The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

‘So what have I missed … and are we ready for nine p.m.?’ Straight to the point, no other chit-chat or mention of last week?

Fine by me.

Two can play at that game!

If Alexi is taking the all business route to interact with me then I can handle that just fine. However, I hate that it makes me feel weirdly upset and just triggers a nerve—stupidly so.

‘I took care of everything. Club’s ready, guests are sorted, and everything is in hand. All you need to do is put on a suit and look intimidating.’ I smile drily, tight facial expressions because it takes so much effort.

So be normal then.

Not that he isn’t in jeans and a t-shirt, it’s just like this he’s more street boxer than Mafia king and that edge of psycho he keeps in his back pocket is not so obvious when he dresses down. As much as I dislike that part of who he can be, I dislike it when he is less sinister to look at.

I know … I’m fucked up. Something completely wrong with me and I probably need therapy.

‘I’m bringing a guest—Chief of Police—Nice to keep things friendly with our local law enforcement,’ Alexi smirks, deviously so. I’m not sure if it’s because of what he said, or because he is enjoying behaving like an inconsiderate arsehole who takes no responsibility for being a thug in Miami.

I knew he had police on the take, but I didn’t think it stretched as high as that.

‘Does he need special requirements?’ I add, trying to appear completely professional and keep that edge out of my tone even though I feel irritated at him. Annoyed with myself that I am simmering hurt over how he’s pushed all talk of what happened away, as though none of it matters … as though I don’t matter.

‘He likes redheads.’ That dangerous flash of the eye trying to goad me to bite, and a hint at him being in sadist mode, and I just shake my head, refusing to fall for it.

‘Good for him. I’ll find him one.’ I’m not going to react. He’s angling for a fight and being his usual prick self, probably because I am not falling all over him for finally showing up to his own club.

In a way I also sort of feel relieved with the appearance of this version of him. I didn’t trust Mr Nice, couldn’t relax when he was playing docile, but I know exactly where I stand with smug arsehole Carrero, and know how to handle him when he is this way. No second guessing, no surprises. No trying to figure out his motives. As messed up as it is, I actually trust this side of him. I know it, it’s familiar and this isn’t an act to goad me to his demands. I know what is expected of me. He’s sulking and being a tosser—nothing new there.

built this club, I could both tolerate him and sort of relax in his company. It was sex that messed me up when it came to him,

won’t ever

of the club girls. I want someone new. Not someone who has been passed around to everyone and their dog downstairs.’ His eyes flash in amusement and I know it’s said as a dig at me. Hurting

this very moment. It’s the first time in a long time he has put me down with an insult this way too, well, apart from calling me a whore in Miami. I take a steady breath to calm the way my heart and body just spin into meltdown, and it takes

you preferred blondes?’ It’s there in my voice, that tiny ounce of hurt and I just pray he

off the table, so I’m improvising. I can’t sit downstairs twiddling my thumbs and not sampling my own goods. It

I rejected him in Miami and he wants to know how far it goes.

it. He doesn’t talk things out and expect honesty in an answer, why would he? He lives in a world of liars and backstabbing opportunists that has coloured his levels of trust … he tries to figure things out for

of girl to cut off my nose to spite my face though, and to hide that maybe I do still have some sort of feelings; I will supply

if you like, one for each side to take it in turns. I know you have more stamina than most men.’ I lift my chin and glare him down, voice oozing charm. Our eyes locked on one

Maybe need to use our special room if you can work that. I miss tying up docile women.’ He smirks, less genuine this

that weak heart who crumbled at his feet last time, and I won’t ever give him the satisfaction of knowing

little plaything of my own and wanted to wipe away those memories for new fun ones. Only way to get over your past is to take control of it, right?’ I add haughtily and smile

controlled. He looks completely livid, tense jawline, eyes darkening and brows dropping

voice losing the venom

usually negative. He does it either when he’s trying to distract himself from something or gets excited in a very happy mood. It’s how he focuses

lover to show me the good side to it, and I never said I was the one in straps,’ I cattily respond, insides swelling with that sense of

might explode, a weird smile that’s not really a smile, and a very intense frown for a second as he grapples to get

in agitation and starts rummaging, eyes on that and not me, and I wonder if it’s a tactic to give himself a task to

in ways that get to them on every level for your own sick pleasure. I could get

break into a huge happy grin and flash it his way, seeing the rage as his eyes get darker as he glances my way and off again—Making him

tells me I am his and he will kill anyone who dares to touch what he owns, but it doesn’t come. He can’t seem to look at me and all his smugness and prick fight seems to simmer into

can date whoever I

hold over me that way

out