The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Alexi’s apartment is huge. Walking in the door, ushered by four big burly men I know from the club and all in complete silence. I
don’t even take the time to acknowledge them individually or even look up past black heavy coats and wide chests to recognise
each one. Just a group of intimidating security in matching outfits and earpieces who escorted me from car door to apartment
door.
I have no words anyway. Dishevelled, filthy and broken inside as I’m led into a massive open plan penthouse apartment that I
would never think of putting Alexi in. A building in Upper Manhattan’s most luxurious area.
It’s warmer and homelier than the décor of the club, with slight ties to his bolthole in the styling. Huge soft corner couches, side
tables and furniture for lounging and laying cups by your side. In front of vast windows spanning entire walls and showing New
York at its finest in sweeping views. I feel like we are on top of the world as we are so high up in a vast modern yet comfy home
that is less stark and male than the club. My eyes scan the roaring glass fire in the natural brick pillar standing imposingly in the
middle of the room, giving no real heat so it’s obviously a digital screen. It serves as a divider to the metal railed stairway behind
it at the far end. I’m close to a white glossy kitchen that spans an entire wall and uses unstained real wood topped island
counters to create a more sectioned off space. The whole place is in earthy tones, neutrals with fur rugs and cosy furnishings
placed strategically around with the odd sculpture and a lot of large potted greenery freestanding around us. It’s vast but there is
a sense of intimacy in all the little arranged seating nooks.
A large, grey wolf-like dog comes trotting out from behind that huge chimney breast structure startling me with his sudden
appearance. Instantly my heart hammers faster, and hands go clammy as it drops its nose and sniffs the air lower to the ground
while reaching it out towards us. Smelling us.
An intimidating wild looking beast that stands abnormally tall for a mere dog. It’s easily at my waist height and although slender
all over, it has a mass that hints at speed and power. It’s unnerving, much like waking in a hospital room with a stealthy Alexi in
the shadows and that same feeling of intense anxiety and awareness overcomes me. Skin prickling with nervousness and my
blood cools my overheated body almost instantly.
The dog, if I can even call it that stands off and watches us suspiciously in his poised stance, pulling my attention to its head as it
raises it fully; studying us, eyes boring into us. They all seem oblivious and obviously used to its a presence, but I’m rooted to the
spot, locked in a battle of stares from an animal that looks like it belongs in a Red Riding Hood movie. I’m the girl in red and I
might be about to become lunch.
I shiver, trying to hide my fear but I can tell it already senses it as it watches, statue-like and just does not react at all.

The men scatter and go off to do a sweep of the building even though there is two security sitting at an office right at the main
door in the only real sectioned off room in this place. They nodded at us as we walked in. No one’s bothering to even tell me
what to do now I’m here, or if I should curl on the floor in the foetal position until this scary arse wolf goes away.
I just stand awkwardly, trying not to fidget, and move a tiny inch towards the sitting room while never letting my eyes trail away
from those two beacons of intensity he has going on.
He reminds me of someone equally terrifying.
The soulless pale grey eyes of Alexi, on an animal. It’s weird and yet somehow comforting and I can see what drew him to this
animal if it is even his. That eerie pair of devil eyes, lacking warmth and colour.
“Lync. Here.” One of the men reappears quickly, having checked a nearby room behind a heavy wooden door I’m only drawn to
when I hear him close it. He calls to it as he walks back to me and it bursts into a run, tail lifting to wag as it heads for Reynold.
One of Alexi’s most used henchmen in his security team. He bends down, although he doesn’t need to move far as the dog is
about the size of a small bear, and aggressively rubs its head and body while crooning at it.
All of its scary ‘I may eat you’ manner, disperses into puppy whimpering and crawling around the man's feet as it tries to roll on
its back for further affection. Melting the hostility and suspicion away as he folds back his ears and his jawline seems to curl back
into a weird dog smile with half-closed eyes at the petting. He’s soft as hell it would appear. It’s as big a transformation as
dickhead Alexi to sweet Lexi.
“Is he Alexi’s?” I ask stupidly, watching at my safe distance, trying to not feel weirded out that he even has a pet, let alone a
scary reincarnation of him if he was an animal. It just doesn’t fit the idea I had of him and he has never mentioned this at all. He
acted like Feral was a strange thing to have and now I find he has an actual wolf. Lync definitely looks wolf rather than husky
now I’m examining him up close and not wondering if I can outrun him. He has huge paws and teeth, despite a skinnier lanky
frame and very rough fur.
“He is yeah. Lex likes to keep him out of the way. He’s a wolf mix with an Inuit in there somewhere. Rare and not quite your usual
domestic pet. Lex rescued him from a kill shelter who had worried his mix would make him a vicious animal and unsuitable for
re-homing.”
I blanch at that and blink at this animal again. His eyes are fixed on me once more in the most distrusting way, watching my
every move while having his belly rubbed and it strikes me just how like Alexi the dog really is.

Ferocious, untrusting, almost snarling feral dog, that I have no doubt is a biter when he wants to be. Yet, the ability to trust and a
love of being petted with the right people. A much softer inner side of his personality.
I wonder if I rubbed Alexi’s tummy, he would not strangle me to death for today.
Might be best not to try though.
I guess he saw a kindred spirit in this poor beast and now I’m feeling a little less intimidated by something that belongs on the
cover of a wild Alaska animal book. Even if I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t sizing me up for dinner.
“He takes a while to warm to people so don’t be offended if he keeps his distance and watches you like he might maul you. Lync
was wild when Lex took him in, and he doesn’t trust just anyone. He’s well trained though and doesn’t like the taste of human
flesh.” That wicked smile, a chuckle that puts my fears to rest even though I won’t admit it was what I was thinking, and I eye roll
at his attempt at humour. Much like his cousin with his dry jokes. I think it must be a Carrero trait to be dry, blunt and sarcastic in
humour.
I have to wonder at the coincidence in the wolf though. Sounds like Alexi in so many ways and I can almost feel myself warming
to the mutt on that knowledge alone.
“Lync is a pretty weird name for a wolf thing, dog.” I blink at it, still aware of its eyes homed in on me and wonder if it’s the kind of
animal to rip your throat out while you sleep. That’s not really eating you, it’s just removing you from its territory and wouldn’t
come under hungering for the taste of flesh.
“Gino. He likes to think he’s funny and called this poor mutt the missing link. Some joke about Lex not being human or some shit.
It stuck and now we all call him Lync.” He rubs him one last time and then straightens up to make a move. The dog rolls back to
a sitting position and immediately turns his eyes back to me. Intimidation at its finest. The thing doesn’t even blink and I squirm
uncomfortably and look away.
I admit, the more you look at him, once the initial shock of seeing this beast for the first time wears off, the more you appreciate
just how handsome an animal he is. He has definite wolf-like traits in his colouring and markings. That long face and piercing
eyes, the lankier frame of a wolf over something like a husky. But then those eyes are something else. So pale and almost
colourless in a face that has a much darker grey in it. It’s eerie but also completely Alexi.
Pale eyes, tanned skin and jet-black hair in an angular face. It’s what makes them stand out in the same way Lync’s do. The
contrast.

It’s beautiful.
The man and his beast; it’s kind of cute and a little enlightening. He cared enough to save this animal and raise it. Judging by
how healthy it looks he makes sure it’s cared for when he isn’t here. I’m guessing there is constant security, and the bubbling pot
on the stove in the cooker suggests there is a housekeeper kicking around that makes sure his dog is walked and fed and
adored in his absence.
“I’ll just steer clear until it decides not to eat me” I smile warily and take a giant curve around them to go look for a seat. My legs
are sore, my feet are painful from running in these damn shoes and all the debris I got in them. I’m scratched up and covered in
filth. My battered body and face are burning, dress messed up. I’m aching and I must look an absolute fright after full on sobbing
for most of the entire journey here. I feel drained both mentally and physically. Emotionally I’m just numb and trying not to dissect
what will happen when Alexi shows up.
I have no doubt it will be bad judging by how he was as I left.
“Miss Walters, Mr Carrero told me to have a bath ready for you and some fresh clothes in his room.” The female voice startles
me, coming from far left behind me and I jump then turn to see a very small woman in her late fifties coming down from behind
the stairwell at the chimney.
She’s tiny, a little thick around the waist, dressed like a stereotypical Italian mama in a village setting, with a floral dress under a
cosy pink cardigan and apron over chunky boots. She has a wrinkly tanned but warm and friendly face, with matching grey hair
in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
If I had to conjure up some weather-beaten kindly old lady in a magical story, then it would be her and I’m instantly soothed by
her heavily accented voice.
“I will show you to his room if you follow me.” She smiles warmly, watery blue eyes shining at me with no hint of malice, and I try
not to dissect her as I walk towards her.
I expected him to have a young, hot, highly sexed housekeeper he could bang when he was bored, not a motherly, frail little
woman who is more likely to hug away your tears. I wonder if she too is some sort of Carrero relative although I’m not sure he
would put them in a position of servitude.
Well, actually ... most of his men are, so maybe he would.

“Thanks. I could use a soak in the tub.” I reply brightly, liking this idea of getting away from men and dog and being alone to
soothe myself. It doesn’t go unnoticed that despite being cold and pissed Alexi still called ahead to make sure I would be taken
care of. A bath and food, knowing I’m a mess and would probably need an energy boost after the shock of what happened. I’m
light-headed, fragile and woozy. A bath and food sound like all I can handle at the moment.
Even mad at me he’s still trying to care for me, that must be a sign that maybe he won’t go nuclear on arrival.
“This way.” She nods back up the stair and I follow obediently. Desperate to sit down and take these shoes off but not willing to
show any more vulnerability than I have. My hands are caked in dry blood and grime and stinging from a thousand minor
scratches and scrapes, all over my exposed legs. I’m amazed all my nails are intact though, so sure I would have broken at least
one in that scramble.
My hair must be a riot after my tussle with my attempted kidnapper, and I shudder as the image of his dead body slumped at
Alexi’s feet zooms in to give me another stomach lurch. I push it aside, more afraid of the pissed Mafia boss who still has to
come and see me over what he did to that man.
As we climb the open stairs, I take in the surroundings to distract myself and my rhumba pulse. Pushing Alexi out of my head
again. Nerves having themselves a rollercoaster ride through my body as I shift from hot to cold, calm to uptight, every few
seconds.
The carpeted stair has glass bannisters between the wrought-iron railing and just adds to the airy feel of space and luxury as we
disappear to a second floor into more of the same neutrals and plush cream carpeting. No polished floors in sight up here.
The lower floor from what I can see is mainly all lounging space and kitchen, the sectioned off security rooms at one end but
there’s a hint of a room at the far end where a door is camouflaged in the brick wall. It looks like the apartment should end there,
but as we climb upstairs, I realise the apartment must extend much further and it leads to more rooms. Behind that one door
must be a corridor to more rooms downstairs and up here I can see he easily must have at least five rooms or more unless there
are less and they’re just huge.
I don’t know why he needs an apartment this size when he has several others. He’s single and clearly only lives with a dog. It
seems like maybe one day he has plans to expand and I push it down and ignore it as nothing. Another niggle I can’t deal with
right now which just adds to my tight tension and knotted up insides.
She leads me along a hallway that stretches right down the centre of the upstairs floor. Many rooms are on either side behind
natural wooden doors and I like the fact this place has the space to spend a lot of time and never feel hemmed in. Maybe that’s

why he bought it. He can be here a lot of the time and never tire of the rooms or get claustrophobic.
I’m taken down what feels like the longest corridor ever, to the one double door facing us and opened into a large master suite
whose windows match those of downstairs. A full glass wall on one side, making is light, open and bright. That view is
spectacular and gives you a feeling of being up in the clouds.
The room itself is bigger than the entire club apartment.
A massive black four-poster bed in the middle made up with layers of white bedding and furry cushions, shoved up against a
free-standing brick chimney-like pillar with built-in shelving. Dark wooden floors and one wall is a cleverly concealed row of white
doors which I assume are wardrobes and meant to look like one glossy wall. There are some huge dark wood dressers along the
wall to my right, between this door and another set of closed doors which are the only other things in here, besides a massive
glass panel fireplace on the chimney, a good ten feet over the bed, and above the dressers facing it is an equally huge TV.
Everything is concealed, no clutter or much furniture and insanely serene with it. Art on the walls is sparse, although they are
large to cover all the white spaces that are left. They are abstract and brightly coloured splashes over muted tones.
“Bathroom is in there; I will get you something from my wardrobe to wear that might fit until Mico has your clothes sent over.” She
smiles pleasantly pointing at that door in the room and nods at the bathrobe on the bed. A white fluffy one, concealed because it
matches the throw on the end of that luxurious setup.
“If you leave your dirty clothes here, then I will have them laundered.” She smiles again, wide and friendly and doesn’t even flick
her eyes over my messy dishevelled appearance with any kind of question. Just accepts.
I like her.
“Thank you ... umm ... did Alexi say when to expect him back?” I ask awkwardly as she turns to leave, knowing she might not
have a clue, but it’s worth a try; my stomach is tying itself in knots and could do with a little intel. If I know when he’s about to
show up, I can at least relax in the meantime and unwind all the taut nerves and sickening anxiety running through me.
I don’t want to sit here for days waiting for him and not know what will happen when he shows up. That’s a special kind of agony.
“He said to make sure you were attended to and that he would be home shortly and to prepare dinner for you both. He does not
like reheated food, so I’m guessing he intends a return within the hour.” She smiles again, nothing but warmth in that wrinkled
little face and I wonder if she was an attempt at giving himself a stand-in mother. She has that maternal vibe and I could see why
he wouldn’t want the hassle of a live-in maid whom he has banged. He hates women trailing around after him when he’s done
with them.

A cosy home he never lets on is his, a dog and a motherly maid. Alexi made himself what he was lacking, and I can see why he
never let me come here before. Like his bolthole, this place is somewhere he can be someone else, and it feeds a side of him
that his mother never nurtured.
“Of course.” I falter, covering my sheer lack of knowing what’s happening or even something as basic about him as not liking
reheated food. It’s not something that ever came up, seeing as I don’t cook for him, or have ever had to get food for him. A
girlfriend should know these things though. I want to know these things about him.
After today I guess that’s a moot subject and I can stop planning beyond tonight if he’s coming back today. I don’t see how we
can have a future after today.
She hovers a moment to see if I have any other questions and then nods when I remain silent. She walks out and closes the
door quietly behind her, clicking it securely and leaving me with myself, my thoughts and my bath.
As soon as I’m alone it all sort of leaches out in a loud, heavy sigh and my body sinks from its practised posture. I stopped crying
in the car, to be honest, I think it was the shock and an initial reaction to that turbulent episode of events. I then sat quiet and
numb for the rest of the car journey and now it feels like I have a heavyweight of doom and gloom pressing down on me as I
have another look about me. Trying to shake off the weary fatigue of carrying such an emotional burden. I feel like I’m not done
crying, but I don’t want to start again in case it never stops. Instead, I try to take my mind off it by investigating my surroundings.
Walking past the bed to nosey at a space I can see before the windows.
There’s a huge dog bed in the far corner the bed had concealed when I was at the door, and now I can see a bookcase tucked in
around a corner beside it. A little dark square space where the dog has his bed, toys and a couple of shelves with collars, spare
tags and a puppy framed picture over it. The pillar on the other side making a small nook where Lync seems to have his own
space. Furry rug peeking out under the large, plump bed.
I wander over to it, realising it’s much deeper and larger than it looked, and finger the array of novels and bric-a-brac nestled
here on the built-in bookcase, filled with very Alexi things. Thrillers, spy books, psychological novels and framed pictures of those
Alexi holds closest. All suggesting this apartment is truly where he spends time and calls it home. It’s a hidden piece of his
bolthole and some of the items resemble the kind of things he keeps there. Sentimental little things, random, eclectic statues,
books, trinkets and my hand hovers over a picture of me.
It’s a selfie I took on his phone one day in the office to assign to my number when he told me to save it. I did it in sarcasm, just to
annoy him whenever my name popped up on his screen. Pouting an overly dramatic kissy set of blood-red lips, a wink as I tousle

my hair seductively, cleavage out and nestled cross-legged on his desk, a lot of thigh on show with his chair in the background. I
remember taking it and the way he frowned at me when I handed his phone back to him.
It’s been printed out as a five by seven inch and he has it propped in front of a large picture of him and his brother, at eye level.
No frame but in front of everything on that shelf in prime viewing position.
My heart somersaults, the warm feeling of gooey he seems to be able to inflict and I harbour a little hope that maybe this won’t
be as bad as I think it will. Calming some of my frazzled nerves.
Alexi kept a photo of me with his personal stuff in a home he likes to keep people away from.
I don’t know when he printed this, but the fact he has it, says a lot. That lump that forms in heart and chest making itself known
and I feel even more inclined to cry, just for different reasons.
I run my fingers over my overly sexual pose and an almost smug expression, knowing I meant it to get at him and wish I could
replace it with something more genuine. Maybe one of us. A picture that was not intended to get on his nerves, although judging
by the fact it’s here, I don’t think it had the desired effect.
I quickly move past it, fixating on other things on the shelf and push it out of my mind before I have the urge to cry again.
Focusing on the pictures in frames but avoiding any of him because I’m not ready to stare at his gorgeous face and break all
over again.
There are pictures of Gino, Mico, Jackson, the guy I saw Sophie Huntsberger with, so I guess that’s Arrick. And one with him and
Alexi in boxing shorts and gloves, and another man who is most definitely Carrero. All three of them have that look. The third one
is a lot like Alexi in so many ways. Black hair, strong, tall and handsome but he has green eyes and a severe love of tattoos all
over his arms, shoulders and chest. I mean, the three of them do, but he has by far the most coverage. He’s holding up a glove
and has a cheeky grin aimed right at the camera. No lack of confidence in that one, anyway.
To have such great DNA in a bloodline where all of you are a little too hot by human standards is pretty annoying. I can see that
it’s a strong gene and seems to produce little replicas through the entire family. These could be his brothers, cousins, maybe
even second and I wouldn’t be able to tell.
I put the picture down and pick up one of a girl. She looks young, maybe teens and I recognise her from his picture album as one
of his sisters. She’s pretty, cute, sort of innocent looking but definitely a raven-haired, blue-eyed beauty of a Carrero.
This family and their looks. Crazy.

The pictures are also a little pointer that my cold, heartless brute cares enough to keep his family close in sentimentality. I have
never owned a framed picture of anyone in my life and wouldn’t have any need of a shelf to stow them on. I never knew what it
was like to be part of a family until I was taken into Alexi’s club and despite his issues with his mother, it’s obvious he cares about
his family a great deal.
I slide off my shoes, dusting off as much of my collected debris as I can before sliding out of my soiled dress and lingerie and
leaving them heaped on the floor in a little pile for the woman I didn’t get a name for. They look like I wore them to a mud
wrestling match, and I pull on the fluffy robe and pad to the bathroom, leaving the mess behind me. Leaving his shelves alone
and tearing myself away from torturing my sanity. I need headspace and not reminders of him right now.
My whole body is sore, bruised and achy. Much like my soul and the thought of sinking into hot water and letting it all ebb away
is all I can focus on. My brain is shutting down on me due to fatigue and emotional exhaustion and my eyes are dry and itchy
from crying it all out.
The taps are still running when I open the door and step inside to a huge cloud of scented bubbles growing on the surface of the
deep water in the middle of a tub made for two.
The tub is huge, big enough for Alexi, Lync and me if I wanted it, made from a natural looking grey stone in a bathroom decked
from floor to ceiling in the same grey tiles and built-ins. It has sunken wall lights inside frosted shades and a whole natural spa
feel to it which is a stark contrast to the almost clinical furnishings of his room in the club. These are softer, less edgy and sterile.
I guess because this is the place he considers home, then he opted for a slight softening of his harsh choices.
Like the bed.
Huge and foreboding, but simple white and natural bedsheets, with a fur throw across the end.
Masculine, minimalist yet oddly welcoming. I can imagine lying in that bed and watching a good old city rainstorm in the sky from
that wide wall of floor to ceiling windows. He has shades pulled up and sheers at the sides with a runner that suggests he can
cover all the windows with either a light fabric to still see the lights at night or the blackout blinds when he sees fit and wants
daytime darkness. That’s someone who likes to watch the view while falling asleep so even more of a contradiction to the
windowless box of the club.