The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

“I want you. That’s all there is to it. I want to show you that you don’t have to fear me and maybe prove you can trust me.” Alexi gets straight to the point, lifting my hand into his and slides his fingers between mine to hold me tenderly. I stare at our entwined digits, feeling his heat flow into my cold, smaller one and gaze at it, disconnected. The space around me is surreal as though I’m dreaming. I should lie down. I’m verging on passing out at this rate.

“I didn’t know what love was, what was staring me in the face. I haven’t exactly had anything to compare it to.” Alexi sounds incredibly young once more, flitting between his normal cocky self and these glimpses of an unsure teen that are throwing me off. This is a side I doubt anyone ever sees in him and yet it's softening me to him a little.

Warning signs and neon flashing lights in my brain are telling me to proceed with caution. Half my senses are saying ‘DANGER, DANGER’ and the other half is being pulled into warmth and hope and a lot of maybes.

Aware that I’m weakening, I slide my hand away quickly to pull myself together. I’m not that feeble or stupid.

I move away and walk to the couch and slump down to get some breathing space, body just giving in from holding itself up, sinking my head between my palms and elbows on my knees as I exhale heavily. So many emotions flooding me and I’m exhausted. It’s the middle of the night, probably nearer morning and I’ve had an emotional few hours. This all feels surreal and crazy and I don’t think I have it in me to deal with touching and hand holding. I don’t have the strength to withstand him. He’s too good at coercing and controlling outcomes and I won’t be drawn in.

Alexi follows me and sits down too. Not close enough to make me feel crowded but not far either. He leans forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging down between them as he watches me.

“Say something … anything.” He urges me a little desperately and I turn and look at him for a second. Amused by the desperate tone but wrecked by all of this.

“Something,” I mutter weirdly, unsure what else to say and then giggle at my stupidity. I feel like I have stepped out of my body and am floating out in space, just dreaming.

“Funny.” Alexi smiles and then throws himself back against the cushions in agitation, exhaling much like I did. Both so frustrated with this odd, strained mood between us. This huge precipice I’m standing on the edge of.

Who knew love confessions could go so badly?

“I’m still here.” I point out, as though I need to. I guess it’s my way of saying I’m thinking and maybe believe him a little bit. I don’t even know. I feel like part of me wants to try and reassure him or something. I’m not even sure why. My feet would not head to the door even if I tried. I’m wiped out and practically ceasing to function.

“Yes, you are. For how long though, is what I really want to know.” Alexi nudges me lightly; his hand touching briefly against my arm and sets his gaze intently on me from his more casual position. He seems more relaxed that I haven’t run out the door. I guess sitting down is a clue I’m not about to leg it.

Although I am still thinking about it.

“How long is a piece of string? I can’t give you an answer that I don’t have.”

I really wish I could say, ‘yes, I want you too’; the truth is I’m scared shitless of letting this man ever get that close to me again. He has the power to do so much damage on so many levels and giving him the knowledge that he can, is suicide. I have to protect myself.

“I just need a chance to prove to you I won’t hurt you again. To be what you need me to be, however long that takes.” He sounds sincere anyway, looks serious. My brain is egging me on to take it at face value.

“How do I do that?” I blink at him, stupefied that it’s even possible.

“Stay. Spend time with me. Give me the chance to turn this around, make this into something more. Just give me time and opportunity—the rest is on me.”

It’s not an unreasonable request, I suppose. Well, not for any normal human, but this is him and me and our past.

“And if I can’t? What then?”

“Then I will do what I promised to do. Bow out of this club and leave you to it. There are no strings attached. You still own half this club, and this apartment is yours. Everything we agreed, in the beginning, stays the same. I exit left so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

I stare at him for the longest minute, a lump in my throat and stomach forming, and my fuzzy head still going around in circles. One thing keeps coming to the forefront over and over.

“Do you trust me?”

said and did was because he didn’t. So, I don’t understand why he changed in

mine, an expression that hides nothing, not even adoration and I shake my head at him, confounded by it. How he could just change his opinion so dramatically. The way he is looking at

in me did he once harbour. If his explanation is true, then mistrust was the root of all

see beyond the mask you wear. I had to take the blinkers off and really see you. Stop doubting what was staring me in the face and give you a chance.” Pain in his words, a knife in my heart that

you do that?” No one in the world knows all my secrets and scars, only

thing called trust from a surprising source. Right now, he is still as much of an enigma to me as he has always been. And try as I might to have faith in what he is saying, I can’t. He has wounded me so deeply

pensive for a second, then shifts in a way that suggests he is getting worried about my reaction. His whole manner changes, a little stiff and guarded and he moves to a more upright position. An air of tension overcoming him that leaches to me and

weeks ago. I just didn’t know how to, or how you would react.” He glances at me and away again, eyes flickering quickly, guilt all over that normally blank expression and my nerves are piqued

Just spit it out, rip the

good time for confessions because I literally cannot react any worse than I have done so far. Load it on, bring

bad can

idiot. Watching the direction he went in and straining to listen to sounds as he disappears. I expect to hear a drawer open or something similar, but it sounds like he’s punching in the digits on his safe keypad instead. Whatever he wants to show me he keeps

Now I’m worried.

like an extra cupboard; he uses it as its purpose intends. To store things you

it’s something sinister or creepy; I mean he is the master at shocking me to the core with the lengths he goes

cushion into my lap to focus my nervousness. I blow out some air to try to expel the tension and tap my foot absentmindedly, so wrought and tied up

the coffee table in front of me. He slides it towards me, a heavy-looking offering, and stays standing,

from him to the box, lungs struggling to function

some oozing past enemy or maybe Tyler, dismembered and bloated as some weird mob boss love token

prod the box warily with my foot in case

and flips the lid off for me rather dramatically, causing me to panic gasp and lean back,

sit upright like a statue, as though someone just fired a rocket up my arse. My stomach somersaults fully and my heart literally stops beating as I’m winded so badly, I exhale sharply. It’s so much worse

was a

journals of my youth. My long-lost diaries all tattered and worn and displayed in tissue paper like

them anywhere. A sight worse than

under a crooked floorboard when I ran away. I should have destroyed them instead of leaving them to rot along with

came to have them in his possession is beyond me. I don’t even know

kind of witchcraft is

I’m dreaming and should pinch myself to

else to turn to and offload the horrors of my life. This was how I got it out of my head and battled on to breathe another day. I put everything into these dire little notebooks. Every woe and dark secret. Every confession and dying dream. It was my outlet to stay sane, and I used them to tear

to see in all their detailed glory. I was always a good descriptive writer; it

hard with the flat of my foot, so it slides hard off the other end and almost topples off, but he catches it quickly. Scooping fast and righting it back onto the table with a wary glance at my face. He seems unsure how to react to me and just stays

my entire body as the blood drains, I must be white as a sheet with the horrors of seeing the ghost of my past on the coffee table. What’s left

why, you … I …?” I’m babbling, confused, brain chaotic as I try to think of all the things I wrote within those pages, and he has them all. Words tumbling off my tongue which

out of my head and laying it bare. Loading a gun for him and holding it

held nothing back

long before the first time she let Rick touch me while I was her emotional and physical punching bag. The reason her life was so shit. All the blame laid on a child for merely existing. She hated me so much. My own mother, the woman who gave me life. I used to wish she would take it away again and relieve me of a life that was wracked in misery just to stop her loathing

be cursed to read them. Details of things that make me sick to my stomach just pulling back what they contain. I’m surprised they didn’t burn out his eyeballs

pushed away all thoughts of salvation at 16, accepted my fate and turned myself into a numb whore to make enough money to plot an escape. It’s all in there. Right up to the day I let the pen drop and stopped writing it all down. The moment I died inside and never needed it anymore. The day I left them in that hole to never

past and illuminates