The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

The club is high end, huge and very clearly well used in a very trendy part of Midtown, it’s called ‘Alfa’s’. Its décor isn’t overly dated, just a little worn and faded, and even empty you can smell the years of sweat, boozy-bodied dancers and stale smoke. It’s modern and obviously up market but it just misses the little ‘va voom’ that makes a place stand out.

I take a walk around the vast room of multi-levelled platforms and seating as Alexi talks to his manager by the bar, sitting sipping an ice water because he is driving and watching me do my slow evaluation. He told me to go explore and tell him what I think needs to be done and it’s exactly what I am doing while I get a little head space.

I can feel his eyes on me every second, burning my skin and giving me goosebumps. He’s been weirdly quiet and distant since we got in here and that suits me fine. Careful not to get too chummy, and even though he opened my car door, he kept his distance and gave me breathing space. It seems our little ‘chat’ has registered somewhere and he’s being a gentleman for once.

I can handle unemotional and aloof Alexi, when the focus is business.

* * *

We walk out into the midday sun after spending a lot longer than planned talking fine details with Clark, his bar manager. It was better than I thought it would be, and he made me feel valued, as though my opinion held real weight while they both listened and Clark took notes. I don’t know who Alexi told him I was, but the guy treated me as though I had some kind of authority in club décor. It was kind of nice.

Alexi has a file in hand of suggested changes, repairs and such, and a list of things his manager took notes on that might improve the takings, all suggested by me. I gave my input and Alexi didn’t find fault in a single suggestion; Both of them listening while I gave my feminine point of view on the look and feel of what he was aiming for, a real boost to my mood, and yet back in the car we are once again strangely silent.

There’s an atmosphere between us still, one I cannot read but it’s there nonetheless, and I’m tired from the emotional drain it puts on me. I feel like I have been on a rollercoaster in the last couple of hours and I am mentally exhausted and a little fragile.

‘Do you want to go for food?’ Alexi breaks into my muggy brain, and I blink his way uncertainly.

‘I’m hungry but I’m not sure having a cosy little lunch date is wise, so I guess not,’ I point out blankly, giving him a one-shoulder shrug and a pointed look, but he just smiles at me.

‘Then call it a business lunch, we can recap what we talked about at the club. I’m starving and you must be too, it’s after two.’ He is in serious mode—a hint of bossy coming through and I can tell it’s pointless to argue. I wanted this version of him and it is back with a vengeance. I don’t know if that should be a sign to relax and maybe I am being over cautious, but either way, he wants us to have lunch and NO is falling on deaf ears; Even if he did make a show of asking me first.

‘Fine.’ I back down, literally starving too as I skipped breakfast this morning, and sink back into my seat a little huffily. He’s left me feeling bruised all day, regardless of lifting me up in the bar, and I cannot shift this weird knot of anxiety in my stomach.

‘Italian?’ He throws me a raised eyebrow as though my input means something and I just eyeroll.

‘Because I obviously don’t have enough of it in my life … sure … Italian it is.’ I sigh and look away from the furrowed brow he starts giving me and stare out the window at passing scenery instead.

‘I know a little place close by Club Carrero—family-run—really good food.’ He ignores my obvious put-down and just carries on, undeterred; A brighter, chirpier, mellow hue to his voice.

family?’ I blanch at him, weirded out that he might take me somewhere to meet more Carreros when things between us aren’t exactly friendly.

leans forward to look behind him out the side of his window

they are not.

who took me under their wing when I moved to the city at seventeen; I go there sometimes.’ He throws me back an odd smile and then concentrates on manoeuvring the car into a little side alley which cuts through to another

Great!

very capable and confident driver and I feel strangely safe

bit like going to Chinatown, but it’s all bed sheets and aprons and adds to the intimate secrecy of this little building nestled in secrecy; Sun flashing through the gaps as we move and I wonder at where we are. I know it’s Little Italy, where the club is, but I cannot get

for cars down here, and as he parks with the car propped up on the pavement in the narrow alley I let myself out, rather than wait for him to be a gentleman and get my door. It’s a real squeeze to exit it and he would have no chance fitting in here

little open door of the small crowded building ahead of us. I can already smell gorgeous food wafting our way, infused with garlic and herbs and my mouth starts watering. I may have had reservations about coming to eat with him, but now I can

lit candles on each surface. It’s gloomy at first, until your eyes adjust from the sunshine outside, but as the room comes into clear view I get the vibe of Old Italian heritage and cosy surroundings. Traditional twee but

elderly greying man in brown cords and a cream

over dramatic way and hugging him heartily. All hugs and back slaps in a very OTT welcome. Alexi laughs, uttering something Italian

Italians!

But…

Who is Alessandro?

never dawned on me that Alexi was actually short for something. I never questioned it, and now I can hear someone call him that it just does not fit at all. It’s such an old man name for someone as sexy as Alexi. I don’t like it on him one bit. Sexy Alexi is a far better title and it has

so, and I try not to cringe as he rambles away in Italian chatter as though I can understand it. I don’t react, just smile politely and take the weird greeting before discreetly patting my face with a napkin when he turns his

Gino, before answering the man in fluent Italian again, faultlessly. I find myself gazing at him intensely. There is something really hot about Alexi speaking his family’s native tongue so fluently. If you didn’t know any better you would think he was a purebred foreigner when he is like this, and it’s captivating to listen to that husky voice talk in tongues of romance. I know he must have

us that makes my skin erupt in feathery sensations and I look away uneasily; Stomach flipping and

I’m dutifully handed a paper menu that’s handwritten and the old man sweeps off

a smug look and smile, banter over a name that definitely doesn’t suit him. I just cannot associate him with it at all. It conjures

to torture her kids. At least it’s not Luigino!’ He smiles back, pronouncing Gino’s full name with an accent that could possibly melt knickers and that really ends me. I start giggling at the absurdity of that name. It really is worse than Alessandro on every

either of you much then?’ I ask through my merry giggling fit, forgetting all my stress and weird mood vibes as I relax with him.

something like that. She is very traditional and very Italian. My mother likes to remind us of that every

keeps smiling at me, reminding me of a similar conversation over my