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.

him and sort of relax in his company. It was sex that messed me up when it came to him,

version won’t ever get

around to everyone and their dog downstairs.’ His eyes flash in amusement and I know it’s said as a dig at me. Hurting me

until this very moment. It’s the first time in a long time

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

my own goods. It would look wrong. Suspicious … Unless you’re offering?’ That manipulative look in

to make me jealous. He’s goading me because I rejected him in Miami and he wants to know how far it goes. Do I just not want a repeat

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 himself with manipulation and pushing boundaries. He reads people on the surface and tries to summarise

maybe I do still have some sort of feelings; I will supply him with a girl and watch him fuck her. Just to show I do not care at all … Even if it kills

oozing charm. Our eyes locked on one another for a moment as neither speaks. Alexi doesn’t give anything away in that face of his, just

if you can work that. I miss tying up docile women.’ He smirks,

doesn’t have that control over me anymore. Even though it does hurt, and it does get to me. I’m not that weak heart who crumbled at his feet last time, and

to wipe away those memories for new fun ones.

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

about being tied up.’ He doesn’t sound so sure anymore, his own voice losing the venom and confidence, and he taps the table with his thumb; Agitation and instant discomfort on show.

have begun to realise this is a major tell for a range of his emotions, 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 himself to control

I cattily respond, insides swelling with that sense of satisfaction at ripping at him the way he does me. Venom in every word that I hope makes it all the way to

not really a smile, and a very intense frown for a second as he grapples to get a hold on his obvious emotions; Losing face under fire and his ability to be Mr Deadpan. It’s

as he pulls open a drawer in agitation and starts rummaging, eyes on that and not me, and I wonder if it’s

power trip, the upper hand. Knowing you wounded the person in front of you in ways that get to them on every level for your own sick pleasure. I

as his eyes get darker as he glances my way and off again—Making him eat his own

wait for the outburst, the jealous psycho act in which he 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

can date whoever I

knows he has no hold over me that way this time as

I can walk out