The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I am listless and keep clock watching today, even though I have nowhere to be except down in the club, and getting ready for another night of business as usual. I have an idea why it’s making me so restless and frustrated, beyond the obvious sadness. It’s called Alexi.

This place is running so smoothly nowadays that I really have nothing much to do most of the time except observe and supervise. Apart from paperwork occasionally and overseeing deliveries I have tuned my well-oiled machine to perfection. Spectacular organisation means it can practically run itself and I can swan around more than actually do anything.

Mico appears and catches me sitting at the bar.

‘Hey you … future mistress.’ He breaks into a huge amused smile and dumps a pile of files on the bar carelessly that he has obviously brought to go in the office. It looks like some of the accounts we have been waiting for. I’m guessing this is not a random passing joke.

‘He told you?’ I turn to him with amused questioning and lean back against the bar. Letting my eyes wander over that familiar ‘head of the mob’ attire of his. Dark tailored suit, black tie and a heavy black coat, even though today is still on the warmer side. I swear they have a manual somewhere with all the rules and codes of being a Carrero henchman that states—black is the colour and Savile Row for tailoring.

‘Alexi tells me most things … especially when sassy Brits accuse him of underhanded jealous behaviour.’ He winks this time and then moves to sit beside me casually, as he motions the tender cleaning glasses for a bottle of water from the fridge in our view. The man obediently does so.

‘He didn’t admit it.’ I shrug, knowing full well it’s exactly what it was.

‘Yeah well, he sent me to pick these up at the accountants and drop them off here, so I think he’s trying to prove you wrong, Camilla. How you doing today anyway? Jackson took that …’ He trails off before saying cat and I just throw on my fake happy face and shrug again, trying to ignore that pit of biting sadness which has followed me all day. I couldn’t even bear to go into the kitchen and see the food stacked on the counter for the scrawny little creature. I told Jackson to get rid of all traces that I ever knew a cat called Feral.

I don’t want his ashes either— I want to forget all about him. It’s just easier that way.

‘Fine … just planning my seduction of Alexi’s henchman to take over his world,’ I jest diverting the topic, and he shakes his head too.

‘Give him a break; he’s out of his depth on so many levels when it comes to you. Alexi has never had to navigate this kind of relationship before, and you still screw him up. He’s like a teen boy learning from scratch.’ He looks down at the bar and has that same annoying habit of tapping his thumb there. I guess it’s a sign when they are hiding something or thinking something through. Weird that DNA can carry mannerisms.

‘What kind of relationship would that be? Respecting a female instead of tormenting her?’ I add drily and Mico just throws me a darkened look.

‘I told you once … there’s more to him than meets the eye, and how he feels about you is his business. You two need to learn the art of communication.’

‘Ughhh. You’re so loyal sometimes, it’s painful.’ I prod him in the shoulder and he just smirks before getting up and sweeping up the files into a neat pile he picks up.

‘I love and respect my cousin … I won’t be the one who talks for him though—that’s on him. He needs to man up when it comes to you two.’ He moves away and I shove him as he passes, frustrated with his vagueness.

snottily, eyebrows arched in expectance of a real answer. He just raises his brows right back at me in the most infuriating way and walks off towards the corridor, obviously dismissing the rest of our

and start being honest … even if it’s terrifying. Running

observation. Maybe Alexi realised I bottled out of talking upstairs this morning and these are his words, not Mico’s. I pale with the thought that he could read me up

Both physically and emotionally, when life throws me shit I don’t want to handle. It’s an impulse to protect myself, and he

sight and leaving me pondering his wise words that he has a habit of spitting

is fucking infuriating

off without giving you any real answers, so you have to figure it out

Pinocchio and Jiminy. I giggle as the connection hits me and find it hilariously funny the more I think about it. Mico sits on his shoulder being his conscience, so he doesn’t have to have one, and Alexi … well, he’s the adventurous and stubborn little boy who likes to lie; ironic really. I wonder if Alexi has a desire to be a real human too, although his nose certainly does not grow when he talks

book I have propped on the bar, trying to kill some hours, and ignore my uptight and fragile mood; Pushing the stupid out of my head along with visions of wooden puppets and donkeys. I sit lost in words, pulled into a fantasy

Catch you later. Alexi will be back to get changed this evening and I’m to pick him up from here, so guess till later’s …’ He smiles and I smile back warmly.

specifically to prove he’s not jealous and he hasn’t been deliberately

childish thing to do,

that he wanted to prove it, even if

Boy needs therapy.

head upstairs to start getting ready for tonight, showering and pulling on a new dress. I am going red, in a slinky, loose and floaty number that is more summer days than nightwear, but I am not in the mood for figure hugging and sexy. I still feel weird and out of sorts, and I am doing everything in my power to not think about Feral. Jackson took care of it. It’s done and I need to forget it as a nothing in my life. My bruised heart will heal, and it will only serve to help lock it up

that shouldn’t have

me alone, so I can just do

the lounge that hangs on the outside of his bedroom wall. I prefer doing my hair out

he smells freshly showered and his hair is damp. I guess he was having a boxing training day or something physical.

of excess energy and he uses sport to keep himself level. Boxing is the preferred hobby, according to Jackson. He does that sometimes to let off steam and hone his skills as a cold-blooded thug who beats up men

over Miami.

skirt swishes around me gracefully, admiring my reflection as he passes behind me and tugs my hair as he does so. A juvenile reaction that highlights the

aim a slap for him, but he’s too fast and bobs into his room with a laugh, calling

at his expectancy that I should serve him, yet find myself putting down my straighteners anyway and head for the kitchen. No idea why I am being so obedient and non-combative. Maybe because he's infectious when he is like

with a completely naked upper torso. All that tanned muscle and tattoos on show and it has the same effect as mildly tasering me

Jesus Christ, Alexi!