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.

think it should

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

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

my God, where did

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 rug from under

had left of you.” Alexi looks instantly uneasy at this obvious admission of feelings and I

incarnate Carrero, kept a tiny piece of me, even though it was something insignificant. It’s

sudden jokey urge to touch him, and the instant

a genuine soft dimple raising glint that reaches his eyes and hands me my tube of rare and wonderful red liquid bliss. I grip it and take a long, heavy inhale, this time careful not to graze fingers,

headspace. He’s too potent, too good at pulling me back to him. Tonight, has drained me of everything and flipped me upside down. I would be too susceptible to fall back into his bed while feeling this way,

The air of awkwardness between us returns once more and we separate again by a few feet as he returns to the table to put the lid on that damned box before sliding it under his arm

asked without question. There is

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

now, and having one sentence change our entire dynamic, has changed who I see before me.

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

discard me like an unfeeling son of a bitch. He stayed until he knew I was okay. He held my hand. It

and I feel like I

trail off and turn on my foot sheepishly, moving 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 tense

sex always felt different, even when he

to my room, gripping my lipstick tightly as though it’s the most valuable possession 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, somehow helps me believe that all of

in a dark space and unravelling all this mess

do I go from here. What do I want? I’m just

and I

as he watches me walk away. Still standing where I

sexily low with that half smile I see him with sometimes; a

I swallow the instant

to that.

efforts, and I turn and hightail it to my room before he sees me break down and cry my weird little heart out; because for the first time in my life, someone said it and I

that I thought it wouldn’t, but it’s frustrating just the

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

I can’t clear my head enough to close my eyes and think of nothing at all. It’s exhausting and making me irrational and tearful all at the same

has a lot to

hundred different ways. Good and bad, I guess. Churning over months of scenarios and shining a new light on meanings and outcomes. Picking apart every 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 I’m looking backwards.

knew and add this new insight to every detail. Trying to

one burning question which is sending

What now?

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

or I piss him off? Can I ever trust him

do that

wants us to be something

Can we be more than what we are? Is that even possible, given where we have come from and what has gone on between us? What

A relationship?

in any way. Not even any sort of real two-sided friendship

at me and I don’t know how to form long-term bonds or trust with anyone,

I trust them. And they have done nothing for me to doubt them. How can I begin to learn to trust Alexi? After everything

for me so we could be something

believe

I do.

Sort of.

Maybe.

don’t fucking

in knowing what he is

and could still do those things 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 me. All

this self-inflicted torture and give my head a rest. I feel like my brain is

a beat and squealing like an idiot as I collide with a warm, hard body in the semi-darkness. He has all the lights set to low, so I

half a mile and almost drop dead of

impressed with his sinister prowess when lurking around in the partially lit apartment. I just eye roll at him as I