The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 132

I am listless and keep clock watching today, even though I have nowhere to be except down in the club, and getting ready for another night of business as usual. I have an idea why it’s making me so restless and frustrated, beyond the obvious sadness. It’s called Alexi.

This place is running so smoothly nowadays that I really have nothing much to do most of the time except observe and supervise. Apart from paperwork occasionally and overseeing deliveries I have tuned my well-oiled machine to perfection. Spectacular organisation means it can practically run itself and I can swan around more than actually do anything.

Mico appears and catches me sitting at the bar.

‘Hey you … future mistress.’ He breaks into a huge amused smile and dumps a pile of files on the bar carelessly that he has obviously brought to go in the office. It looks like some of the accounts we have been waiting for. I’m guessing this is not a random passing joke.

‘He told you?’ I turn to him with amused questioning and lean back against the bar. Letting my eyes wander over that familiar ‘head of the mob’ attire of his. Dark tailored suit, black tie and a heavy black coat, even though today is still on the warmer side. I swear they have a manual somewhere with all the rules and codes of being a Carrero henchman that states—black is the colour and Savile Row for tailoring.

‘Alexi tells me most things … especially when sassy Brits accuse him of underhanded jealous behaviour.’ He winks this time and then moves to sit beside me casually, as he motions the tender cleaning glasses for a bottle of water from the fridge in our view. The man obediently does so.

‘He didn’t admit it.’ I shrug, knowing full well it’s exactly what it was.

‘Yeah well, he sent me to pick these up at the accountants and drop them off here, so I think he’s trying to prove you wrong, Camilla. How you doing today anyway? Jackson took that …’ He trails off before saying cat and I just throw on my fake happy face and shrug again, trying to ignore that pit of biting sadness which has followed me all day. I couldn’t even bear to go into the kitchen and see the food stacked on the counter for the scrawny little creature. I told Jackson to get rid of all traces that I ever knew a cat called Feral.

I don’t want his ashes either— I want to forget all about him. It’s just easier that way.

‘Fine … just planning my seduction of Alexi’s henchman to take over his world,’ I jest diverting the topic, and he shakes his head too.

‘Give him a break; he’s out of his depth on so many levels when it comes to you. Alexi has never had to navigate this kind of relationship before, and you still screw him up. He’s like a teen boy learning from scratch.’ He looks down at the bar and has that same annoying habit of tapping his thumb there. I guess it’s a sign when they are hiding something or thinking something through. Weird that DNA can carry mannerisms.

‘What kind of relationship would that be? Respecting a female instead of tormenting her?’ I add drily and Mico just throws me a darkened look.

‘I told you once … there’s more to him than meets the eye, and how he feels about you is his business. You two need to learn the art of communication.’

‘Ughhh. You’re so loyal sometimes, it’s painful.’ I prod him in the shoulder and he just smirks before getting up and sweeping up the files into a neat pile he picks up.

‘I love and respect my cousin … I won’t be the one who talks for him though—that’s on him. He needs to man up when it comes to you two.’ He moves away and I shove him as he passes, frustrated with his vagueness.

‘Meaning?’ I ask snottily, eyebrows arched in expectance of a real answer. He just raises his brows right back at me in the most infuriating way and walks off towards the corridor, obviously dismissing the rest of our conversation.

‘Stop annoying each other for a start and start being honest … even if it’s terrifying. Running is a bad habit!’

I swear a little inkling in my gut tells me this isn’t a random observation. Maybe Alexi realised I bottled out of talking upstairs this morning and these are his words, not Mico’s. I pale with the thought that he could read me up there, and I wasn’t so great at hiding that from him.

Running is all I know. Both physically and emotionally, when life throws me shit I don’t want to handle. It’s an impulse to protect myself, and he has no idea how necessary it has been to me.

I don’t get a chance to talk more as Mico is out of sight and leaving me pondering his wise words that he has a habit of spitting out and then walking off after.

He is fucking infuriating sometimes.

He’s like Jiminy Cricket; sweeping in to offer guidance, then buggers off without giving you any real answers, so you have to figure it out for yourself.

I guess him and Alexi could be Pinocchio and Jiminy. I giggle as the connection hits me and find it hilariously funny the more I think about it. Mico sits on his shoulder being his conscience, so he doesn’t have to have one, and Alexi … well, he’s the adventurous and stubborn little boy who likes to lie; ironic really. I wonder if Alexi has a desire to be a real human too, although his nose certainly does not grow when he talks shit … it would be an advantage if it did.

I go back to focusing on the book I have propped on the bar, trying to kill some hours, and ignore my uptight and fragile mood; Pushing the stupid out of my head along with visions of wooden puppets and donkeys. I sit lost in words, pulled into a fantasy romance when Mico prods me on the way past in the back of the shoulder.

‘Gotta go. Catch you later. Alexi will be back to get changed this evening and I’m to pick him up from here, so guess till later’s …’ He smiles and I smile back warmly. Waving as he disappears, and he doesn’t give me a chance to pick his brains anymore.

I do think it’s funny though. Alexi sent him here specifically to prove he’s not jealous and he hasn’t been deliberately keeping him out of the way.

Such a childish thing to do, even for him.

Cute that he wanted to prove it, even if it was the actual truth.

Boy needs therapy.

It’s past seven and I head upstairs to start getting ready for tonight, showering and pulling on a new dress. I am going red, in a slinky, loose and floaty number that is more summer days than nightwear, but I am not in the mood for figure hugging and sexy. I still feel weird and out of sorts, and I am doing everything in my power to not think about Feral. Jackson took care of it. It’s done and I need to forget it as a nothing in my life. My bruised heart will heal, and it will only serve to help lock it up tight in its metal coffin once more. Every new scar just hardens my resolve to never care again.

I cared too much for something that shouldn’t have mattered and now I need to get over it.

I am not in the mood for playing seductive hostess tonight. I want people to leave me alone, so I can just do my job without pandering to anyone or anything. I’m agitated and prickly all over and just trying to get through my day.

I jump when Alexi walks in the door, catching me straightening my hair, by the mirror in the lounge that hangs on the outside of his bedroom wall. I prefer doing my hair out here as the socket is directly below it for easy access, and he smiles when he sees me. Seems he’s in a very casually cheerful mood tonight.

‘You look nice, as always.’ He looks me over and walks closer, still dressed in sportswear from this morning, but he smells freshly showered and his hair is damp. I guess he was having a boxing training day or something physical.

I have learned that Alexi has a lot of excess energy and he uses sport to keep himself level. Boxing is the preferred hobby, according to Jackson. He does that sometimes to let off steam and hone his skills as a cold-blooded thug who beats up men in nightclubs.

Yes, I’m still smarting over Miami. He has still not apologised either.

‘It’s new.’ I give it a little sway side to side as the skirt swishes around me gracefully, admiring my reflection as he passes behind me and tugs my hair as he does so. A juvenile reaction that highlights the great mood he is most definitely in.

‘Hey.’ I aim a slap for him, but he’s too fast and bobs into his room with a laugh, calling out innocently once he is out of sight.

‘I have to get changed, can you pour me a drink, please.’ His voice comes from further into his room because he has left the door open and I roll my eyes at his expectancy that I should serve him, yet find myself putting down my straighteners anyway and head for the kitchen. No idea why I am being so obedient and non-combative. Maybe because he's infectious when he is like this. And he did say please.

‘Booze or coffee?’ I yell and jump when his head pops out with a completely naked upper torso. All that tanned muscle and tattoos on show and it has the same effect as mildly tasering me in the vajayjay.

Jesus Christ, Alexi!

‘Coffee … I need a clear head tonight.’ He throws me a charming, drool worthy smile, oblivious to my squirming hot knickers, smiles, and then slides back out of sight as I am left dazed and lingering at all that muscle and skin he just flashed at me.

Boy still makes my underwear get tight. He has a seriously unfair advantage with looking how he does, and I push down all those niggling urges with anger at myself, for being so weak.

Arsehole.

‘Why you changing here anyway?’ I yell in afterthought at him—diverting my horny brain to safer topics.

‘I thought you had an apartment in upper Manhattan you live out of?’ I ask him, confused that he has come here just to get changed. Normally he comes in and out in various attires that he definitely does not keep here. I am under no illusion that this apartment is not one he calls home.

‘I left my tux here to get cleaned … easier to just come change here.’ He wanders out wearing an open shirt over black trousers and is in the process of buttoning up as he wanders towards me confidently, not bothered at all about his state of undress around me.

I have already boiled the kettle and make him instant coffee rather than set up the coffee pot like he normally would. He seems like he’s in a hurry and doesn’t say anything when he sees the jar. I know he’s usually a coffee bean snob.

I cannot tear my eyes off that expanse of sexy chest and physically have to rip myself away to turn around and look anywhere but at him. Body heating up with the sizzling effect of his proximity, and I almost forget how to breathe.

His hair is damp and messy from pulling off clothes over his head, ruffled gorgeously even though it’s mostly short. That lip biting, yummy body on show, with little hints of black ink on a tight, toned surface, which does crazy things to my internals. Full-on electric horny vibrations pummelling me in the nether regions and I sigh in total frustration. BOB has been a pale comparison to that hunk of male flesh between my thighs. The cravings for sex have never been as much of a problem as they have been since the day I met this man.

Does he have any idea how much of an alluring sight he is when walking around like this?

‘I am coming back here after dinner. I want an early start on stuff I need to do in the office, so makes more sense to sleep here.’ He comes up beside me, sliding his arm around to pick up his coffee in front of me and throws me a charming smile, face so close he’s almost in mine, and the air gets painfully thin between us.

I just smile awkwardly, aware that his sudden close assault has my skin prickling sensually, and I stiffen in discomfort.

‘You smell nice,’ he utters in a soft but heavy tone, those eyes locked on mine so my body tingles, then moves away and takes a drink of his coffee as he goes to the table and lays it down. He straightens to button up his shirt, disappointingly putting all those carved abs under wraps, and pulls a bow tie from his back pocket which had been dangling there.

I watch him expertly tuck himself in and wander to my mirror to put it on and tie it, mesmerised with the way a bow can neatly appear from such a strange shape and note that it’s something I have never learned to do. I’ve never had a need to put one on a man and watch him a little too intensely—A practised skill.

He already has shoes on and when he walks back into his room to get his jacket I hear a blast of a drier as he quickly sorts his hair out. In the couple minutes of quiet, I can almost visualise him with his hair gel, taming hints of waves into scruffy neatness.

I love Alexi’s most recent haircut. All short back and sides now and a little unruly on top, which leaves enough hair to run your fingernails through and grip onto in the throes of passion. Not that I will be, it’s just a preferred thing.