The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 183

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.