The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

I put my glass down and stand up slowly, eyes on his tall, strong back as he messes with the ice cannister, fidgeting to get his excessive energy under control and I walk forward. Growing in determination and confidence, knowing this is what I should do.

Watching him as I close the gap between us and sensing his own quiet despair that me knowing about what he did will send me running for the door twice as fast. I can feel his tension from afar. That scared little boy awaiting the inevitable rejection from another woman deeming him unworthy of love because of the things he was programmed to do.

Who could love someone who kills so brutally, so cruelly?

Me.

I could.

Because I understand why.

No hesitation, nothing else in my head except this overwhelming feeling that I want to do this. I need to do this. I owe him this.

I walk up right behind him, slide my arms around his waist and push my head against his back as I hug him tight for a second, and squeeze him with all my might. Somehow, I want him to know that what he did … it means nothing to me in the way it should. I’m not any girl; I’m numb and broken to this world because of all I have endured, and I understand that in his world, torture and murder don’t have the same value as out there in a safe suburban existence. Alexi killed for me … that is how he translates his devotion. It’s fucked up, crazy, but utterly right for who he is.

And I’m equally insane. Only someone like me could see the act of devotion in something so vulgar and despicable and want to reward him for it.

He feels good, too good, smells even better, and the way his touch has always brought me a sense of safe and secure envelops me again. Wrapping myself around him as his body stiffens at first with the contact and then he relaxes in my arms. Feeding my need for his touch and reassuring him that I don’t feel disgusted at what he did for me.

Alexi catches my wrist around his flat, hard abdomen and tugs me around him, lifting his arm so I’m pulled to the front of his body and hugs me back. Wrapping me up tight in his arms and pushes his chin over the top of my head so I’m cradled small and tight within his embrace. Held firmly in the safest place in the world. Entangled bodies fitting together so effortlessly. We just fit.

His tall, strong mass and my slender curves. Like two pieces of yin and yang that slot together to make one whole.

“We are a completely fucked up pair.” His low husky tone buries into my scalp along with the warmth of his breath, and my head tingles. His chest sounds hollow for a second as his voice reverberates through me and I hold tight. It’s the biggest understatement of the century, and yet he’s right.

Only someone as fucked up as him could ever truly see someone like me as worthy. We are both screwed in terms of normality.

“Maybe that’s why I like you.” I bury my face in his chest and close my eyes, breathing in his unique Alexi scent. Heart hammering through my rib cage because I admit that maybe I do. Wanting to immerse myself into the familiarity of his body. Feeling that tingle of safety and security only he has ever given me and relaxing a little.

It’s a start, I guess.

“I’ll take like. It’s something anyway. Room to grow into something more.” His voice oozes over me like smooth velvet and I hold on tighter, wondering why this man seems to be made for hugging when, in life, he is not the cuddling type. He doesn’t do much of the touchy-feely stuff but that doesn’t matter right now. He isn’t letting me go.

His hand smooths down my spine slowly, flat and strong with ample pressure then back up as he strokes down my long hair gently, flattening it out and brushes its length with his fingers. He seems to have a thing for playing with my hair, not that I’m complaining. It’s crazily sweet and unexpected from someone like him. A tender, genuine affection, and I lift my face to look up at him as I get that little tug as he plays with a strand of my hair.

“What now?” It’s a good question because I honestly do not know what we are supposed to say or do after this. I’m not ready to throw myself at this man just because he possesses a heart. I’m grateful for what he did, but as I pull myself away, feeling him release me reluctantly and straighten myself up, his eyes wander over me slowly. No further forward than we were minutes ago.

“You tell me.” He looks wary and I sigh heavily, repositioning myself against the counter so we stand a foot apart. Strained awkwardness returning now we are no longer touching.

Isn’t that just the thing? I have no clue.

There’s a long tense pause as my brain scrambles for a response, and I stare at him reluctantly, absorbing every single one of those masculine features. He truly is a handsome devil, even with those cold eyes and that brooding frown. He just continues with that unreadable expression and watches me just as intensely.

“I need time to think. I need to sleep. My head’s a mess and there are a million and one things in there flying around.” I step away from him to get a little extra space I so need right now, catching the look of disappointment as he realises the hug was a one-off, for now anyway. This is my only option to get some headspace.

I don’t know what I’m doing beyond going to bed and being alone for a while. There are a million and one things to process that are piling up to mountainous proportions, and my poor frazzled head can’t separate all of this.

London, Rick, Love, Murder … Jesus Christ, Alexi. You really are a major in terms of head mess.

“I’ll be here.” He nods towards the couch and I stare at him for another long moment.

“Will you do something for me?” It’s soft and pleading but I need it. Vision straying to that box in the background and yet I still cannot bear to let my eyes fall on them directly.

“Anything.”

His response pulls a tiny smile from me, but I curb it quickly and focus on what I need.

“Burn those journals for me, please. I never want to see them again. I never want to talk about it … or Rick. My past is the past, and all that’s connected to it doesn’t exist anymore. It all died with him. It’s a moot subject from here on in. Promise me.”

It’s a stern-voiced command and Alexi has the sense to nod and say nothing. A moment of intense staring at my face before he shifts on his feet. He turns and walks to the table immediately, picking up the box and fishes around inside it for a moment, pushing the books aside. And I glance down at my feet, afraid to see him pull one out.

I really cannot handle their existence in this room.

He puts it back down and walks to me, something small in his hand and holds it out casually, his face lightening with a hint of a shy smile.

may want this. Don’t think

on the black tube in his hand, confused for a second as to what I’m looking at, and I realise as my eyesight settles on it that it’s the red lipstick I lost the last time I lived here. The no longer manufactured shade of red that was

me happy gasp at the sight of it. Truly having a last psychotic break after one long

where did you

away to nothing. Focusing on something so unimportant and meaningless, but it’s a distraction from this reality. It’s something to yank me back to yesterday before this topsy-turvy night happened and pulled the

all I had left of you.” Alexi looks instantly uneasy at this obvious admission of feelings and I smile at him, stupidly. His words seeping in and what he just

kept a tiny piece of me, even though it

emotions.” I jest and poke him in the abdomen for good measure, aware of my sudden jokey urge to touch him, and the instant lift of my mood over some materialistic object. I always used possessions to push my

soft dimple raising glint that reaches his eyes and hands me my tube of rare and wonderful red liquid bliss. I grip it and

give myself headspace. He’s too potent, too good at pulling me back to him. Tonight, has drained me of everything and flipped me

sliding it under his arm securely. Hiding out of sight the things I asked him to get rid of. I’m guessing he will do as I asked and remove

question. There is

will do you good. You look wiped out. We can talk whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere.” Alexi strays a little closer but it’s too much, I have so much going on in my head and under my skin that I move away to breathe. I no doubt have a million more questions to get out of my head before I feel able to stand and be okay with him again, but for now, I’m prickling with the

one sentence

become the man who murdered for me, trekked to London to find me, and confessed to being in love with me. I have so many scenarios to replay and rethink now I know these things, and the last months could do with being analysed carefully while I figure out what to do. It’s a lot

me in that hospital and discard me like an unfeeling son of a bitch. He

I feel

away shyly and trying to go towards my bedroom. That heavy atmosphere of two people feeling strange around each other, even though only a short while ago we were having hot naked sex in the room

Another odd reaction in a

was my life, my skill, my weapon. With Alexi, however, sex always felt different, even when he

I own. I think maybe because he held onto it all this time, because it was a part of me and he couldn’t let it go,

in a dark space and unravelling all this mess in my head. I have

everything that happened tonight and where do I go from here. What do I

I glance back over my shoulder at

as I catch the odd soft expression as he watches me walk away. Still standing where I left him, only now the box is in his

sexily low with that

odd moment of deep emotion, and I swallow the instant lump that forms in my throat, threatening

no response to that. He just

mist over, despite my efforts, and I turn and hightail it to my room before he sees me break down and

it wouldn’t,

tossing and turning in the bed, unable to clear my mind of anything and everything and rolling myself into a frustrated mess. Up and down like a yoyo. Mood and emotions twisting me up and trawling me out just to do it over again. My bedclothes get so screwed into an unholy mess I end up getting up and fixing them several times, so unsettled and

close my eyes and think of nothing at all. It’s exhausting and making me irrational and

a lot to

conversation we have had since I came back. Pawing over hurt and happier memories like I can’t really believe any of it for how they seemed anymore. Face value means nothing now

in general around Alexi. It’s all a jumbled, confusing bundle of a mixed and muddled mess. Trying to slice open all that I thought I knew and add this new insight to every detail. Trying to take away the obvious and apply a lot of double meanings to really see Alexi acting like someone who gave a shit

that one burning question which is

What now?

hard I try. It is how it is, even if I don’t like it, but loving him and admitting it to him and giving him the last ounces of power over me terrify me. I don’t

shreds. He may be playing nice now, but what if he turns, what if we don’t work or I piss him off? Can I ever trust him with all of me once again? I have been there and done that and he threw me aside like

don’t do that if you

wants us to be something more.

be more than what we are? Is that even possible, given where we have come from and what has gone on between us? What does ‘more’ mean for him and what would he expect from me to be

A relationship?

standards. I never had a real relationship with anyone in my life; in any way. Not even any

at me and I don’t know how to form long-term bonds or trust with anyone, let alone a man who crushed me in two and was the root of me trying

even think I trust them. And they have done nothing for me to doubt them. How

for me so we could be something more—if he

believe

I do.

Sort of.

Maybe.

don’t fucking

do, yet there are so many doubts and fears in knowing what he is capable of, standing in my way. Blocking any thoughts of trying to see how this

to me, then he is capable of doing them again. Why wouldn’t he? He has no limits, and he can snap and repeat shit to hurt me if I push him enough again. Punishing me, hurting me. It’s in him. I mean a guy who can torture and murder someone in cold blood can definitely inflict more mental damage on

a break from this self-inflicted torture and give

the dark living room and almost jump out of my skin when I turn into the kitchenette and walk smack bang into him at the fridge. Heart missing a beat and squealing like an idiot as I collide with a warm,

sake, Lexi!’ I jump half a mile and

around in the partially lit apartment. I just eye roll at him as I