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?”

everything he said and did was because he didn’t. So, I don’t understand

that swears truth. Eyes unflinching and focused on mine, an expression that hides nothing, not even adoration and I shake my head at him, confounded

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

Stop doubting what was staring me in the face and give you

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

to harvest this 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 and now

is getting worried about my reaction. His whole manner changes, a little stiff and guarded and he moves to

I should have told you 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 to epic levels once more. I’m an emotional wreck and there

Just spit it out, rip

is a good time for confessions because I literally cannot react any

can it

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

Now I’m worried.

that thing like an extra cupboard; he uses it as

master at shocking me to the core with the lengths he goes to with his devil side. I’m not sure what I’m expecting but my gut

my lap to focus my nervousness. I blow out some air to try to expel the tension and tap my foot absentmindedly,

around to lay it on the coffee table in front of me. He slides it towards me, a heavy-looking offering, and

stomach turns over, skin prickling once more, and I just blink at it. I glance from him to the box, lungs struggling to function as anxiety sits on my

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

case it’s about to implode on me. I’m sure body fluids would be seeping out of what looks like cardboard, so maybe whatever

gangster movies, London.” Alexi sighs, and flips the lid off for me rather dramatically, causing me to panic gasp and lean back, revealing something I never thought I would ever see again.

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 than

wish it was a

youth. My long-lost diaries all tattered and worn and displayed in tissue paper like he is

recognise them anywhere. A sight worse than any

in a damp-ridden, mouldy flat in London, hiding under a crooked floorboard when I ran away. I should have destroyed them instead of leaving them to rot along with everything I once held onto. I left

even know how on earth he could have them or if

kind of witchcraft is

sure I’m dreaming and should pinch myself to break

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 the ugliness out of my brain and lock them away to burden the

dark and painful memory I never want to examine again. Almost like cutting open my skull and letting the pictures pour out across the floor for him to see in all their detailed glory. I was always a good descriptive writer; it was

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 calm and

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

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 suddenly seems

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

nothing back in those

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

books chart a life that’s so shameful that no one should be cursed to read them. Details of things that make me sick to my stomach just

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 see

and illuminates every cobwebbed corner.