The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 89

I push through the door of the diner exactly three and a half minutes late due to the fact my train was delayed, and I then had to run to get here in half the time. I’m out of breath, lungs on fire and sweating like crazy, not just from exertion, but that damn flu has overtaken with a vengeance. My emotional state is fragile to say the least and I am running on empty.

I can’t stop sneezing, my nose is pouring and I have a throat like razor blades, walking around with that awful cotton wool head. On top of that I have a killer headache from my face and I just feel like death warmed up.

I got maybe an hour and forty minutes of sleep before my alarm went off and I had to drag my sorry arse back up. Judging by the still hot, half-drunk takeaway coffee sat on my counter, Mico and Alexi must have left not long before I woke.

It was a surreal feeling to get up to an organised room and new shiny locks and bolts on every possible avenue into the apartment. I must have passed out pretty quickly too. I woke up to my bedroom door sitting open with its own shiny lock inside and the room around me a little less chaotic. Someone had even fixed my bedclothes and pulled an extra blanket from my chair to place over the ones I had over me in the frosty room. I am guessing Mico. Although something in my gut reminded me of the times Alexi did that exact thing in the club apartment and I brush it aside.

I hate him and he hates me.

That’s the end of that story!

I had to leave my spare uniform to soak in the sink this morning as I forgot to do it last night, and then got pissed when I opened my front door to find an undeniable Carrero security guard sat on a chair outside; black-suited and booted and reading a newspaper as though this was a normal daily occurrence.

I almost had an epic rage-fuelled meltdown that he left me a bloody bouncer to watch over me. Typical god damn Alexi! Although, he did have fresh coffee and hot croissants for me, and offered me a lift to work, which I refused. I sent him packing back to his kingpin and told him that if he bothers me with his henchmen again, I will just move and change my name.

I hope he gets the message. I don’t need this today.

Pressuring me and reminding me of what it’s like to be back in the fold of Carrero. I’m not an idiot. I know what he’s doing.

‘You’re late!!’ Joe is on my arse as soon as he gets a whiff of my appearance through the door and then gawps in horror when he catches sight of me.

Way to boost my confidence!

‘What the fuck? You can’t work looking like that! You look horrendous!’ He rages at me, eyes bulging out of his veiny forehead. As though getting roughed up is somehow my fault and I curb the urge to promptly stick my fingers up at him.

‘Doesn’t stop Lorraine coming in every day,’ I answer tartly and get a snarl from her in the corner as she wipes down a table. I throw her a catty wink and give zero shits that she’s offended. I know the bitch hates on me at every opportunity and there is no love lost between us. I pick up her slack constantly.

‘Funny! Get your ass over here. You can work in the kitchen with me instead and Lacey can serve. I am not having you on the floor looking that shit.’

Lacey being his wife who spends most of her time filing her nails while sat on her arse in the office, so I don’t see that happening. The kitchen is about the size of a postage stamp so if he has ideas of a cosy afternoon stuck in Sweats Ville with him, he has another thing coming. It’s a retro diner in the smallest space ever and his kitchen constantly stinks of Joe’s sweat and fried foods.

No thank you!

‘A sore face doesn’t mean I am incapable of carrying trays. Get over it; I’ll chuck some concealer on. It looks worse than it is.’ I sigh and throw my hands on my hips in a bid to stand my ground. I may not feel the part today but I won’t let him push me around. I had enough of that from Alexi. He has certainly woken Camilla up for sure, and she is rearing a tired head.

‘You will do as you are told and work in here. I won’t have my customers made uncomfortable by the mess of your face.’

‘Is the issue that I’m not fuckable today? Or do your customers keep their women tied to the kitchen sink when they have gotten out of line and required a smack? Afraid of the backlash? Looking bad to your men folk?’ I sass at him, tongue operating without thought and for once, I don’t care. She has kept silent long enough in this hellhole. My temper is very frail and easy to rile this morning.

‘Shut up and get over here,’ Joe snaps at me, and despite the urge to tell him to go fuck himself I obediently do as I am told. I am more than aware of my financial situation and I should keep that at the forefront of my mind today, even if the urge is to stab him in the face. I just need to keep my mouth shut and get this shift over with, so I can at least use today’s tips to get home and back tomorrow.

My phone vibrates in my bag as I walk to the kitchen to dump it and my jacket on the staff hangers and glance at it quickly as I hang my things up. It’s Mico. And despite myself, I smile and open the message.

‘Still know how to rile him. You never change. M X’

I guess their security took my message back to his boss already and Alexi is having himself a little temper tantrum. I can’t help but feel a little smug, a grin spreading over my face with major satisfaction at the thought of it, and I giggle to myself. I can still piss him off with minimum effort and it feels good.

I reply quickly, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Joe doesn’t catch me texting on the clock and send Mico my response.

‘Alexi still knows how to be a controlling arsehole. I’m not the one who needs to change. X’

I feel satisfied with that reply and bury my phone back in my cheap handbag and leave it on silent. Despite the sore face and impending death from the lurgy, I have, it makes me feel a little chipper in my mood. Annoying Alexi is almost as good as finding a bonus in my pay cheque. It never gets old. He is too easy to trigger when you know how.

I throw on the apron hanging on the door that has probably not seen a washer in months and tie it on tightly; prepping myself for a gruelling day in the hell zone he calls a kitchen. I try and avoid this most days as it’s hotter than hell, greasy and smoky and has the added insult of banging against Joe every time he moves. No doubt I will be posted on dishwasher duty or vegetable chopper but it’s better than being sent home and losing a day’s pay.

God knows I need the money now, more than ever.

Such is the crappiness of my life.

An hour to go and I get to leave.

It’s been a day I won’t forget, and I am dead on my feet. My head is swimming from lack of sleep … completely saturated with illness. I am sicker than a dying dog, trying not to cough and sneeze every two minutes, and that letch has rubbed up against me for the umpteenth time while apparently walking to the refrigerator. I cringe as his sweaty clunky body presses me against the sink again, painfully banging my pelvic bone against the steel ridge that sticks out, and I know it’s going to leave a bruise. It more than riles my temper which has been hanging by a thread for hours; completely snaps it when this time a hand slides across my arse as he does so, copping a grope and leaning against me as he cages me in. I freeze, breathing out slowly to control the rage burning inside of me and try not to react.

‘Cosy in here, huh?’ He whispers hoarsely into the back of my hair as everything in me goes on ultimate high alert at having a man wedged behind me. Anxiety biting and clamping my chest down heavily as my limbs tighten defensively.

All day I have been elbow deep in dirty water and greasy plates, inhaling overly fried food and choking on smoke from the grill by the back door. All day being barked at and yelled at because I wasn’t fast enough, in his way, or generally there to be abused, and now he has the nerve to slide a hand up my dress.

That’s all it takes. One little tiny insult to the mass of injuries I have suffered for months … metaphorically of course.

One creepy slimy hand inching up my naked legs and between my thighs as he moves closer to my stiffened posture, breathing down my neck like some escaped psychopath and I finally lose my shit in major Camilla style.

I can’t stand people standing so close behind me, and I definitely cannot stand men thinking I’m a free grope whenever they have the horn.

I’m so sick of this shit!

I turn on him violently, bringing the pot out of the suds filled lukewarm water I have my hands in, and smack him in the face with it as I turn aggressively, catching him on his big ugly pointy beak. It’s aimed but I act like it’s accidental.

It’s a knee-jerk reaction that results in an instant messy explosion of his nose as he drops to his knees and starts cradling his face through muffled grunts. Blood pouring beautifully down his chin as though he just got a facial period.

‘Sorry I didn’t see you there.’ I snap sarcastically, knowing without a doubt I just screwed myself over and I am so fired. It’s just that after seeing Alexi this morning, and dealing with all his shit, this is the last thing on Earth I have the ability to deal with anymore. The boy riled me up tight and put me down to uncoil at whoever was closest for the backlash. I’ll blame him for this … he deserves the blame for everything that goes wrong with me nowadays.

‘You fucking bitch! … You fucking bitch, you broke my nose!’ He squeals like a pig as he crawls around the floor in sheer shock of what I just did, grabbing for something to stem the flow. I wish I could say I felt a little remorse, but I don’t.

I dry my hands slowly and carefully on my apron, remaining calm and precise with my mannerisms, while he kneels in his own bloody mess and tries to stop the blood with a dirty rag from the nearby counter I saw him using on spilled fish guts earlier. Flapping it around and clawing at his face as tears and pain envelop his skull. I feel absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

In fact, it feels freeing and lifts everything bad about my sullen temperament today.

Lorraine ducks her head over the server counter and stares in as Lacey appears at the kitchen door blinking at the commotion. I honestly never saw the attraction between them, Lacey as his wife. She’s short, round and grey-haired with a pinched face and way too many wrinkles if she is the same age as him. I doubt he porks her anymore as even for him, she is hideous.

I know half his customers can hear him wailing like a little bitch and I should get out while I can, but I have gone past the point of caring. I think I did that four hours ago when he ‘accidentally’ brushed my breast with his hand when he reached over me for a saltshaker. This has been a slow build all day of having enough, fuelled by the memories of a grey-eyed Carrero when he woke up my inner beast.

‘Well you should learn to keep your hands to yourself. I’m not Lorraine, and I am not interested in letting your putrid tiny dick anywhere near me when Lacey is out of the shop. Oh, by the way … I quit. You can ram your job up your arse you sanctimonious slimy wanker.’

I lift that defiant chin, finding a morsel of Camilla pride inside of me, English accent on full assault despite them never hearing it and push past the hulking great flab of a man as he cowers on the floor, over dramatizing his injury. It’s a broken nose, hardly the end of the world, and I have had way more painful things to cope with than that. He’s a big guy; he should have a better pain threshold than this.

Lacey looks about set to self-implode, her face puce with impending explosion, and is more interested in glaring at Lorraine than what I just did to her so-called better half or my change in accent. Choking back fury as I swipe my coat and bag from behind her, I make my way past to leave them to it.

‘Lorraine has been fucking Joe?’ She spits it at me as though looking for confirmation to what she just heard, complete shock on that manly gob of hers, and I nod with a disgusted look plastered on my face.

‘Gross, isn’t it? I don’t know which one repulses me more, and the sight of the two of them banging in the larder every Thursday put me off eating from here ever again. Guess I won’t be back. Oh, maybe think about throwing out the frozen pig in the freezer, Lorraine let him fuck her up the arse over it. I’m not sure if the pig joined in, but it certainly sounded like it.’ I smile innocently and take great delight in the beetroot hue that floods her face as a vein pops out at me from her throbbing forehead.

I am done.

That was like a little cherry on top!

I hightail it out the back exit to avoid the customers and Lorraine witnessing all out horrific murder and smirk when I hear Lacey erupt in a demonic rage as the door swings shut behind me. I would love to be a fly on the wall when she exacts her revenge on his cheating arse, but I now need to figure out what I am doing for cash. Closing them out as the cool New York air fans the heat out of my bones and brings my attention to how sweaty and greasy I am. I need a shower, badly, and a change of clothes.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the air for a moment until harsh reality hits home and bursts my little momentary happier bubble.

I have no job, probably won’t see a dime of this week’s wages after that and no way to pay my rent in three days’ time. I have three dollars to my name from the bottom of my bag and nothing worthy of selling in my arsenal of personal effects to even scrape together money in a rush. I can’t even pay for the subway home and I am nowhere near able to walk that far back to my apartment. When I do get there, I have no food anymore, thanks to a screwed refrigerator turning what I had bad and I haven’t eaten all day due to feeling unwell. It’s probably why I am so light-headed, on top of the heat.

I throw on my jacket and put my head down and head towards the route that leads to home. Not sure how I am going to get there unless I walk the few miles. It’s not like I have a choice and I have to keep my meagre three dollars for emergencies.

I resign myself to the fact this is happening and head homewards.