The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

“Do you want the textbook version?” He throws me a wary look and I nod gently, impatient to know more about him, even if I am feeling a little wary. Mentally storing the name to search on google when I’m alone. Even if he explains well, it won’t be enough and now I want to know everything there is to know about what it is. This is a major thing.

“It’s characterised by impulsive, irresponsible and criminal behaviour. Manipulation, deceit, lack of empathy, sometimes controlling behaviour. Aggression, violence, pushing people into things I want and not giving a shit what it does to them. Sex is often a weapon and something I know I use. Doesn’t exactly paint a good picture of me does it?” Alexi looks sombre, as though regretting telling me this, and realising he is doing the opposite of giving me a reason to trust him; for me, it’s not like that. He’s being honest about the worst of him and not hiding this from me. He is shining a light on the things that could earn my forgiveness, just by being truthful with me. Laying it out bare right in front of my eyes.

It’s not too dissimilar to him reading those damn journals.

“It sounds about right for you,” I utter softly, trying to lighten the atmosphere. In the back of my mind, I wonder if that means he’s incapable of promising to never hurt me again and something inside of me sinks like a lead weight, dashing hopes I never knew I had inside me. If he’s only partially in control of the things he does, then how could he stop himself from doing those things to me again.

I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to cry, a bitter disappointment flooding me I never saw coming, and that lump in my throat consumes me painfully. Biting at me sharply right in that void where my heart lives.

“I have a shrink and I don’t take meds. They don’t work. And before you came along and screwed my head up, I was doing okay. It’s hard to treat something like this when your job makes most of those traits a requirement, so my shrink is at a loss other than trying to keep me level. The only thing which helps when my head’s racing is alcohol. I self-medicate occasionally.” Alexi is so blunt and matter of fact about it, but his tapping thumb as he hits his thigh softly tells me otherwise. All that excessive energy I sometimes see brimming out is clear now. He’s putting a brave face on a difficult topic and I blink at him, losing all reservation as I lean towards him. I feel empty and just need to claw back some hope now I’m armed with this.

It also explains his alcohol consumption. He’s not spiralling down towards an addiction; he’s trying to keep himself centred.

“So, you can control it then? I mean, it’s not like having an alternate personality that takes over. Snapping and beating men up in nightclubs for daring to touch me.” I push gently, a hint of humour with my last jibe that goes with my cheeky hint of a smile. My heart hammering and breath paused because I truly want to know if whatever this is between us has a future. If this is something he can overcome for me. I don’t care how he treats the rest of the world, but I want to know if he can stay true to his promise that he will never hurt me again … never use sex as a weapon or crush my soul. If he can curb the violent outbursts I saw in Miami or if I’m doomed with a man who is unpredictable and hostile, and I would be smarter to run away.

“Mostly. I never had an emotional conflict that fucked me up the way you did before. You brought out the worst in me, but it’s not like that anymore. I told you I would never hurt you again and I never will. I promised and I won’t go back on that. I’m in control of me, most of the time. Miami was … booze, jealousy and a need to protect you. It was a one-off. I normally keep my shit together a hell of a lot better.”

This time he gives me a loaded look, something in me wants so badly to believe him and I can almost feel him willing me to believe. I look away, processing and trying to keep things lighter than they feel right now.

Miami was a lot of things, I guess. He saw a man all over me, and whether jealous or afraid I was being hurt, he snapped, epically. He could have killed him, and I can’t forget how he was that night. He pushed me away and sent me flying and then after, typical angry Alexi all up in my face. Although, he didn’t do anything to me, even though he was fuelled on rage and looking devilish to boot. Maybe the answer is in that memory already. He didn’t hurt me.

“I don’t know what to say. I honestly never imagined you had an actual reason for being how you are, or that I would ever see you with a psychiatrist. That’s a major thing.” I get up impulsively, hating that the more he opens up the more withdrawn and closed off his tone and expression is getting, and I know this must be unbearable for him. He’s trying not to recoil into the cold, silent sadist I know and hate and it’s obvious how much he is trying to give me this. He keeps switching from a casual pose, to upright stiffness, and I can’t sit over here aching for his warmth and watching it. It’s painful.

“Yeah. Not exactly something a Mafia boss wants to admit to having, but without him, I don’t think I would have any sanity left. Him and Mico, they are the sense when I lack it. Between them, they stop me going off the deep end and being worse than I am.”

Makes sense. I always said Mico was like Alexi’s walking conscience and I guess that is truer than I could ever have imagined. Alexi lacks the right emotional response to some things and Mico is there to point it out to him when he listens. It explains why he could be so cold to me and didn’t seem affected by things that would break other men.

I don’t know if I’m relieved to find this out about him or worried about how deep this goes. It unnerves me that this man might honestly never feel remorse for the things he does, even though he claims to know what remorse is. I watch him, my heart throbbing and my stomach turning over with a feeling that is very close to heartbreak. I feel wounded with the possibility that Alexi may never truly feel as deeply as he says he does, and I don’t like it at all.

His version of love might never live up to mine.

Instinctively, limbs moving without thought, I walk over and climb onto his lap, surprising him and curling up like a needy little kitten. Needing his touch as much as wanting to give it. I feel like he just tipped me all out of whack again and sent me on another spiralling freefall and I need reassurance. I need that sense of security his touch gives me.

feel him and needing to believe he can love me the way he says he does. I need that more

can honestly say without a doubt he is being open and honest. I feel for him, truly. The pain he endured for

imagined in a million

imagined, even an hour ago, I would be the one making

I could love this man if

more. My arms sliding around those shoulders and I curl my legs into a neat little ball on top of him. His body locking me close as though he might never release

arms of a firm body. He was built to be a

much suddenly, tingling inside and out and I could stay like this forever. He somehow makes me feel right when everything around me is falling apart. Our conversation has quelled some of my ‘ready to run’ impulse because I think

bigger trouble than you. I’m drawn to danger.” I giggle softly and it works to crack a

so close it’s like we are one and there’s stillness and peace between us. If my stupid head doesn’t kick

that wasn’t a lie. I may not always have the right reactions to certain things but the basics of what I feel works, Cam. I’m capable of loving you and treating you right. Don’t

dug into my thoughts and found the fear dwelling there. Alexi is still too good at second-guessing people, and in this instance, I’m

turning to mush but always with that little niggle

you were problematic, and your mother still shunned you. Then what?” I try to get it back on track and away from this lovey-dovey talk, not ready to go down that route, and Alexi’s brow furrows a little. He knows I’m backing off from romance and love talk for now, that’s not what this hug was for, and he narrows a fixed gaze

in so many ways, yet she adored him and hated me, and I couldn’t understand why. I blamed my brother rather than her, as screwed up as that sounds. It was easier to lay blame on anyone that wasn’t her. So, my behaviour got worse and I continued to be the outcast of the family. Always

was their commander. There are genuine bonds with his closest family, I see that. Another hint that he can, and does, form lasting relationships and controls his sadistic side. His mother though, what in

Fucking bitch.

her. That changed nothing?” I push gently, trying to understand the mechanics of their relationship. He obviously has some

It’s innocent and serves no purpose other than to give each other a little human contact

him or us. I don’t remember thinking about it, or hesitating; I just knew I had to save us after our driver was taken down first. He dropped his gun and I did what I had to

that. A teenage boy with no previous experiences of doing anything like it and he stepped up to the

you don’t like

I’m doing. It seems natural, and as I want him to keep talking, I know that not staring at his face might make him more comfortable to do so. Alexi slides his other arm around me and holds me close, as though this is what we always do. It seems necessary. I wish I had let this happen last night when I saw those journals.

the right thing, therefore I had no reason to feel any sort of guilt. I saved my family—it was him or us, and I truly couldn’t see the wrong in that. My father understood, but she was abhorred by my lack of emotion over it, and

and hint of raw emotion as he trails off, says it hurt him deeply. To hear how his own

a goddamn bitch who should have stood by her son and helped him when she knew he had something to explain his lack of feeling.” I retort angrily, pushing upright again and glaring at him as though

killed someone, Cam. That’s not normal, and then I felt nothing but justification for what I did. That’s not normal either. Even I know that. A thirteen-year-old kid

is no

book. I didn’t cry over watching my mother die at my feet, does that mean I’m crazy and unfit to be loved? I wanted to put the needle in her fucking arm myself and it was only a matter of time before I did. Self-preservation is a good fucking reason to feel nothing for taking a

goddamn life. He did what any man would do in that position, but