The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

The house is huge and beautiful like some sort of movie set for the lifestyle of the rich and famous. A towering white mansion set
in a beautiful green manicured garden like some modern painting. Set in the sunny Hamptons, near the coast in a very
picturesque area that comprises of nothing but huge grand houses, that just spew wealth. I can see why the Carreros reign
supreme here. It’s like the real housewives of Orange County.
Their home a show house for sure, completely devoid of lived in family life and we are let in by a maid who ushers us into a
sitting room in what appears to be a deserted house until she runs off to find our host. Marble entranceway not dissimilar to that
of Alexi’s nearby abode, huge sweeping staircase in a flawless neutral palette. It’s glossy magazine worthy with massive
professional vases of floral arrangements dotted at key points on expensive furniture around the edges of the room.
I find it odd that Alexi is being treated like a guest rather than a family member, left standing here to await his mother, but I keep
my mouth shut as I watch him pace the floor, clearly unsettled in these surroundings. Not wanting to point out the obvious and
hurt him more than he has been under this roof already. This must hold a million memories from him that leaves a sour taste in
his mouth.
He seems like a fish out of water in this house and I really do not connect him to the calm white and neutral tone décor, or the
pristine almost museum-like settings. It doesn’t seem child-friendly or even family orientated and is more like a five-star hotel
than somewhere welcoming.
He seems restless and closed off already, walking away from me to give himself some much-needed space and I know not to
take it personally. He’s battling his own inner demons and I just give him a warm, supportive smile when his eye catches mine. A
storm in those eyes for all the world to see, the only hint that he experiences a depth of emotion below that smooth exterior. My
heart aches for him and I feel powerless to make him better. A knot forming in my gut and throat simultaneously and I just will
this to be over fast.
This is not a family home, it’s a show-off pad to impress visitors and lacks any sort of warmth. It’s not my cup of tea at all and I
instantly long for Alexi’s apartment back home in the city. It’s cosy urban chic and has a sentimental collection of things hidden
around the walls, out of plain sight. He has more character and love in his home than this place does, and I can see why he
always felt like an outsider. The house feels cold and sterile much like the woman I see in the pictures on the walls. Staring down
at us with superiority from an array of family portraits that all lack my grey eyed Adonis.
Fucking bitch!

“Alessandro.” A heavy, husky accented voice trails towards us from the open door which surprises me as I never thought of his
mother having anything other than a New York dialect. It’s obvious she’s a native Sicilian and now makes sense why he spent
most of his childhood there and why Alexi has a hint of a genuine Italian mixed with his, but this is a shock, to say the least. It’s
so strong it’s almost hard to pick out her English. It does have a seductive quality I guess, but I prefer Alexi’s mixed dialect over
hers.
A small elegant woman follows through behind her greeting, bleached blonde hair expertly coiffed into a French roll on the back
of her head and dressed impeccably in tailored, wide leg tan trousers and a cream silk blouse that moulds to a small petite frame
with plenty of curves. She looks too young to have sons Alexi’s age and on closer inspection, I can see she is well groomed with
attention to details. Much like her son. Nothing out of place at all.
A fan of Botox and such no doubt, and her body suggests she is a gym junkie. Hardly the picture of motherhood I was
envisioning from the faded pictures in Alexi’s bolthole. None of them had been recent of his mother, but she looks pretty much
the same with an air of plastic face. Her demeanour is poised, precise to the extent where I would have envied her only a short
time ago but now, I realise how much I have changed. I dislike her on sight, beyond what I know of her. She exudes something
hostile, even while smiling and acting like she is pleased to see him.
She crosses to him, takes his hand and air kisses him dramatically on both cheeks before patting him on the shoulder as though
he is a puppy dog. Alexi leans in to accommodate her smaller height, eyes not meeting hers properly and he seems stiff and
completely blank. I can tell he has withdrawn well inside his head and mask and I hate seeing him his way. The whole thing
seems very fake and lacks any real affection and love. He’s playing the part of an obedient and adoring son, and she in no way
deserves the respect.
“Mother. You look stunning as always.” Alexi kisses her properly on one cheek and she stands like a statue, almost as though
she is enduring his tenderness rather than enjoying it and I instantly hate her more. Despising the very presence of the cow.
Dismissing him as if he’s worthless, like his love is something to pass off, and I swallow down a verbal remark, biting hard on my
lip before it shoots out. Anger rearing its ugly head like a volcano about to blow its lava pit.
She has his coldness in droves, his controlled manner and standoffish demeanour when you don’t know him very well. I can see
exactly where his traits come from so it’s even more mind-boggling to know she rejected him because of most of them. I guess
Alexi didn’t fall far from the tree, and she hated having an image of her to point out all her flaws in such a visual way. She
rejected him so people wouldn’t see through her own mask of hiding so many imperfections. Too much in her image to pass off
as a troubled child, so she kept him away from her so no one would make the connection.
Prick.

“Mother, I would like to introduce you to someone important to me. This is Camilla.” Alexi nods towards me, his face instantly
softening when we lock eyes and the adoration reappears to bring me into the fold. My temper simmers as I bask in that look that
is only for me, and I step forward extending a practised hand with a fake, overly friendly smile and adopt my most alluring tone. I
was always good at pretend play, and I can wear it like a second skin.
“Pleasure.” I hold it out mid-air and she just eyeballs it like it’s a dirty rag and I’m somehow offending her by brandishing it her
way. Her focus sweeping my sharp acrylic talons painted in harlot red, and I can almost see the distaste rising in her throat. Her
eyes narrow, she swallows hard and I get nothing but a cool glare.
“What happened to the last girlfriend? She was ... sweet.” She motions my way with a hand flick but doesn’t look at me directly,
turning accusingly to her son with a scowl. Her tone polite, scathing with her words and I baulk at just how rude she is. Ignorant
as fuck, and who brings up the last girl when in the presence of a current one.
Jesus Christ!!
Seriously, I already want to stab her in the eyes with my nails.
She has me fuming as my blood bubbles in my veins and heat rises to my cheeks to signal my fury. Taken aback by the
question, I just hold myself up and gawp stupendously. Alexi’s face drops to that familiar sadistic scowl that makes his brows
almost meet in the middle and his eyelids lower on those glinting eyes.
“Jesus Christ, Mother. Clearly not with me.” Alexi hesitates from adding more to that sentence, curbing the tremor of temper I see
flick across his face as he tries not to react the way I know he normally would. Those eyes darkening and that tense muscle in
his jaw becomes prominent once more.
“Again ... Camilla, my significant other. It would be nice if you said hello,” he says through gritted teeth with a snarl hiding in the
depths of his tone. Swirling with rage and trying to grip onto a modicum of calm out of respect and misplaced love for this cranky
woman. I can see why he avoids coming here.
I remain unmoved, face a mask of amusement as though she made some vague joke and I continue smiling warmly, hand still in
goddamn mid-air. I refuse to back down and be scorned by this half pint with shit fashion sense and a lame manicure.
He ushers her towards me briskly, obviously annoyed, by placing a hand on her back, and as her eyes sweep over me that face
tightens to hide her reaction to me completely—very Alexi-esque. Seems closing down and hiding everything from the world is a
learned trait or one passed down in his DNA, anyway.

Her gaze settles on my hair first, eyebrow twitching in distaste, and then my dress and shoes in a very slow dissection as she
mentally sums up my character on first impressions. Her eyes are all that betrays her disapproval, and she again ignores my
gesture and crosses her arms neatly across her abdomen to make it clear she ́s not going to accept a handshake. I drop it, try
not to seethe out some cuss words in her face and just give her that knowing bitchy look.
I see you for what you are.
I can almost taste how much she dislikes me.
“Lovely to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you.”
All bloody awful!
I purr, not intimidated at all and flick away my hand boldly, not letting her ice me out and try to humiliate me. Alexi was right. She
has met her match in me, and she has no idea what kind of pussycat she is dealing with. I’m way more feral than some purring
little lap friend. I will claw her goddamn eyes out of her skull. My hackles are rising, my spine stiffening and that cold edge to my
tone moved right on in of its own accord.
Her eyes widen as I speak, this time clearly taking real note of my accent and that little head cock before she flashes a dark look
at Alexi and mutters something in Italian for his ears only. Judging by the tone, I don’t think it’s a compliment.
Alexi’s face goes from calm control to an instant growling frown, a flush of colour on his cheekbones, signalling insta-rage, jaw
tightening in one swift move. His whole posture instantly goes rigid and he seems to grow an inch taller.
“She’s English and so fucking what?” He snaps at her and earns himself a haughty reply, yet again in Italian which only seems to
make him worse. She almost hisses at him and he turns to her to lock those soulless eyes dead on her, no hint of backing down
at all. She stands tall to meet his superior height and raises her voice, something foreign that I totally miss but it sounds like a
put-down.
It seems to momentarily put him in his place, and he looks away from the bitch to across the hall, grinding his teeth, flexing those
jaw muscles and looking mighty pissed to boot. I wonder what she said to him, or what disappointment in him she threw his way
to wound him. I can see my little lost boy peeking out and I’ll bet your bottom dollar she just reminded him how awful a son he
has been all these years.
I tremble with a fury coming from so low down I swear it seems to come from the depths of hell and filters up my body, dragging
a burning heat that could melt steel. Face tightening and hands balling into fists. She has no idea how protective of him I am, and

she is pushing all my psycho buttons.
I stay very still and act like I have no idea what’s going on. I want to explode at her and spray her with all that comes with it. This
is going so much worse than I thought it would.
“I was actually born in Texas, so not British through and through.” I jest lightly, scrambling for something to say as I try to bring
Alexi’s eyes back to me, sounding sickly sweet and trying to dismiss the hostility to regain control for him.
She turns on me, all hoity-toity and superior, and hits me with that matronly foul look that scary mothers can pull off when kids
misbehave.
I waiver under the woman’s dark scrutiny, so like my mother’s from way back and beyond, and hate that it affects me. She just
mumbles something else completely incoherent to me while poking me dead in the eye with her gaze.
Alexi lets out a weird little laugh, oozing hostility and sarcasm, and I can almost count down the seconds to the explosion. I can
sense it building in him, and whatever she is saying he isn’t playing nice as she expects him to. She’s pushing his buttons with
whatever she said, and we should all just leave him alone now. It’s that snarly sadistic chuckle that signals ‘I’m going to fuck you
up’.
“She doesn’t speak Italian so at least have the backbone to speak English, so she knows what insults you’re throwing around
about her! And for the record, you don’t know shit about her so how about you shut the fuck up and leave her alone.” He loses
his temper completely, that snap and brusque tone making both me and her flinch simultaneously.
He knows he’s losing his control and I see him physically repent, turning to storm off away from her and towards the drinks
cabinet in the corner off to the left. He knows he needs to reel in his shit and he’s searching for alcohol to take the edge off his
spiralling temper. Chastising himself for disrespecting this awful woman.
I follow him feebly to get the hell away from this rude arsehole before I say something I regret and agree a drink would be good
about now. I walk at a pace to match his and try to edge his way before she follows at speed.
I literally will her to go the fuck away before he really snaps, and I have to deal with the fallout. Alexi in a bad mood is headache
worthy.
“How dare you speak to me like that Alessandro; I’m your mother and you will not behave in such a manner under my roof. Show
me some goddamn respect! I raised you better than this!” She matches his tone and level perfectly and for a second, I can see

exactly where that temper and intimidating, growly, husky tone comes from. Alexi may look like his father but that cold side and
sadistic bastard personality is all her. It runs deep as hell.
The woman is clearly a narcissist on some level and Alexi was the child she singled out to blame his entire life.
Who is she trying to kid when she talks about raising him?
He seems to try his best to ignore her, pouring liquor from the first glass bottle into a tumbler and nods to me offering one. I
shake my head, despite wanting one, as I know I might just let rip if I have a drink right now.
“How about you stop insulting my wife and we won’t have a fucking problem.” He throws a look over his shoulder at her, yelling it
loudly, straight at her face, and even as the words leave his mouth, I see the instant regret in his eyes. Impulsive words that he
didn’t want to come out this way.
The horror in my belly that he just blurted it out like that, while she’s on an anti-Camilla rampage, and well, the absolutely
mortified expression on her face seals my fate.
It’s like a lead balloon being dropped on a glass floor in a silent room. The gasp from her and the shocked wide-eyed
‘Alessandro!’ before he clicks what he just said and throws me a little look of ‘shit’. It wasn’t what he wanted, and now it’s just
fuelled the hatred she has brewed for this wicked jezebel standing in her hall. I have defiled her son's good name just by being
linked to him. Hell, she probably thinks the name Carrero is now cursed, used goods for all time.
“Your what?!?!?” she erupts loudly so it echoes in this vast room; losing her cool, she storms at him to grab his elbow and yanks
him to look at her. She hasn’t got the strength to really move him but the spew of toxic Italian that follows her manoeuvre gets
him spinning on her of his own volition. I step back against a nearby couch to steady myself, legs turning to jelly with this turn for
the worst and I try to inhale slowly to keep my cool.
‘My wife! Yes, Mama, I married her ... in Vegas. It’s a done deal, so say hi to your new daughter-in-law.’ Alexi has given up trying
to keep his shit together, and the appearance of that cold and terrifying persona that sends shivers through me snarls the words
her way. She doesn’t even blink an eye, instead, she also takes on that weird evil glare, the insanely intimidating stance of
someone rallying themselves for a fight.
“I’m disgusted that you would cheapen our family name by marrying a common slut on a whim, most likely high on drugs and
booze while pissing your life away. You never change! You just drag us down in any way you can, and now you have outdone
yourself!”

There is real hatred in her tone and despite his anger and furious expression, I catch the hurt in his eyes. The tiny bite of her
words and the dip of his brow as he swallows what must be a familiar statement thrown at him.
“Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t know her or anything about how we are together. I won’t let you talk about her like that. I didn’t
come here for your approval. I came to tell my father, and I would appreciate if you let me do that. We can leave and forego your
cosy lunch if you prefer. I don’t give a shit. I came to see him, not you, and now you know.” Alexi is simmering all his rage, trying
to control it, and I can practically see the haze of fiery heat emanating from his poised and stiff stance. She squares up to him,
completely unfazed by the hulking great mass of aggressive testosterone in front of her, and I wonder if she really is oblivious to
the fact, he kills men with his bare hands. I wouldn’t be so quick to get all up in his face if I were her, especially not bad-mouthing
me to shit. He has killed for me. I swallow loudly, gripping the chair in sheer terror as anxiety spreads through my limbs, rooting
me to the spot, and I forget to breathe.
“How could you do this? I can see what she is. A gold-digging whore with a fake accent and a tight grip on your bank balance.
Look at her. Where did you find her? A strip club, Alessandro? She is common and obviously used to wrapping men around her
finger for all she can get. How could you be so stupid? You are not a naïve boy, why would you lower yourself to marrying
someone so unworthy? A woman of the night, painted red for the world to see.” That nasty toxic tone dissolves into pathetic
crocodile tears as she pulls on the victim act, and I can see exactly what she is doing. Turning the tables on him because her
anger isn’t getting her the result she wants from him. I know this act all too well because I’m fucking epic at it and can manipulate
on a whim. She’s doing exactly that, ripping out his feet from under him to reduce him to a remorseful mess.
Alexi’s temper dies a death and the look of shame and guilt sweeps over him instantly.
I guess I know where he gets his ability to manipulate people from too.
I can imagine what kind of mother she was to this little boy growing up. A viper tongue with a million insults for a child she could
not control, and then the heavy emotional blackmail and accusations when she couldn’t get him to toe the line. He rebelled, he
played up and chose his own way in the world and no doubt met this wrath with every step he took. Either by viciousness or
tears, she manipulated him and made him feel worthless, just as she is doing now.
That’s enough for me. And I can’t take this anymore. Something inside of me snaps at the sight of her trying to reduce him to this
mess. I won’t let some bitch twist my Lexi’s head and heart this way.
He’s mine now and you do not fucking hurt him in any way!

“Actually, it was a gutter downtown after a bunch of thugs beat me up for a drug debt I bumped. I’m an ex-hooker, luv, and I
fucked men for money, not married them. I had my own little operation going before this one bailed me out of the shit storm and
gave me a job in his sex club. Saved my arse and well, I fell for him hook line and sinker. As for the accent, it’s genuine, sort of.
I’m a Londoner, but yeah, common as they come, and grew up begging for scraps and screwing men from a very young age.
You were close though, so half a gold star for that. As for his bank balance, well, I don’t really need it considering he gave me the
club, and it turns over a nice little profit with all the rich suits who come to cheat on their wives from your neck of the woods. Oh,
I’ve met your husband, by the way, he seemed nice when he popped in.” I raise a catty brow, tone dripping with disdain as I pull
myself up and lift that defiant chin, fixing a blue hostile glare right on her face. I watch her go from rosy fake despair to ghost
white, shocked stupid, and then the beetroot puce of filthy rage in the space of thirty seconds flat.
Hand on my hip and a cocky smirk on my face as I count the seconds it takes for her head to explode. If she is anything like her
son, then it won’t be long, and I smirk as I relax into an obvious ‘fuck you’ pose. Alexi turns and looks at me, mouth slightly
agape because I obviously cut him off before another snarling rant, and shocked that I just said what I said to his mother, of all
people. I throw him an apologetic ‘she made me do it’ shrug and try for a smile to meet his stone-faced expression.
If I can handle him, then I sure as hell can handle her, stuck-up psycho bitchface.
“What the ...? Oh, my God. That’s ...” She stammers with so much seething anger she can’t get the words out, stuttering,
forgetting she was whimpering and trying to guilt him into submission, and then lets rip. Broken Italian follows in a great gush of
words aimed his way as she rants and stomps in a circle waving her hands and arms in the air in an overly dramatic gesture. A
whoosh of incoherence.
Alexi just turns and downs another drink as though he doesn’t know what else to do, face completely deadpan, and he seems to
just shut up shop and go on an instant vacation.
That’s not a good sign. He’s trying to control whatever is about to burst out of him.
I don’t know if he too is about to go nuclear because my mouth and I just can’t help themselves, or whether he is wishing he
would just fall down a very deep hole in the next three seconds. Either way, Alexi is also brimming on an all-out explosion and
I’m not one hundred percent sure which of us it will be aimed at. He closes up tight, like that little dark enigma he can be, and we
get nothing at all of what he is feeling now as he manically starts downing shots. It’s a weighty, sudden pause where all the
oxygen is sucked out of the room and I instantly feel faint. The crackle of tension electrifies the room, and it becomes so heavy
the atmosphere begins to crush me.

If she is the one he gets his worst side from, then being stuck in the middle of two of the them in this kind of epic outburst is not
my idea of a great place to hang out. The fallout might kill me accidentally.
“You have to divorce her! I WILL NOT have this kind of filth in MY family. Do you hear me, Alessandro? I will not let you continue
to shame me in this way!! I have been through enough at your hands and I won’t allow this to continue. You dissolve this
marriage right now!” She screams it at his back, and he tenses so visibly I tense too and hold my breath as I wait for the first
strike of Armageddon to befall this room. I don’t know if it’s static in the air from all the friction or Alexi himself that makes the
sizzling noise, but an overcharged current seems to zap me, and I shiver with it. Recoiling inside myself too.
I don’t know what to do beyond my smart-mouthed retort and I am now literally at a loss. Trembling in my shoes and watching
him like a hawk, knowing that some form of retaliation will come once he stops downing straight vodka. He downs another and I
pray internally. Really worried that he is verging on some sort of self-combustion.
“No, he will not!” The loud commanding bark makes me and her jump a mile high in unison as a tall, familiar figure storms in and
slams the front door shut behind him. The noise echoing harshly in the hall and travels towards us, probably alerting the entire
household of drama. A look of complete rage crossing that normally peaceful face, and Alexi’s father storms through to this room
and towers over his wife as he glares her back into submission. She completely crumbles into a small, feeble act as though he
somehow didn’t catch her being an utter prize bitch. It’s clear who wears the trousers in this relationship.
“Our son has chosen a wife, a woman he loves, who is willing to love him unconditionally. I was rooting for them for months and
this is how you treat our daughter-in-law on the first meeting? If anyone should be ashamed, it is I with the conduct of my wife.
Go upstairs and bring some sense to yourself, woman! I won’t have this anymore.” It’s a thundering, humiliating command and
now I’m over here wondering if Alexi really had any chance at all. Commander and chief and scary as shit side clearly came from
Daddy, and cold, cruel and sadistic arsehole came from Mummy. He really had zero chance of doing well in the lucky dip gene
pool when added to the ADHD thing.
He is one hundred and fifty percent the product of his parents, and as he finally seems to come back into the battle with a look
that tells me nothing much at all, his mother whimpers that pathetic snivelling drivel once more. I guess the little broken girl act is
meant to make her menfolk back off and mollycoddle her. It’s actually quite pathetic, and I can see why tears had no effect on
him that time I was breaking my heart at his feet. She uses them as much as she uses her coldness and made him immune.