The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

‘You don’t like my family?’ He asks seriously, frowning at me, and I can’t tell if he is annoyed by that fact, or just curious. He’s being his usual self and giving nothing away about what he’s feeling or thinking. Sometimes I just wish I had a little tiny inkling of what goes on in his head—just once.

‘Your family seem nice and I already knew a couple of them. I’m fine. Just not really in the party mood yet, I take time to warm up,’ I answer calmly, quietly, dodging his intense focus and keep on glancing at passing clouds right by the window.

‘You regret coming?’ He presses the matter a little tighter toned.

Jesus, he’s like the Spanish Inquisition and I don’t get why he cares so much about this.

‘No, it’s just … nothing.’ I exhale in defeat, body tensing with increasing stress levels. No idea why I feel like I owe him an explanation. I turn away and look out of the window more obviously in the hope he’ll leave me to sit here alone and let me be. I need quite head space to sober up and stop being such a downer.

‘It’s something, what is it? Is it me? You worried I’m going to be an asshole to you? Has somebody made you feel unwelcome? Have I?’ He nudges me a little forcefully and I glance back to give him an irritated look, rubbing my arm where he touched me. He’s hardly Mr Gentle at times and drunk I can see he’s more aggressive than normal. I don’t think he means to be, he is just a naturally heavy-handed person that is oblivious to his own strength. It just exasperates me and all his pushing is doing is making me feel overwhelmed like I might cry and pathetically I blurt it at him.

‘I don’t know how to do this.’ It comes out feebly, like a small broken child. I sound so weak and hate myself for letting him hear my vulnerability over my own dumb inadequacy.

I drop my eyes and go back to looking out the window, feeling stupid and ashamed, shame flushing from my toes and heating my face. Mortified that I’m admitting this to him.

‘Do what? Get smashed in the air and let your hair down? Forget to hate me for five minutes? Enjoy time in my company?’ He sounds exasperated with me and I just sigh harder. He has no concept of what I even mean.

Why would he? Even he can fit in with normal social scenarios.

‘No.’ I don’t want to just come out and say, ‘act like a normal human in a normal social setting and just be normal.’ How do you tell someone like him that you never had to be involved with people when you weren’t angling for some reason or goal? That being in a family or friends setting just makes you feel incredibly small and invisible, because no one taught you or showed you how to behave. No one loved you or cared about you. That you spent your whole life by yourself, or with abusers, and nice people stayed well away from you in case you infected them with your worthlessness. I never had value to anyone, let alone him … now he wants me to blend in and act like I belong with this group of semi-strangers and find something meaningful within myself to share with them. There’s nothing like that inside of me. Even I know that.

‘Then what?’ Alexi is starting to lose his temper, and I am aware that maybe I’m embarrassing him in front of them by not being the social bee he thought I would. By being weirdly quiet and a loner when they are all getting drunk and merry, and being so touchy-feely and family like with one another. He assumed I would be Camilla the hostess and peruse and charm my night away like a pro. He doesn’t understand that all of that is a lie, an act, a mask I wear. It’s my job to be that way and I have to constantly work at it.

I can’t relax and just be like the others here. They are doing it naturally.

across to her; Doe-eyed and talking to one each other

black sheep in a plane full of

of them, you should have left me in the city,’ I snap back at him quietly, trying to keep my voice hushed so they don’t hear us, and Alexi just sighs at me, tapping his thumb on the table. I can tell he is getting increasingly agitated

not blending in?’ He lowers his tone to a growl to match the

better of me and my voice trembles. Alexi just narrows his eyes at me. Scanning my face for signs of a lie probably, then he just looks like he always does … slightly psycho in a very unemotional

That’s always reliable anyway.

it just pisses me off. How he can turn sentences into veiled threats without any actual threat in them, and just knows how to irritate the shit out of me with a tone and a look that tells you fuck all. It’s really bloody annoying, that shitty trait of his. Hiding everything he feels and thinks under a mask of robotic indifference and I actually loathe it with a god damn passion. I hate that it leaves you always guessing and never knowing anything truthful

his plaything for the night or if his motives were purely just that he thought I might actually enjoy

away sulkily, furrowed brow, eyes gaining stormy dark hues and that edge to his tone; Always a fucking dig in his words that takes what he says and makes it something else entirely. This is what he does. Says something almost nice and yet in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t mean it or

trying to kick me out of your life last time around?’ I snap in response, still holding on to ounces of hurt and resentment for all that has gone on before. I knew drinking was a bad idea and my mess

of a madman and shakes his

you’re here now, aren’t you?’ He looks away as though dismissing me for something minor and

right to be pissed and hurt for how you treated me. You think because you gave me my job back and treat me marginally better this time that I should just fall at your feet again? Please … explain what your reasons were, as this is news to me!’ I spit, voices still drowned out by his loud

this here. Drink your champagne and leave it alone.’ Alexi clamps down on me through gritted teeth, that I assume is meant to hush me before

else sees and thinks of

Do as he says, shut up and look pretty. Don’t

went from sombre to spitting teeth and trying to goad him into a fight, but I have all this pent-up anger in me that alcohol is stirring up and it has nowhere else to go except at him. He caused it and now it’s bubbling away inside

what I did but it doesn’t mean I don’t regret

me want to smother him with his own jacket. Sorry may just be a fucking word but it happens to mean a lot when

table and get up, forcefully pushing past him out of the seat to get out and sit anywhere but with him, and

arms to my sides with a force that silences me. My breathing laboured and heart thudding inside my ribcage as every part of me rises to outrage like a

wrong. I pushed you away. Is that what you need to hear? You want the word; you can have it … Sorry. Sorry. SORRY! Does it make you feel better, hate me any less? Magically undo the shit that went on before?’ It’s delivered in that even husky tone of complete pissed off Carrero. He