The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 89

I push through the door of the diner exactly three and a half minutes late due to the fact my train was delayed, and I then had to run to get here in half the time. I’m out of breath, lungs on fire and sweating like crazy, not just from exertion, but that damn flu has overtaken with a vengeance. My emotional state is fragile to say the least and I am running on empty.

I can’t stop sneezing, my nose is pouring and I have a throat like razor blades, walking around with that awful cotton wool head. On top of that I have a killer headache from my face and I just feel like death warmed up.

I got maybe an hour and forty minutes of sleep before my alarm went off and I had to drag my sorry arse back up. Judging by the still hot, half-drunk takeaway coffee sat on my counter, Mico and Alexi must have left not long before I woke.

It was a surreal feeling to get up to an organised room and new shiny locks and bolts on every possible avenue into the apartment. I must have passed out pretty quickly too. I woke up to my bedroom door sitting open with its own shiny lock inside and the room around me a little less chaotic. Someone had even fixed my bedclothes and pulled an extra blanket from my chair to place over the ones I had over me in the frosty room. I am guessing Mico. Although something in my gut reminded me of the times Alexi did that exact thing in the club apartment and I brush it aside.

I hate him and he hates me.

That’s the end of that story!

I had to leave my spare uniform to soak in the sink this morning as I forgot to do it last night, and then got pissed when I opened my front door to find an undeniable Carrero security guard sat on a chair outside; black-suited and booted and reading a newspaper as though this was a normal daily occurrence.

I almost had an epic rage-fuelled meltdown that he left me a bloody bouncer to watch over me. Typical god damn Alexi! Although, he did have fresh coffee and hot croissants for me, and offered me a lift to work, which I refused. I sent him packing back to his kingpin and told him that if he bothers me with his henchmen again, I will just move and change my name.

I hope he gets the message. I don’t need this today.

Pressuring me and reminding me of what it’s like to be back in the fold of Carrero. I’m not an idiot. I know what he’s doing.

‘You’re late!!’ Joe is on my arse as soon as he gets a whiff of my appearance through the door and then gawps in horror when he catches sight of me.

Way to boost my confidence!

‘What the fuck? You can’t work looking like that! You look horrendous!’ He rages at me, eyes bulging out of his veiny forehead. As though getting roughed up is somehow my fault and I curb the urge to promptly stick my fingers up at him.

‘Doesn’t stop Lorraine coming in every day,’ I answer tartly and get a snarl from her in the corner as she wipes down a table. I throw her a catty wink and give zero shits that she’s offended. I know the bitch hates on me at every opportunity and there is no love lost between us. I pick up her slack constantly.

‘Funny! Get your ass over here. You can work in the kitchen with me instead and Lacey can serve. I am not having you on the floor looking that shit.’

Lacey being his wife who spends most of her time filing her nails while sat on her arse in the office, so I don’t see that happening. The kitchen is about the size of a postage stamp so if he has ideas of a cosy afternoon stuck in Sweats Ville with him, he has another thing coming. It’s a retro diner in the smallest space ever and his kitchen constantly stinks of Joe’s sweat and fried foods.

No thank you!

‘A sore face doesn’t mean I am incapable of carrying trays. Get over it; I’ll chuck some concealer on. It looks worse than it is.’ I sigh and throw my hands on my hips in a bid to stand my ground. I may not feel the part today but I won’t let him push me around. I had enough of that from Alexi. He has certainly woken Camilla up for sure, and she is rearing a tired head.

‘You will do as you are told and work in here. I won’t have my customers made uncomfortable by the mess of your face.’

‘Is the issue that I’m not fuckable today? Or do your customers keep their women tied to the kitchen sink when they have gotten out of line and required a smack? Afraid of the backlash? Looking bad to your men folk?’ I sass at him, tongue operating without thought and for once, I don’t care. She has kept silent long enough in this hellhole. My temper is very frail and easy to rile this morning.

‘Shut up and get over here,’ Joe snaps at me, and despite the urge to tell him to go fuck himself I obediently do as I am told. I am more than aware of my financial situation and I should keep that at the forefront of my mind today, even if the urge is to stab him in the face. I just need to keep my mouth shut and get this shift over with, so I can at least use today’s tips to get home and back tomorrow.

My phone vibrates in my bag as I walk to the kitchen to dump it and my jacket on the staff hangers and glance at it quickly as I hang my things up. It’s Mico. And despite myself, I smile and open the message.

‘Still know how to rile him. You never change. M X’

I guess their security took my message back to his boss already and Alexi is having himself a little temper tantrum. I can’t help but feel a little smug, a grin spreading over my face with major satisfaction at the thought of it, and I giggle to myself. I can still piss him off with minimum effort and it feels good.

I reply quickly, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Joe doesn’t catch me texting on the clock and send Mico my response.

‘Alexi still knows how to be a controlling arsehole. I’m not the one who needs to change. X’

I feel satisfied with that reply and bury my phone back in my cheap handbag and leave it on silent. Despite the sore face and impending death from the lurgy, I have, it makes me feel a little chipper in my mood. Annoying Alexi is almost as good as finding a bonus in my pay cheque. It never gets old. He is too easy to trigger when you know how.

I throw on the apron hanging on the door that has probably not seen a washer in months and tie it on tightly; prepping myself for a gruelling day in the hell zone he calls a kitchen. I try and avoid this most days as it’s hotter than hell, greasy and smoky and has the added insult of banging against Joe every time he moves. No doubt I will be posted on dishwasher duty or vegetable chopper but it’s better than being sent home and losing a day’s pay.

God knows I need the money now, more than ever.