Chapter 151

Alexi, the sweet, grey-eyed, handsome boy in those pictures, did not deserve that at all. He was an
innocent little kid who had done nothing back then to be punished for. She should have loved him no
matter what. She should have pulled him closer because of his flaws and reassured him. He didn’t ask
to be different. It wasn’t his fault.

“She put you on this path, Gino is right. She maybe didn’t force you to follow your father, but all the
bricks were laid in the years leading up to it.” There’s a stern tone in my voice but he just takes my
hand in his and interlaces our fingers snugly, like he did last night.

“No, she didn’t. That night did. It showed me what I was capable of. I asked my father to take me under
his wing with his men. I wanted to be useful in a place my behaviours could be a gift rather than a
curse. I wanted to belong somewhere that she would never get involved. She didn’t push me there, it
was my choice, and he said no.”

Still trying to divert any kind of blame from her. He may not see it, but Alexi still craves her acceptance
even now. There’s a part of him still suffering from her lack of love towards him. I can see it all over
him. She made him believe that no woman would ever love him the way I do, and it coloured how he
treated me when I got close. No wonder he never trusted me. He was programmed to believe he was
unlovable. A sadistic monster abhorred by women.

“He loves you. He didn’t want you to follow in his footsteps at all, did he?”

Alexi shakes his head and sighs heavily while I stare in disbelief, learning his father never wanted this
for him. It doesn’t add up. His father named him as his successor; I know that much. How he got from
that to this is a mystery.

“He eventually bought that house in The Hamptons to keep me in the family fold after almost eighteen
months of my mother refusing to let me come home. Gino came too. I had a nanny and a housekeeper,
but I spent a year of my life living with my Uncle Giovanni and his family and some time in Sicily with



my Italian family. My father tried to keep me on the path like my cousins. Law-abiding, school, college,
business, family and kids. That was what he wanted for me. It was never this, even now I don’t think he
likes it, but he has to accept what is.”

“You didn’t want that? A normal life with normal things?”

I can’t imagine it to be honest. Alexi in an average job with a doting wife and children while following
the rules and going to church. His soul is too dark to be content with that get-up.

“No. I wanted to feel like I fitted in. I didn’t in the life he wanted for me. I was still a problem at every
turn, and I didn’t feel things the way I should. I had a serious violent streak, and after beating way too
many stupid kids at school he put me into professional fight training to expel some of it; he thought it
would exhaust my aggressive tendencies in a controlled way. My mother hated everything about me,
which only fueled my need to be aggressive. It’s how I release my emotions. When I’m sad, hurt, angry,
frustrated, I need a physical outlet in some way. I’m fucked up.”

Also explains his need to use women so frequently yet never let them get close to him. He used sex as
his way to blow off steam for all the emotions he can’t process properly. The same way I kept people at
a distance and was cold to everyone who grazed a little too close. The way I burned Sophie for making
me feel something for her. We’re not that different; he’s just a lot more physical than I am and a lot
more testosterone-fuelled and dominant.

I can work with that. Understanding him, how he ticks. I can find a way to stop it from happening
between us. His reactions every time I got under his skin, it was always cruel and physical, and he
seemed to go too far. Then he would stop. Try to undo a little of what he did, even if I couldn’t see it at
the time. Alexi reacted with actions and tried to wound those who wounded him. I was a threat and he
hurt me because I got to him. Yet he also regretted it; the signs were all there. All this has opened my
eyes and a lightbulb flickers on.



Physical exertion in different forms to handle different emotions. Logical ones. Sex for stress, sexual
cruelty for anger or pain. Violence for rage … it’s finally making sense.

There’s logic to him even if it’s not normal male logic, there is a pattern which means there’s a way to
live with him and work this out.

“A no-win situation then. So, let me guess. After a few years of your father still saying no, you found a
job and fucked off to the city to go it alone. Cutting yourself off from all of them and trying to figure out
who to be?” I answer for him, seeing how this might have panned out, and he shrugs then nods at me.

Oh, Alexi.

That fighter in him and stubborn streak a mile high. He punished his father for saying no in the only way
he knew how. Outright rebellion and isolation.

“I got a job in a factory near here, spent my weekends getting trashed with fellow workers and fucking
girls. I went to work, came home, slept, fucked and tried to forget the name Carrero.”

Sex replaced violence. Control became his obsession to make sure he stayed on a better path. His
control is all about policing himself by controlling his environment and those who come near him. He
needs to be in charge to feel sane. No surprises out of his planned outcomes. No wonder I can make
him crazy when all I did was rebel, stand up to him and do the opposite of what he wanted me to do.

A control freak to feel sane. It’s necessary for him.

I pushed him as much as he pushed me. We drove each other to the brink.

Alexi is a psychology goldmine. No wonder he has a shrink. I messed him up because he had no
control over me or what I was making him feel. I was the worst thing that walked into his life and he
was struggling to rein it in, while his gut told him to mistrust everything about me. After all, his mother



taught him that no woman would ever truly love someone like him, because of the things he does. She
ingrained this belief that he couldn’t trust women because no one could love a monster who kills for
those he cares about.

And not to mention my own little reputation and what he knew of me. Manipulating gold digger who
played men for money and screwed over my drug supplier.

We were the worst thing that could ever have collided, and our lack of honesty only made for a really
messy pairing. It was all games and deception while we both hid real feelings for each other and
broken hearts.

My head whirls with just how dented he truly is, that underneath that cool, calm exterior and persona of
a killer is a lost boy who just needed his mother to love him. She set him on his path and then took no
responsibility for how he turned out. Left him to go it alone, and he did. Getting so much more detached
from emotion and sense as he did so. She made him the way he was so I can thank her for all he did to
me in the past, for the mistrust and the cold heart he came at me with.

Fuck her.

“Your father came looking for you though, right?” I surmise, guessing the way this story is going. He
gave his dad no option but to take him on in the life Alexi wanted or continue to be estranged. His
father clearly adores him and couldn’t bear to let his son live like that. At least he had one parent who
loved the bones of him, flaws and all. Another reason he puts all his faith in his male family and
henchmen. No man has ever let him down the way his mother did. She set the mould for how and who
he trusted.

It all makes sense.

“Yup. He came looking, offered me a position in the lower ranks with his henchmen, knowing I wouldn’t
want favours because of being his son.”



I already know the rest of that story because it’s well distributed myth and folklore in the criminal
underworld.

He climbed the ranks of his family fast, because of how good he was at cruelty, violence and
emotionless decisions. He was made to be a leader and was his father’s right-hand man by the age of
twenty. Alexi took over from his father at twenty-four, the youngest head of any Mafia family in history.
His personality was almost engineered to be exactly what he is. Logic over emotion thinker, as long as
no British redhead fucks with his head, who could carry out what is necessary to keep the family strong
and safe. He pushes aside feeling when responsibility must come first. Alexi is the perfect soldier.

Snubbing out life, making the hard decisions and feeling little to no remorse when he must act upon the
worst of them.

“And now here you are,” I finish, making it clear I don’t need more details. I’m both enlightened and
heavy with the weight of so much knowledge in one go. I thought I knew what I was getting, and now I
see there is so much more to him than I could ever have predicted. It will take more than one night to
truly get to know and understand how he ticks, although in one conversation I feel like I have made a
huge breakthrough in understanding him.

He’s not what he seems. He’s so much more. Complex doesn’t seem like a strong enough word.

“Here I am, and here we are.” He smiles warmly at me, relieved at getting it all out, I guess. Once again
brushing back the hair that constantly falls over one eye on my face and I bask in the softness of his
touch. The proof that he can be a gentle lover and a caring man. The hints at something more in him.

Alexi needs nurturing to show more of this side, he has spent so long pushing it away as an
unnecessary part of his personality and now he is trying to reignite it for me. I don’t doubt there was a
time he was softer, gentler and much more tender with people he knew. That dead dog got to see that.



He hardened over the years, much as I did, but there’s hope. He’s choosing to let me in, and he
already trusts me. He did the hard part. Now I need to find the way too.

“You just wanted your place in the world, where who you are would not be a problem. You wanted to fit
in. I know how that goes. I know what that longing is like.”

I sympathise, knowing how deep it can go until it’s all that consumes you.

Looking for that place that feels like home.

“I excelled a little too well.”

That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.

“Your mother, does she still ostracise you?” I’m curious about how things stand with them now he is
master of their family crime business. Has he regained honour in her eyes now he is no longer an
unruly teen runaway? Does she see the respected businessman, or does she know about his dark
dealings?

Knowing him, she probably thinks he’s a banker.

“As long as on paper I’m respectable and play nice when I go home then I would say we have an
amicable relationship nowadays.”

That sounds strained. A loaded sentence for sure.

“So, you put on a good son mask and businessman of the year persona and avoid all talk of
henchmen, snapping necks, and arms deals?” I raise a brow at him and he just shrugs.

“That’s the norm for men in Italian Mafia families, London. Women don’t get involved. She wants to go
to church, do her charity bake sales and pillar of the community crap. As long as I don’t rock the boat in



which she sails then she plays adoring mother to her reformed son.”

Ugh. The thought of it makes me sick. She gets away with years of neglect and abuse and is treated
like a queen at the end of it. He’s still dancing to her tune, even after all these years and all he has
become.

I hate her!

“How can you be bothered with all the fakeness?”

There is enough dishonesty in his world. Home should be the place where it doesn’t live. Even I wanted
a place where I didn’t have to put on a show and lie all the time. I found that when I was in the club
apartment and it’s a necessary respite.

How he can stand to look at her is beyond me.

“I can’t, that’s why I rarely go home and fell in love with a girl who is nothing like that. I don’t want that
kind of relationship, like my parents. I never did. There are enough lies and deceit in this lifestyle, I
don’t want it between us anymore. I want something pure with you.”

I really want those words to be the truth.

“It’s hard to forget everything and take you at face value, you know that?” It’s not easy to go from a
lifetime of trusting no one to trust the one person who wounded you deeper than most. Even if he
makes it sound like a possibility within my grasp and something I might actually want.

“I know. If I could take it all back, I would. If I could shake the shit out of myself and realise what you
meant to me way back then, I swear, Cam, I would. I am sorry for the shit I did to you; it still eats at me
every time I look at you. You didn’t deserve any of it. I should never have hurt you, in any way.”



A lump catches in my throat, eyes blurring as tears threaten and I look away, not willing to let myself
get emotional over this. I have to be stronger. I don’t want to cry and turn this into a sob-fest.

“I thought you said this date involved Chinese food.” I deflect immediately, that pang of fear circling
whenever we move to us and can sense the way he looks at me. Appraising my expression.

He knows I’m moving away from getting too deep into conversation when it turns to us and he lets it go.
He doesn’t want me to run and I have no energy for doing that anytime soon. I feel that subtle exhale
from his body through to mine as he hides a sigh and I pretend not to notice.

“We have to call for a delivery, menus are in a drawer in the kitchen. We have till eight, then we’re
going out.”

“Why, where are we going? I have to be at the club for opening.” I point out, alarmed as I didn’t think
this would be anything other than dinner. I signed up to a date, and in my head, it was to end before
opening time.

“There’s a private movie theatre near here that plays old classics every night at eight. I figured it would
be something normal and date like to do. You wanted that after all.”

I did, but I thought we were doing dinner and then home. I get up sharply, pushing myself out of his lap,
standing to face him down accusingly, with hands on hips.

“What about the club?” I remind him. Something he seems to dismiss whenever it suits him.

“I already told Mico to get Joanne to cover for you tonight.”

Ugh. I shudder at him saying it. I hate it when he says that wenches name. I hate the reminder of what
he did with her and if I could physically peel her vile existence out of his mouth, I would. It just makes
me narkier.



“So, you planned to make this an all-night thing then, without giving me a choice? And using my pale
comparison to ruin my club without me pre-planning anything? I didn’t know this would be that kind of
date?” It’s spat with hostility even he can’t miss.

He knows how to ruin a mood, even if I was warming to him and seeing the possibilities.

I look him over angrily, annoyed at being coerced, realising that he’s been drinking since we got here,
and he brought enough booze to make driving home a no-go. Even Alexi doesn’t drive while drinking,
and I doubt he brought his bike to then abandon it. I can’t believe I never thought of this or noticed his
alcohol consumption.

Wanker walked me right into being stuck with him all night in a very inhospitable part of Little Italy with
no way of phoning anyone to get out of here, and no money for a cab. No wonder he made me leave
my bag behind.

Is there no end to how controlling he can be?

Just when I think I can trust him and have faith in the less devious side to him, he acts like a
manipulating wanker.

“You didn’t?” He looks amused, surprised that I’m shocked at this outcome and I lean back and glare at
him. Daggers and rockets all in one look. Proper rage moving in at being manoeuvred by someone who
claims he isn’t trying to do that anymore, and I stare him down.

“You said dinner. There’s no after plans to that. I’m not sleeping with you if that’s what you intended.
Sex is a no-go.” I point out bluntly, making it clear from the get-go that I won’t cross that boundary
anytime soon. If he planned a little romantic night here, then he can go fuck off and sleep up there
alone.



“We can share a bed without having sex. We don’t even have to get naked. Or if it matters that much to
you, I can sleep down here on the floor. I have a fold out for when Gino or Mico used to stay.”

“Or option three … I go home after food and you sleep here alone!”

I strop off towards the kitchenette with my glass for a refill and yank out drawers for a menu, inwardly
seething that he took liberties and decided what I was doing tonight while giving me no say in the
matter. I swear I’ll get a cab home if he keeps pushing his luck. I will thumb one down and get Jackson
to pay at the club door if I have to. I walked right into another Alexi dictated plan and stupidly thought
he would be different.

Fucking control freak!

Alexi saunters up beside me, casually pulling a drawer open I hadn’t got to yet, slides out a pile of take-
out menus and lays them in front of me quietly. I can feel his eyes on the side of my face and make a
good show of ignoring him.

“You’re sexy when you’re pissed at me.” He has that whole husky, seductive tone going on and I grit my
teeth and get angrier. I know what he is doing and it won’t work. I’m madder than hell and no Carrero
charm will fix that.

“Well, I must exude twenty-four-hour seduction then, seeing as that’s how often you make me pissed at
you. You are quite the expert in angering me by the hour.” I sulk and move to filling my glass slowly so I
don’t spill any, and focus on deliberate, careful movements to convey just how furious he has made
me.

“If all I wanted was to fuck you then I wouldn’t have brought you here. I would have just made a play for
you at the club and not put any effort in. I know how to get your panties wet.”



I blanch at that statement and catch the smirk on his face.

“Why do you always say such wanker things?” I turn on him aggressively, completely enraged now,
blood bubbling up inside me and outraged at the shit he says. Alexi takes the bottle from me as I get
dangerously close to overflow and puts it down.

“It’s honesty. I didn’t bring you here for sex. I brought you here to get the hell away from the usual us.
From who I always have to be when I’m home.”

Well, he failed majestically at that. Pretty sure at home he is also a major fucking egotistical control
freak with no qualms about bending me to his will.

“I think you need to take a class in romance 101. You're incredibly bad at it! And honesty isn’t always a
good thing, especially when it’s crass and ignites more rage!”

Alexi turns me so my arse is up against the counter, not caring that I stiffen and try to resist as he
cages me in. With an arm on either side of me, he moves in so close his nose almost grazes mine. It
has the same effect as a dampening blanket on a fire, and I recoil feebly within myself when pinned in
the clutches of a man who very recently told me he has clinical reasons for being a violent, cold-
hearted tosser.

I should pin that to my mental noticeboard as a reminder not to push any psycho buttons on purpose.

“I want you; I won’t lie and say sex isn’t on my mind anytime I look at you, but you mean more to me. I
want something real with you and I will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Even if that means
getting out of my comfort zone in every way, opening up, and living a celibate existence around you for
however long you need.” He leans in slowly so that his nose does graze mine and my breath catches,
losing all ability to stay mad when he has me trapped in his space. Air thinning as my lungs and head
are filled with his smell. Always so heady.



He pauses, so close I almost move forward myself to bridge the gap. Impatient suddenly with what he
is withholding even though I gave him shit for kissing me already tonight.

I hate that he can make me want to kiss him, even while telling myself no. It’s satanic.

“Say I believe you and I’m willing to see where this goes … what is it exactly you see for us?” I clear my
throat, aware of the way my eyes are straying to those chiselled lips that are ripe for kissing. Cursing
myself for this insane weakness in me for him and guessing that downing my wine on an empty
stomach was a bad move. All the shit of the last twenty-four hours has clearly messed my head up, and
sanity has jumped off a bridge. All I keep thinking about is his touch, even while telling myself to stay
guarded and distant. Plans going to shit due to my lack of willpower.

“A relationship. A real one. Exclusive, just you and me and no bullshit. No lies. No games. I want to be
the man you need me to be and I want to treat you the way you deserve. As my queen. I’ll move
heaven and earth to make you happy, Cam.” Alexi lifts a hand and trails gentle fingers down my cheek
tenderly, igniting a trail of small explosive goosebumps as my insides lurch with emotion. His words and
touch are an effective combination, and I’m falling fast and heavy, with no chance of being saved.

He’s leaning so near I’m almost salivating with the need to be connected to him and the urge to be
kissed grows wildly stronger. His words are those I have longed to hear from him for so long and a part
of me, a tiny little part, wants to believe what he said is true.

I want to believe and hope he can be what I have always needed. What I have wanted since I first fell
for him.

“If you fuck this up, I’ll go. I’ll leave you without a word and just disappear back to where I come from.
You won’t find me a second time. There’s no room for mistakes. I won’t let you hurt me again.” I
whisper so quietly I’m not sure he hears it until he nods. Wrestling myself for self-control and hating



that all my decisions are crumbling to dust as I surrender slowly, with every second I’m with this version
of him. My fight is dying, and I know it.

I wasn’t prepared to meet this side to him, and if I thought cruel Alexi had the real power, then I was
wrong. This one, he can get into places inside me, without touch, I didn’t think anyone could. He’s
breaking me down and pulling me in.

Alexi is inside of me in every way, and it’s only a matter of time before I lose all fight and rejection and
give myself to him all over again. It’s terrifying knowing I have no will to stop it.

“That goes without saying. I know I have no room for error where you’re concerned. Just take a chance
on me, that’s all I ask. I want this more than air.” Alexi grazes my nose with his softly, tingling my skin
and erupting my senses to a fever pitch so I almost stop breathing. Poised and waiting for what I now
need, rather than want. I need him to kiss me so badly I can almost taste it, but he stays still,
unmoveable, and I wonder if this is him showing me, he will adhere to my boundaries. I said no to
kissing and as much as he obviously wants to, he isn’t going to.

He really chooses the most inappropriate times to toe the fucking line.

I get so frustrated I throw caution to the wind and kiss him instead. Push forward and stand on tiptoes
to close the last little distance to him. Fast and impulsive with a passion that ignites the second his
warm lips touch mine.

Fuck this shit.

I want him to kiss me and I don’t care if I said no earlier. I’m aching all over for that bind to him, that
much-needed affection within my grasp and I take it.

Screw logic, fear and plans. I like getting lost in his kiss, and the mental silence it gives me whenever
he does. Thinking is overrated anyway.



 


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