The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Chapter 117

‘So what have I missed … and are we ready for nine p.m.?’ Straight to the point, no other chit-chat or mention of last week?

Fine by me.

Two can play at that game!

If Alexi is taking the all business route to interact with me then I can handle that just fine. However, I hate that it makes me feel weirdly upset and just triggers a nerve—stupidly so.

‘I took care of everything. Club’s ready, guests are sorted, and everything is in hand. All you need to do is put on a suit and look intimidating.’ I smile drily, tight facial expressions because it takes so much effort.

So be normal then.

Not that he isn’t in jeans and a t-shirt, it’s just like this he’s more street boxer than Mafia king and that edge of psycho he keeps in his back pocket is not so obvious when he dresses down. As much as I dislike that part of who he can be, I dislike it when he is less sinister to look at.

I know … I’m fucked up. Something completely wrong with me and I probably need therapy.

‘I’m bringing a guest—Chief of Police—Nice to keep things friendly with our local law enforcement,’ Alexi smirks, deviously so. I’m not sure if it’s because of what he said, or because he is enjoying behaving like an inconsiderate arsehole who takes no responsibility for being a thug in Miami.

I knew he had police on the take, but I didn’t think it stretched as high as that.

‘Does he need special requirements?’ I add, trying to appear completely professional and keep that edge out of my tone even though I feel irritated at him. Annoyed with myself that I am simmering hurt

over how he’s pushed all talk of what happened away, as though none of it matters … as though I don’t matter.

‘He likes redheads.’ That dangerous flash of the eye trying to goad me to bite, and a hint at him being in sadist mode, and I just shake my head, refusing to fall for it.

‘Good for him. I’ll find him one.’ I’m not going to react. He’s angling for a fight and being his usual prick self, probably because I am not falling all over him for finally showing up to his own club.

In a way I also sort of feel relieved with the appearance of this version of him. I didn’t trust Mr Nice, couldn’t relax when he was playing docile, but I know exactly where I stand with smug arsehole Carrero, and know how to handle him when he is this way. No second guessing, no surprises. No trying to figure out his motives. As messed up as it is, I actually trust this side of him. I know it, it’s familiar and this isn’t an act to goad me to his demands. I know what is expected of me. He’s sulking and being a tosser—nothing new there.

Alexi, at the very beginning, was this man. Blunt, bossy, all business, and those first few months when we built this club, I could both tolerate him and sort of relax in his company. It was sex that messed me up when it came to him, nothing else but physically letting him inside of me. Once he got into my body, he got into my mind and my heart. It’s better with veiled hostility and our eyes on the club instead of one another.

This version won’t ever get that chance.

‘I want a brunette, none of the club girls. I want someone new. Not someone who has been passed around to everyone and their dog downstairs.’ His eyes flash in amusement and I know it’s said as a dig at me. Hurting me for my past and trying to use his biggest weapon against me—women.

Despite myself, I choke on my own saliva; a pain hits me hard in the gut and I try not to physically react outwardly. I haven’t seen him with women since I came back, and he hasn’t used any to get at me until

this very moment. It’s the first time in a long time he has put me down with an insult this way too, well, apart from calling me a whore in Miami. I take a steady breath to calm the way my heart and body just spin into meltdown, and it takes all of my strength to hide it.

‘Thought you preferred blondes?’ It’s there in my voice, that tiny ounce of hurt and I just pray he can’t hear it.

‘I prefer redheads, but that’s off the table, so I’m improvising. I can’t sit downstairs twiddling my thumbs and not sampling my own goods. It would look wrong. Suspicious … Unless you’re offering?’ That manipulative look in that smug face gets me and I know exactly what he’s doing.

He’s testing me, to see if I bite. To see if he still has an emotional hold on me and trying to make me jealous. He’s goading me because I rejected him in Miami and he wants to know how far it goes. Do I just not want a repeat of before and do care, or am I really over him? He wants to know.

Alexi isn’t that hard to read anymore. I have just been blind to it. He doesn’t talk things out and expect honesty in an answer, why would he? He lives in a world of liars and backstabbing opportunists that has coloured his levels of trust … he tries to figure things out for himself with manipulation and pushing boundaries. He reads people on the surface and tries to summarise the outcome by triggering responses; Very clever.

I am the type of girl to cut off my nose to spite my face though, and to hide that maybe I do still have some sort of feelings; I will supply him with a girl and watch him fuck her. Just to show I do not care at all … Even if it kills me inside.

‘I’ll get you two if you like, one for each side to take it in turns. I know you have more stamina than most men.’ I lift my chin and glare him down, voice oozing charm. Our eyes locked on one another for a moment as neither speaks. Alexi doesn’t give anything away in that face of his, just those pale greys set hard on my blues and neither breaks the look for a long pause.

‘Better make it three, I plan on getting shit-faced and I get horny and kinky when I’m high. Maybe need to use our special room if you can work that. I miss tying up docile women.’ He smirks, less genuine this time and I just swallow hard to stop any kind of physical reaction.

He doesn’t have that control over me anymore. Even though it does hurt, and it does get to me. I’m not that weak heart who crumbled at his feet last time, and I won’t ever give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets to me.

‘Sure. I road tested it while you were gone. Found myself a little plaything of my own and wanted to wipe away those memories for new fun ones. Only way to get over your past is to take control of it, right?’ I add haughtily and smile wickedly when his face physically changes.

Not subtle, not cool and controlled. He looks completely livid, tense jawline, eyes darkening and brows dropping dramatically. His eyes drop to his desk.

‘Bullshit, we both know how you feel about being tied up.’ He doesn’t sound so sure anymore, his own voice losing the venom and confidence, and he taps the table with his thumb; Agitation and instant discomfort on show.

I have begun to realise this is a major tell for a range of his emotions, usually negative. He does it either when he’s trying to distract himself from something or gets excited in a very happy mood. It’s how he focuses himself to control his outward reactions. Right now, I am guessing he’s trying to control his temper.

‘Maybe I just needed the right lover to show me the good side to it, and I never said I was the one in straps,’ I cattily respond, insides swelling with that sense of satisfaction at ripping at him the way he does me. Venom in every word that I hope makes it all the way to his soul. Poison the fucker.

Guess I am about to find out if he can respect the no punishment boundaries and the fact I never agreed to be his this time. Alexi looks like he might explode, a weird smile that’s not really a smile, and

a very intense frown for a second as he grapples to get a hold on his obvious emotions; Losing face under fire and his ability to be Mr Deadpan. It’s wholly wonderful to watch him crumble and struggle to stay in control.

‘Hope he’s a good fuck. You could use one; get rid some of that bitterness you got going on, might put a fucking smile on your face.’ He snaps as he pulls open a drawer in agitation and starts rummaging, eyes on that and not me, and I wonder if it’s a tactic to give himself a task to focus on while he keeps battling his internal demon. Getting under his skin the way he used to get under mine.

I can see why he liked it; the power trip, the upper hand. Knowing you wounded the person in front of you in ways that get to them on every level for your own sick pleasure. I could get used to this when it comes to him.

I instantly break into a huge happy grin and flash it his way, seeing the rage as his eyes get darker as he glances my way and off again—Making him eat his own words.

I wait for the outburst, the jealous psycho act in which he tells me I am his and he will kill anyone who dares to touch what he owns, but it doesn’t come. He can’t seem to look at me and all his smugness and prick fight seems to simmer into silence as he searches for something in the desk and then slams it shut.

He knows I can date whoever I want.

He knows he has no hold over me that way this time as long as I am discreet.

He knows I can walk out the door and never come back.

I have all the upper hand this time, and it only just dawns on me that in this I have left him powerless. His toy isn’t his toy anymore. She’s her own person, and he has to curb all his control freak bully ways

because she can just disappear again. And it matters to him this time if she does.

I never thought of that before and wonder if the docile act was him trying to distract me from realising this. Staying on the nicer side so I wouldn’t click over how much of a better standing I have this time when it comes to him. I have grown stronger.

The balance has shifted, tables have turned. He needs me more than I need him.

He knows I will survive on the streets and not look back; I did it my whole life. He has more to gain from me being here. I will only lose money and a roof over my head, but that’s nothing. I have restarted from scratch many times over. Alexi has millions of dollars and a reputation to lose if his club goes under. He hates to fail at anything, so this place dying would be catastrophic to Mr Control freak money maker.

He’s not going to punish me. He’s not going to push the boundaries like he once did and hurt me the same way. Exclusive © content by N(ô)ve/l/Drama.Org.

I can’t believe I just figured that all out from one catty argument, and it changes how I see this entirely. That night in the club was his frustration because I rejected him, and he couldn’t do a bloody thing about it. So, in his internal turmoil, he took it out on a bystander. I took his control away, and Alexi needs that more than anything in life to be able to function. It’s all he knows and it’s what he has self- taught to deal with being exposed to his life at such a young age when it spiralled away from him with the pulling of one little trigger.

He’s not been here because he’s sulking, annoyed, probably pissed that he used to be able to have me eating out of the palm of his hand, and now … I won’t even entertain a kiss when drunk.

That must have really smacked him where it hurts—His ego and his pride.

Everything’s changed between us, and I really feel like a huge light just clicked on over my head and illuminated him in all his flawed glory, growing in confidence as we silently share the same room.

‘Is there anything else?’ I break the long silent standoff, waiting patiently for bossy pants to issue me orders. Or some demonic cruel statement to bend me to my knees once more, but he just waves his hand at me. I defeated the monster.

‘I have better things to do. Go away.’ It’s a huffy childish snap of voice.

Alexi is upset. Not in his sinister ‘I’m a mean asshole and you should fear my wrath’, although looking back it’s not his mannerism that’s changed, it’s my perception of it. He’s no longer a threat, and I am no longer afraid of him.

Truly … It’s not an act. I am honestly stood here with no single tiny ounce of fear anymore.

He had Miami to put me in my place and he chose to attack someone else. Whether he cares or not is irrelevant anymore. Alexi has shelved me as untouchable, and he has set himself boundaries I now believe he won’t cross: Ever.

It feels pretty good.