, throws me a shady look and moves to my side; I just turn on him, anger simmering from the depths of somewhere and square up to him furiously. Not caring about how close he is or that he did, in fact, move from behind me without being

made into a large ornate gold-carved oval which used to have pride of place in the centre of the bar wall. It’s

straight … you let that classless Walmart reject make décor decisions on your million-dollar night club because … you were busy? You let HER take control of important decisions which affect the look and feel of your high-class gentleman’s club? Then you have the nerve to act like it’s nothing!’ I almost spell

as much time as me pouring over details for the high-class finish he wanted. It took weeks of one-on-one conversation, magazines, design boards and endless shopping trips

let that trailer park tramp pick out this crap from a dollar mart catalogue, because he just didn’t have

I may just flip my

answer and frown furiously. Heart beating hard as

he

me eating broken glass. I hate that snivelling prat with a vengeance and she just gave me a reason to want her to choke. Now I’m raging and engulfed in pure venom. My eyes tearing everything apart manically and I inhale as a smell lingers around me that I

smells damp and musty in here as though it’s gone unaired for months. I start sniffing through my blocked and bunged up nose, like a crazy person, and

had time to evaluate it.’ Alexi sounds defensive, as though answering to me rather than explaining, and seems hesitant. I don’t care how odd he is being, I am livid with him. He was meant to look after this place. He

I cannot even contain it and Alexi is acting like this is no big deal, like he just doesn’t get how much

fuck is my

thing cost three grand and weighs about ten kilos. If that bitch has tossed it, I

has abused my rooms. I storm off towards the bar to examine it more closely, gawping and blanching at the rows of cheap booze on the smeared glass shelves—Dusty, dirty, unloved and covered

the hatch and walk behind the bar on a mission, rage fuelling me now and ignoring how sick and tired I was when I arrived. I run my finger along the front of the bottles, across surfaces and glassware and grit my teeth at the black and encrusted dusty finger I pull back.

a bottle of middle-grade whisky and

even the lowest paid, let alone his prized clientele. It is cheap tat and looking around I can see most of the drinks have been replaced with mediocre quality booze and nothing looks clean at all. In fact, there are smears on every polished surface and the very floor I am standing on is stained and sticky below my feet. Tears bite my eyes and I swallow down a huge lump in my throat at the incompetence of the people I left