The Carrero Contract - Selling Your Soul (Mafia Romance) novel Chapter 91

‘When you put it like that.’ I cross my arms as though I have every intention of standing here all day and he sighs, moving off the frame and pulls the door with him with a look of ‘Okay then.’

‘Knock when you want in. I’m busy.’ He makes a move to shut the door and I gawp in disbelief, angered at his arseholeness, and then lose my stubborn immediately as it gets dangerously close to being shut and lightning claps the sky overhead. A spark of intense light and head snapping crack above me that makes me yelp out. Heart attack imminent as rain follows in a sudden flash downpour.

‘Wait!’ I half squeak half yell it at him as I make a dash forward, forgetting all resistance and run for safety, ducking down as though I may be struck at a distance by that bolt of scary in the sky and getting sodden for my efforts. I hate that he made me fold, well the weather did, and as the door swings open slowly again to accommodate me getting in beside him this time, I see that smug face of the player I know and despise.

‘You’re a wanker,’ I retort at him, stomping up the stairs and waltz past him haughtily. Refusing to look him in the eye as I get in the door and shake the water from my thin jacket automatically. I hadn’t bargained on bad weather, so I am wearing the thinnest of summer jackets that’s taken the brunt of it.

‘So you keep telling me.’ He follows me into the dark club, dim after the bright daylight outside, and I skirt ahead trying to get my eyes to adjust before he gets too close. Stepping down the low stairs to the sunken floor of the centre of the bar, onto the plush carpeting which makes my feet sink into it deliciously. I look around, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dullness.

I notice immediately that things seem different somehow. I can’t quite put my finger on it at a glance, but there’s definitely enough of a change to make my hackles rise and my eyes start scouring walls, chairs and the bar to try and see what it is that’s making me pause. The initial overwhelming feeling at being back in my space, my first real home, is short-lived as gut instinct takes over and pushes me to start inspecting protectively. This was my palace and something is off.

So many conflicting emotions at being back here and it hits me with a soft pain in the chest just how much I missed this place. A sob catching in my throat at all that is around me, screaming at me to come home. I have to steady my trembling hands against my flat stomach, and for once, something other than Alexi affects me on every level. My club has more presence for me right now than he does, and I am distressed with a feeling that it’s somehow suffering and calling to me. I feel like the long-lost child who has finally come back into the arms of its mother. Well, not my mother, she was batshit crazy … Mother club.

The room is still dark and glossy with the same seating and general outlay, but the walls don’t seem right. The colour seems brighter in the lack of overhead lighting, and in fact, the lack of light makes me look up to see why it is so dim in here. There’s a weird fogginess to the room which kills the cosy atmosphere I spent hours creating.

‘What is that?’ I point up at the ugly globe light thing in the place of the crystal chandelier I hand-picked for this room as I cross the marble floor and fix my eyes to the distasteful intruder. It’s barely enough to see where you are walking, let alone light this room. It also looks ridiculous in this décor and minute on such a vast ceiling that demands grandeur and opulence. It’s like a scar on the dark paintwork.

‘We had a flood from the new sprinkler system, and had to change out some fixtures and fittings, repaint the walls. There was a lot of cosmetic damage that took a few weeks to put right again.’ Alexi offers in way of answer.

That’s it! The walls are a different shade, even in this light I can tell and that thing over my head is dreadful and out of place. The reason it feels like my club is different is because it’s a pale comparison to what I built. It’s been repaired, replicated, yet somehow not. They changed things, made it look thrown together and cheap and it smarts like a bugger. My heart wounded stupidly.

‘You picked that?’ I point up at it and Alexi looks up too, shrugging as he scans the fixture and looks back at me as though he doesn’t understand my obsession with a light fixture.

I was the one who poured over the finer details, not him. He never understood my OCD when it came to finding the right things to go in these rooms, or my inability to settle for a compromise in décor choices. He left me in charge for that very reason.

‘I left it all to Joanne. I wasn’t here.’ He answers in complete disinterest, unable to see what’s wrong with this picture. Annoying me immensely and setting my teeth on edge.

No wonder his stupid club is failing, if they ignore what makes it high class and appealing and replace things with inferior alternatives which kill the ambience.

I stop my pacing as something else catches my eye, halting in outrage impulsively, as Alexi walks right into the back of me with a thud that makes me yelp. Colliding ungracefully and hurting my arse and shoulder as his hard figure hits me with minor assault.

‘Sorry … Don’t stop suddenly.’ He snaps accusingly, throws me a shady look and moves to my side; I just turn on him, anger simmering from the depths of somewhere and square up to him furiously. Not caring about how close he is or that he did, in fact, move from behind me without being asked — I have more important issues to pick with him.

That bitch took down the club name from the fucking wall. The name I picked and had made into a large ornate gold-carved oval which used to have pride of place in the centre of the bar wall. It’s gone and some disgusting modern art of people fucking hangs in its place. It’s putrid!

‘Let me get this straight … you let that classless Walmart reject make décor decisions on your million-dollar night club because … you were busy? You let HER take control of important decisions which affect the look and feel of your high-class gentleman’s club? Then you have the nerve to act like it’s nothing!’ I almost spell it out at him, the venom evident in my voice, anger bubbling in my veins at high temperature levels and I can barely contain the shaking inside of me. He just blinks at me as though I have lost the plot.

This club was my sweat and soul and Alexi spent as much time as me pouring over details for the high-class finish he wanted. It took weeks of one-on-one conversation, magazines, design boards and endless shopping trips where I maxed out his credit cards.

He means to tell me that when it needed repairs, he let that trailer park tramp pick out this crap from a dollar mart catalogue, because he just didn’t have the time to care?

I think I may just flip my shit.

‘I was busy. I have more important things to do in my week than deal with this.’ He looks completely unfazed and indifferent. I blanch at his unacceptable answer and frown furiously. Heart beating hard as my temper soars and I try to take steady calming breaths to control the fiery pit threatening to consume me.

Oh my fucking God, he makes my blood boil.