The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Chapter 90

I walk until I feel like I can’t anymore, not that I have got very far, and sit on a bench to try and regain some of my energy. Tired, fed up and drumming my brain on what I should do. My body is in no fit state for a hike, and I am so breathless and faint that walking all the way home looks like it’s going to take hours. I am moving at a snail’s pace.

I still have to pick up a paper and start scanning the ads for a new job, figure out how the hell to keep my landlord at bay without resorting to oral pleasure and get home before it gets dark and too dodgy to be out and about my own neighbourhood.

I am so stressed out already that the thought of curling up on this bench and going to sleep seems like a much better option. I have already lost all the excess heat from being in a steam room all morning, and I am starting to shiver as my body adjusts to being outside—which only serves to make me feel worse in general.

I pull out my phone to see if I have any internet data left, in the hopes of doing a local job search for something that might interview this afternoon and give me a closer destination to aim for. I see a text waiting instead.

It’s from Mico.

‘Just remember, the offer will still stand no matter how long you take to think about it. We are at the club for the next few days. M X’

I am guessing this was his reply to my earlier message and has been sat waiting.

I sigh as I read it, absent-mindedly chew my lip and drop my phone into my lap in complete frustration, blowing out air. My mind is in overdrive at my predicament and seeing the possibility of a solution as I start picking at my chipped nails.

The club is closer to me than home is, and maybe if I swing by and ask for Mico, he can drive me back to my apartment—one last favour before I cut ties once more and send him on his way. His text changes nothing. My mind is already made up on that front but I know what he’s like. If I go there to see him and say thanks for my apartment, he will offer to take me home without me asking. I know he will, especially if they are trying to keep me sweet and consider the offer.

I sit and hum over it for a few minutes, really torn about going there but the grey skies moving overhead and the distant rumble of thunder make up my mind for me. NôvelDrama.Org holds this content.

I can’t sit out here in a storm. I’m already sick enough, and if I start walking, I won’t be halfway home before I get soaked through and probably pass out with the effort.

I also happen to have a major fear of lightning and the crackling sky fills me with a huge sense of foreboding. I have many memories of hiding under beds during raging thunder and lightning storms and it still makes me shake. The clapping, snapping flash of that high volt dagger like energy and being stuck in it is not my idea of a fun walk.

The club is maybe three blocks at the most, practically on my doorstep when I worked here, and if I move my arse, I might get there before the rain lashes down on me and puts me out of action for longer.

It’s mid-afternoon and chances are that Alexi might not even be there. I mean, he is a busy guy after all. Mico is a phone call away and would easily make one of the club staff drive me if he isn’t able to see me.

I really just need to get home and think about what I am going to do from here on in. I have to make three dollars stretch food wise until I can get a cash-in-hand position somewhere fast and it’s not really asking him for more help if I show up and he offers. So, it’s not like I am abusing his kindness really.

The clap of lightning in the far distance makes me jump a mile high, heart somersaulting and hammering like a war drum and motivates me to move. I get up and walk south at speed, even with a tired body and woozy head. One thing that has always made me jumpy is exposure to full-blown storms. Nothing will energise you like fear does.

I stand outside the main door of Club Carrero and stare at the sinister blacked out building with major trepidation, like I am walking into the lion’s den. My heart in my mouth and my hands wringing one another nervously as I try to find the courage inside of me to walk on up. I feel like I have run a marathon, even though I only walked for twenty minutes.

It looks exactly the same as it did all those months ago, yet seems alien to me now; so much larger and more imposing. I have been trying to drum up the nerve to go to the door and press the intercom to alert someone to my presence. I just cannot seem to find it in me.

I keep looking up at the black tinted windows on the other floors and wondering if he is here. Wondering if they can see me standing like some lost little idiot and laughing at how easy it was to lure me back. I feel so stupid and out of place.

The sides of the building are sporting new high metal fencing with cameras pointed this way, so you can no longer access the rear with a vehicle, or on foot. There are heavy thick wire coils across the tops to stop people climbing over, and from here I can’t tell which cars are in the private car lot behind; He has closed down entry like Fort Knox, and minimised access to anywhere but the front door.

I guess that invasion by Santagato’s man, and then mine, made him rethink the security of his building in my absence. He really has upped the ante and I wonder who mans all the cameras facing my way and if I should just wave at them.

I lose my courage completely, as the realisation at how weak this looks hits me, and turn to leave in utter defeat, shamefaced. Fifteen minutes of staring at this building and I just cannot do it. Even if I am

desperate for a lift home, I can’t make myself walk up those stairs and press that buzzer.

I feel like a moron, cursing myself out for still being this feeble when it comes to him. I thought I was stronger, especially after already seeing him and head away completely downhearted. My plan in ruins and now I have to walk in the opposite direction for a longer trek back home.

Stupid girl!

‘London?’ The voice halts me, my heart jumping through my chest at the unexpectedness of it and I glance back in as much surprise as reaction as his voice draws me to the door.

Alexi is standing in the open doorway, obviously saw me on those infernal cameras, and now I’m standing here like a rabbit in the headlights and feel incredibly uncomfortable.

He just looks like he always does … far too gorgeous, groomed, laid back and smooth for my liking.

Prick obviously waited to see what I would do before ending my agony. Another reminder of why I dislike the tosser.

‘Alexi!’ I don’t know what else to say; words evading me when faced with him in the harsh light of day once more, and my stomach starts doing strange little lurches and dives. I put it down to hunger and ignore it … even when my palms instantly clam up.

‘You coming in?’ He moves aside and nods to the dark doorway. It’s impossible to see anything inside from here and I glance from him to the open space in hesitation. I don’t actually know what to do now that he’s opened it.

Being faced with him, seemingly acting human for once, and rain beginning to gently pitter-patter on my head and face makes me look back to the street and then again at him—torn with indecision.

He looks good, dare I say it. Dressed all in black, a shirt and trousers with a tie that is barely noticeable as it blends in. He has gone for the tone-on-tone look with this and it is pretty devastating to see him in old Carrero uniform. Black is, and always will be, his colour. It accentuates that jet hair and those very pale wolf-like eyes set in natural olive skin.

Alexi of this morning was casual and a little less intimidating. Tailored has always been where he is at his most formidable because he has a body that can pull off the angles and suits. It’s a great look, usual for him and looking a little too intimidating for a weekday while I am stood in my dirty, cheap nylon, cotton-blended mini dress covered in stains.

‘I wanted to see Mico about something.’ I stammer, losing my cool and making a shit attempt at confident and brassy.

Alexi doesn’t facially react, just pushes his hands into his pockets and leans back against the door frame casually, accentuating his masculine mannerisms and body. His eyes never leaving mine. It opens his jacket to show off the subtle lines of his waistcoat in his three-piece and I blink to dislodge my eyeballs from what that body looks like naked, jarred by the return of familiar. I still remember every detail … annoyingly so.

‘He’s upstairs in the office. Anything I can do for you?’

He seems still to be that weird vibe of strange today. The over politeness and lack of domineering prick is making me instantly alert and wary and I eye him suspiciously. Glancing up at the windows and wondering if Mico really is up there. I second guess the likelihood that Alexi would go as far as locking me in his club if I dared to venture in and keep me a prisoner until the end of my days, and realise I am being stupid. Even if he did try, Mico would let me go again. He’s not the same kind of arsehole as his cousin. He wouldn’t allow him to tie me up and lord over me in that way. Not after what happened last time.

‘Cam … I’m not going to throw you in my damp musty dungeon as some sort of sex slave.’ His amused voice yanks me out of my daydream. It’s like Alexi reads my thoughts and I throw him a frown as though it’s the last thing that would ever cross my mind. Unnerved that he can still read minds, especially mine.

‘I thought little boudoirs of chains and whips were more your style,’ I jest automatically, harsh-toned and defensive and soften when he breaks into a smile that seems genuine—catching me off guard with it. Not an Alexi, smug prick smile, or even a salacious arsehole one; just a smile that brings out his dimples and softens those pale grey eyes to look less sinister.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget what a wanker he can be when he looks human and dare I say it, handsome. I have to remind myself that a good bone structure and effortless style is not the way to measure a man’s character… especially in relation to him. Alexi may have the swoon genes, but he clearly missed the queue for decent person. He has no soul.

‘Only with consent. So as long as you don’t ask me to take you upstairs and tie you up, then you should be fine coming in.’ He smiles again, charming and disarming and I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

‘Is that a funny? Are you making jokes? Have you fallen and banged your head?’ My hands find their hips of their own accord and I take up my familiar Camilla stance. I may not look the part, but he always finds her in the ruins. It’s becoming a skill with him.

I mean really, this is not the Alexi I was expecting to encounter, and I have no trust in whatever this odd behaviour is. It’s almost like I am meeting him for the first time and we have no history between us. If I didn’t know him better, I would actually think he was a decent general Joe and not the sadistic tosser I know he can be.

‘In or out, London? I haven’t taken up a new hobby of being a doorman. I don’t have the patience required.’ Another smile, all white straight teeth and mischievous flickers in that look.

I forgot about this side to him. His borderline playful and sometimes tolerable side.