The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Exactly one hour to the second after he left the room he walks back in, looking a little stony-faced and unreadable. His mood appears frosty and he casts me a glance as I sit on the couch finishing up my lipstick. I pretend I’m not affected by his sudden appearance and don’t react to him walking in. Focusing hard on just applying my signature red stain while holding a compact mirror.

Although, in reality, my heart skips a beat, my stomach sinks and I have to breathe very slowly to keep my calm at the sight of him. My hands tremble. I feel sick instantly and know that we are either going to fight or … well, who am I kidding. We are probably just going to fight. I mean, how can we not?

I overreacted slightly—majorly. I can’t undo that reaction and yet I’m still internally panicking like a freak and not able to even broach the M word yet.

I’m clean, dressed, made up and less ‘ugh’ after several aspirins and two bottles of water. I haven’t eaten yet as my insides are still doing the washing machine cycle of a hangover program, but I feel more human. A little less psychotic.

Emotionally I’m still nowhere further forward other than in a state of ‘was this all a dream’ but his manner brings it all back to reality. Alexi is as closed off and prickly as when he left, and it just ruins my Zen that I have been struggling to maintain while doing my face.

I sat and stared at that certificate for the best part of 15 minutes and despite the crazy manic panic running through me, there was also incredible sadness for the most stupid things. A deep gut-wrenching regret that contradicted my reaction as a whole.

I will never know what it was like to have him propose. I will never have pre-wedding nerves or doubts, and I will never have a memory of marrying him if this pans out and we make a go of it. If I even can. I will never know the highs and lows that go with any of those things, nor experience the excitement or feelings of joy, the emotions … any of it. I have nothing of that at all. I woke up married, like a clinical, manipulated manoeuvre, and it’s left me hollow and broken in so many ways. Like a shock to the system and I’m still reeling in the aftermath.

Maybe if I had all of that, my gut instinct might have not been to freak out about being locked up for life in a dark hole and abused till the end of time. If I had some control, some say, made a choice and had a memory of wanting it … then, maybe.

Yeah, the idiotic things that invaded my brain while tearing my hair out over my unexpected marriage to a dickhead.

Instead, I can’t stop obsessing over this overwhelming claustrophobia of being someone’s possession. It’s leaving a sour taste in my mouth, and even having time to really examine it and talk some sense into myself, I can’t shift that terror of being owned. A deep scar from past lives that have no bearing on how he feels about me, yet it changes everything.

I feel insecure, frightened about the future. My peace of mind and contentment he helped nurture, has gone.

I lost all of that in one drunken haze that ended with very wild sex, and lots of it judging by the mess of lube and champagne all over the sheets when I went looking for my bracelet.

I woke up shackled. A name on a piece of paper binding me to my master. Contained, entrapping me for life.

I push that aside, knowing I’m being irrational, and I just need to let this settle for a while. Get used to it and stop letting those inner fears and scars cloud over reality and twist my brain into seeing worse than is there. Focus on other things.

Anything.

Like, what kind of sex we had in here last night.

Lube is new for us, so I’m guessing I got kinky and wanted anal. I have been known to like it occasionally, when I feel dominant, kinky, and get on top to do it for myself, and drunken sex with Lexi I can imagine he was very open to something like that. He doesn’t seem like a guy who wouldn’t be into adventurous sex given past performances, and it explains why even back there is tender. He’s not a small boy, I might have to sit on a doughnut for a week.

I’m also deeply gutted that I broke my bracelet, even if I’m hating on him right now for no good reason, seeing as he hasn’t actually done anything wrong. Not by sane standards, anyway. Just me and my faulty wiring and screwed up emotional mess.

I must have caught the catch during our bed aerobics as I have snapped the clasp and had to leave it dejectedly on the table while I got ready. Something else I’m smarting over, and every time I look at it, I feel like crying. It feels symbolic to me. Breaking the charm bracelet he gave me that encouraged me to never give up on my dreams of freedom.

Ironic.

It’s the first thing Alexi’s eyes fall on as he wanders closer. His presence making me nervous like it used to, and I know all of this is psychological on my part.

I’m a goddamn mess.

He doesn’t say anything, just picks up the bracelet and examines it before dropping it back on the table carefully, my eyes following it as he does so.

“We will get it fixed when we get home. If you still want it that is?” It’s a boyish, hurt statement uttered sulkily and I sigh at him heavily, despite all my inner angst. I’m a little less crazy after having some headspace and not really looking for a cat fight with him. His manner eats away at me, softening some of my iciness.

“Don’t be like that. Of course, I want it. Stop being a dumb arse.” I glance his way, trying to be less hostile than I was, aware that yes, he is maybe hurting, and I should say I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I feel like he trapped me somehow, even if it was my idea. I can’t shake that.

He looks away from me to the side of the room, tensing his jaw and I can’t tell if he is mad or just upset. I guess he will be worse when I tell him I’m not coming. I just can’t face going outside and touring a casino when my brain is in lockdown and telling me to run away.

“Look just go to your thing. I’m hungover and not in the best frame of mind. I’ll be here when you get back. I just need some quiet and space to think about all of this.” I sound confident but my voice wavers over the last words, knowing full well he will react badly. He snaps his eyes back to me and glares with that terrifying Devil Alexi look.

Here we go.

to my fear that things are now going to change. I’m sliding

to stop the sudden wash of mist that clouds my

and like good old Cam and Lexi, my

I’m staying put. You can’t do shit about it; you don’t own me, so stop acting like you do!” I snap right back at him, verbalising that internal issue in my fury; anger meeting anger and our eyes lock on target. Fire in their depths.

growl that used to put the fear of God into me when he used it in the past, but I just lift my chin higher as I rise elegantly from the couch and walk around it to

the back at the deliverance of my haughty put-down, despite feeling far from sassy. Putting on

order. I’m afraid of him all over again and it’s eating me inside out. I can feel his metaphorical collar around my

my breath, and in the blink of an eye end up over his shoulder in a very unladylike fashion. So

he will let me go but he doesn’t. Squealing, fighting, slapping his muscular shoulder because

legs so I can’t move them, smacks me hard on my arse so that the noise echoes the room, only muffled by my cry of ‘ouch’ loudly in his ear; then he almost drops me when he bends down to retrieve my shoes. It has the same effect as completely shackling me.

uncomfortable and I ‘ooft’ with the

is not fucking acceptable!” I’m hysterical, voice rasping my throat painfully and still trying to use my fingers to prise his arm off my legs. I

does call me baby, and I gawp in open-mouthed disbelief.

and its chains binding me to a prick I no longer like. The change I was expecting. Lord and master. Sadist

“You wouldn’t dare!”

we are.” He pats my arse again with my shoes this time and I lean over as far as I can and smack him hard on his own butt, which is moving below me as we walk. Determined to maim him and fight to the last. Alexi doesn’t even

hell once before; I left

He’s striding purposely and I’m in a grip that is more on par

even more. I curb the urge to slap him over the head as we make our way down the hall to the lift that comes up to the penthouse floor. Anger flooding me and replacing inner angst. Rage bubbling from inside of me that this shithead thinks he can do with me as he pleases, and that self-preservation of Camilla Walters kicks

me to a fucking cross!” It’s all I have to throw at him, still wriggling and trying to break free, but he just tightens his grip until it hurts me enough that I stop. He is

choked you until you passed out to

his ear as I can to deafen him with screeches, and he leans away slightly, a furrow to his brow as I obviously

make me silence you. You won’t like it.” It’s not really said in a snarling way. No growl, no evil intent. It’s more of a

me down, wanker. I’m not afraid of you.” It’s a lie, tears biting at my eyes and determination not to show him that’s exactly what I am right now. Lost in the past mentally and everything blurring together insanely. My chest is constricting so much, my lungs are burning with the effort to breathe and I feel like I’m escalating to a point where breath will no longer be possible. My

my bearings. The silver steel box-like shell of a lift and the

and make up … or … do as your fucking told, and I will take you somewhere nice for lunch after. Good girls get rewards.” Alexi moves back out of range of my shoes in case I make a swing for him, but I just glare hatefully. Despising that tiny hint of a smirk and the way he’s eyeing me up, completely amused

you such a tosser?” I’m shell shocked. Feeling like he just dragged me through an emotional bush and I just

you such a

words wound me. Like a knife right

left so I face the doors and not him, trying to compose the rush of three

ignites my fury once more. That sense of suffocation that turns

call me that, you utter wanker.” I impulsively swing a shoe at him, which he dodges expertly before breaking into a laugh and loses all forms of aggression. Not really seeing my tear-filled eyes or

out and limited oxygen that’s running out. Alexi is dismissing my behaviour as me being combative and grumpy and

smiles properly, a twinkle in his eye and that Hollywood finest dazzling his whites at me. It just leaves me

more amused by the second and he pulls a shoe out of my hand and drops it on the floor in front of me, motioning to put it on. I slap the other one in his chest for him to hold, realising wearing shoes might be an advantage and glare some more. Still trying to maintain that haughty demeanour and not let him see how much I’m truly hurting inside.

me weak and vulnerable.

stiletto I almost stabbed him with and smiles at me in sickening adoration that is clearly fake, and a piss take. Laying it on thick and I baulk at how much

back, bitterness and truth in my words, while pulling

we work. We understand each other so

You have no idea what I’m

and then turn to stamp my foot down to get it on properly and cross my arms facing the door once more. Needing not to look at him while I get this under control and just breathe. Count to ten, let the panic pass and

of other shit because my brain is having a hard time separating reality from the past, that’s all. I need to calm down and evaluate all of

his efforts. Too tetchy and

myself and my own mental thoughts and he has no chance of bringing me round. Soon as we hit our floor, I’m leaving him there and getting back in this lift so he cannot get to me. I need to be away from him

shut and he is facing the other way. I’ll show him how this will play out. No one will ever drag me back to slavery. To imprisonment. I didn’t spend years fleeing and clawing to be free, to end up right back in

my gilded cage, locks and chains, straps and crosses, and little dark rooms where objects are made to sleep so they know their place.