The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance)

Chapter 1: 1

I turn in the uncomfortable, hard bed pulling the sheets up over the itchy hospital gown and try not to wince with every single pain that runs through my body. Even with the number of drugs they have pumped into me, it’s no picnic having broken ribs and a body that looks like it lost a fight with a train. I’m in agony and barely able to take a breath without the aching, burning shuddering waves, of a good old-fashioned beating.

Tyler and his men are animals and I hate to think where I would be if Sophie had left me to them; what was inevitably my last night on Earth if they had their way. The girl didn’t owe me a damn thing, but she saved my bacon, and now I will be eternally grateful to her even if we never see one another again.

I’m woozy, waking with the throbbing of pain after a fitful few hours dozing in and out of sleep. I feel like I have been here days already, even though I know the reality is, it’s only been half a day.

Sophie is probably long gone with her boyfriend and my name banished for all eternity for getting her caught up in my mess. Owing drug dealers a lot of money and not having the means to pay for it, is not something everyday girls want to deal with. Getting kidnapped off the street by thugs and threatened with imminent death will be a second to that.

I am just lucky she had a rich boyfriend who is related to New York’s biggest gangster; Alexi Carrero, and now, I guess I owe him my debt.

A shadow in the corner of my room startles me out of the last ounces of sleep as I jump in fright, my heart racing and plummeting into instant trembles, to see what looks like a man standing by my window near the door. It’s hard to make out properly with one eye swollen shut and the other barely able to focus in the darkness. The moonlit sky outside is illuminating him from behind so that to me, all I get is a sinister silhouette of a very large male, who is more than a little intimidating.

Standing tall and broad, taking up the small space with an aura of authority, and yet he is so very eerily still, staring at me silently; it’s almost like he’s a statue.

‘‘I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Walters.’’ The smooth tone of a man in complete control, husky with a hint of an accent that isn’t quite New York. Foreign maybe, and so slight it’s only there in the odd little word, almost smothered out by a more upper-class City dialect. It’s as though he’s spent years here but maybe wasn’t born here.

Accents are kind of my thing, seeing as my own very upper crust London one stands out a mile when surrounded by tough New Yorkers. I made sure over the years that it never faded, and I avoided taking on American slang to avoid it.

My heart immediately shudders at where I’ve heard that specific accent before, at who this must be, and I blink as I try to make out his form a little more. Reaching for the lamp beside my bed and struggling to find where the nurse pushed the damn button control when she settled me for the night. I clear my throat nervously, heart hammering away in my chest, and struggle to try and sit, making a complete mess of doing so while wriggling about in the most excruciating manner. It’s painful as hell and my poor bones feel like I am putting them through a rigorous ordeal.

‘‘Please … don’t move on my account. I only came to see that you were being cared for. We can talk another time when you are recovered.’’ He moves away from the window, and I catch more of him in the light, confirming exactly who this is. I would recognise that physique and profile anywhere, after seeing him out there walking through his minions and Tyler’s men like the Kingpin of New York.

He isn’t someone you would ever forget in a hurry.

Alexi Carrero himself towers by the end of my bed and turns to me for a moment, stealth like a panther, so fluid and graceful in his movements. My breath halting in my lungs as my body shivers apprehensively; he just oozes danger and command so effortlessly that I can almost feel it in the room around me. This is a man I know I should be very afraid of, and I am.

Physically recoiling back into my sheets involuntarily as he moves a tad closer, my heart elevates and my breath hitches in nervousness. My whole body turns clammy.

‘‘I … I … Wasn’t expecting anyone in here so late.’’ I struggle to get the words out, sounding raspy and hoarse, my throat burning with the effort after spending my first hour here throwing up blood and phlegm while they tried to assess the damage to my body. It’s not exactly my crowning moment and you really do not want to be in this sort of state while meeting an Adonis who just saved your life.

‘‘I was passing by, checking in to see that all is being taken care of. Your bills will be coming to me and upon your release, we shall talk. We have some arrangements to discuss concerning our new relationship.’’ He is smooth and calm, almost like he’s amused, but not being able to see his face is making this whole thing utterly terrifying. He has the air of sinister alright, that vibe of someone who will put a bullet in your head as fast as look at you, and I am not sure I want to be left alone with him. He’s unnerving in a very intense way for someone not actually doing anything.

Not much makes me this nervous in life; I came from the streets, I lived through hell and have met my fair share of cruel and evil men, but this one is like meeting the devil himself. He is doing nothing purposely or outwardly to make me afraid of him, but the atmosphere is sizzling with something that tells me this Carrero has a darkness inside of him that could block out the sun. Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

Men of real power never need to state it or make it clear in any obvious way, it’s just there, like an aura and anyone who meets them does not have to question its legitimacy.

Alexi is one of those men—who wear command like a shroud about their person.

‘’My debt … came to you I presume? ’’ The words cut like glass in my aching throat, even though I should be grateful I am not at the bottom of the river right now, and for having him swoop in and save me from certain death at Tyler’s hands. I owe him fifty grand because of that stupid whore taking off

with everything I had, trusting the wrong mousy little bitch and letting myself get distracted, but Alexi Carrero has a reputation that precedes him in the underworld.

He’s the stuff nightmares are made of, and I literally just became something he owns. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Head of his mafia family, operating under the guise of businessman, but anyone worth their weight in cocaine in this world knows that he’s the New York go to man if you want to conduct any business in this city at all. Without his blessing and greasing of palms you may as well get out of Dodge.

He swooped in and saved my bacon from mere street runners, and now I owe the main man himself my life on a fucking platter. It couldn't get any worse than that. He is not someone who needs to beat women half to death to chase up a drug debt; he is someone who will just drop you in the ocean, wearing metal boots, for not paying up in time and not even break a sweat over it.

I am a family favour, Alexi’s new problem.

Well done Camilla … did yourself a right good turn with this stupid fuck up. What the hell is he going to do with an ex-hooker who pushes drugs and sex for a living, and currently has nothing but the dirty clothes they took from me to her name? I have no value to a millionaire crook that has a whole city at his fingertips. Fifty grand is not easy to earn when your skills mean nothing to a man like him.

‘’My cousin offered to clear it on your behalf … fifty G. I refused, on account of the fact you won’t learn anything if people sweep in and fix all your mistakes so easily, and I am a huge believer in personal growth. Sophie is someone I care about, and I will honour that affection by taking you on. Don’t get me wrong, Miss Walters, you will pay off the debt and I aim to make you work for it. I have plans for someone with your entrepreneurial skill set.’’ He sounds almost smug, self-assured, and I really wish I could at least see his face.

This is complete torture, and my heart is pounding through my chest in a bid to escape my rib cage. I'm almost faint, not just from my physical discomfort either and I do not think I am going to like this guy or this deal. Gut instinct inkling at it.

‘‘What skill set exactly do you think I have?’’ I almost whisper it, showing my nervousness plainly, realising I am breaking all my own rules in how to deal with men and their intimidation acts. The thing is, this one is no act and I have no desire to push any sort of power angle right now. I am literally at his mercy for my own survival.

‘‘You are known for your ability to connect girls, parties, and product. You have a reputation as the go- to girl for anyone who has tastes and money to burn on fun; a name that had even reached my ears. I have a club in need of that kind of input and now I have you, it appears I was played a profitable hand.’’

I’m not sure I like the way he keeps referring to me as his property, even if he does own my soul for debt. I also hate that when he talks it’s completely controlled and steady as though discussing the weather and not a sordid plan of my future. It’s completely unnerving me.

‘‘You want your club to operate the same way my little outfit did?’’ I would laugh if it wasn’t so damn ridiculous, but I can tell he isn’t joking. He’s clever in a wolf-like kind of way and I can see the angle he hopes to play and what advantage he has in this, but I have never run a club or know anything about bars or booze sales. He’s insane if he thinks he can make me work off that much money in some sleazy strip bar. My blood runs cold at the thought of what exactly this offer will entail.

I don’t do sex for money anymore and I won’t go back to that means of survival at any cost. I would rather go take my chances with the fish and concrete boots than be made to fuck for hire again.

‘‘I think your talents and allure will give my club the edge and class I have been looking for, while still operating to my clientele’s tastes. It’s an exclusive bar, closed door policy with memberships and you’ll

have accommodation above … I have an apartment on the top floor I rarely use, and it seems you need a home.’’ He’s annoyingly polite in his dialect, well-spoken and precise.

How the hell does he know so much about me? A few hours ago, I was not even on his radar and yet now he seems to know I have literally nowhere to live, on top of how I have been supporting myself for the last two years. I know better than to ask questions in this business and I can only assume he did his homework on me the second I became his baggage.

Men with money and means! It’s scary to know what a man with cash can dig up in no time at all.

‘’I need to try and collect my belongings from the place I skipped out on a few weeks back, I owe them money.’’