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.



I waiver under the woman’s dark scrutiny, so like my mother’s from way back and beyond, and hate
that it affects me. She just mumbles something else completely incoherent to me while poking me dead
in the eye with her gaze.

Alexi lets out a weird little laugh, oozing hostility and sarcasm, and I can almost count down the
seconds to the explosion. I can sense it building in him, and whatever she is saying he isn’t playing
nice as she expects him to. She’s pushing his buttons with whatever she said, and we should all just
leave him alone now. It’s that snarly sadistic chuckle that signals ‘I’m going to fuck you up’.

“She doesn’t speak Italian so at least have the backbone to speak English, so she knows what insults
you’re throwing around about her! And for the record, you don’t know shit about her so how about you
shut the fuck up and leave her alone.” He loses his temper completely, that snap and brusque tone
making both me and her flinch simultaneously.

He knows he’s losing his control and I see him physically repent, turning to storm off away from her and
towards the drinks cabinet in the corner off to the left. He knows he needs to reel in his shit and he’s
searching for alcohol to take the edge off his spiralling temper. Chastising himself for disrespecting this
awful woman.

I follow him feebly to get the hell away from this rude arsehole before I say something I regret and
agree a drink would be good about now. I walk at a pace to match his and try to edge his way before
she follows at speed.

I literally will her to go the fuck away before he really snaps, and I have to deal with the fallout. Alexi in
a bad mood is headache worthy.

“How dare you speak to me like that Alessandro; I’m your mother and you will not behave in such a
manner under my roof. Show me some goddamn respect! I raised you better than this!” She matches
his tone and level perfectly and for a second, I can see exactly where that temper and intimidating,



growly, husky tone comes from. Alexi may look like his father but that cold side and sadistic bastard
personality is all her. It runs deep as hell.

The woman is clearly a narcissist on some level and Alexi was the child she singled out to blame his
entire life.

Who is she trying to kid when she talks about raising him?

He seems to try his best to ignore her, pouring liquor from the first glass bottle into a tumbler and nods
to me offering one. I shake my head, despite wanting one, as I know I might just let rip if I have a drink
right now.

“How about you stop insulting my wife and we won’t have a fucking problem.” He throws a look over his
shoulder at her, yelling it loudly, straight at her face, and even as the words leave his mouth, I see the
instant regret in his eyes. Impulsive words that he didn’t want to come out this way.

The horror in my belly that he just blurted it out like that, while she’s on an anti-Camilla rampage, and
well, the absolutely mortified expression on her face seals my fate.

It’s like a lead balloon being dropped on a glass floor in a silent room. The gasp from her and the
shocked wide-eyed ‘Alessandro!’ before he clicks what he just said and throws me a little look of ‘shit’.
It wasn’t what he wanted, and now it’s just fuelled the hatred she has brewed for this wicked jezebel
standing in her hall. I have defiled her son's good name just by being linked to him. Hell, she probably
thinks the name Carrero is now cursed, used goods for all time.

“Your what?!?!?” she erupts loudly so it echoes in this vast room; losing her cool, she storms at him to
grab his elbow and yanks him to look at her. She hasn’t got the strength to really move him but the
spew of toxic Italian that follows her manoeuvre gets him spinning on her of his own volition. I step
back against a nearby couch to steady myself, legs turning to jelly with this turn for the worst and I try
to inhale slowly to keep my cool.



‘My wife! Yes, Mama, I married her … in Vegas. It’s a done deal, so say hi to your new daughter-in-law.’
Alexi has given up trying to keep his shit together, and the appearance of that cold and terrifying
persona that sends shivers through me snarls the words her way. She doesn’t even blink an eye,
instead, she also takes on that weird evil glare, the insanely intimidating stance of someone rallying
themselves for a fight.

“I’m disgusted that you would cheapen our family name by marrying a common slut on a whim, most
likely high on drugs and booze while pissing your life away. You never change! You just drag us down
in any way you can, and now you have outdone yourself!”

There is real hatred in her tone and despite his anger and furious expression, I catch the hurt in his
eyes. The tiny bite of her words and the dip of his brow as he swallows what must be a familiar
statement thrown at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t know her or anything about how we are together. I won’t let you talk
about her like that. I didn’t come here for your approval. I came to tell my father, and I would appreciate
if you let me do that. We can leave and forego your cosy lunch if you prefer. I don’t give a shit. I came
to see him, not you, and now you know.” Alexi is simmering all his rage, trying to control it, and I can
practically see the haze of fiery heat emanating from his poised and stiff stance. She squares up to
him, completely unfazed by the hulking great mass of aggressive testosterone in front of her, and I
wonder if she really is oblivious to the fact, he kills men with his bare hands. I wouldn’t be so quick to
get all up in his face if I were her, especially not bad-mouthing me to shit. He has killed for me. I
swallow loudly, gripping the chair in sheer terror as anxiety spreads through my limbs, rooting me to the
spot, and I forget to breathe.

“How could you do this? I can see what she is. A gold-digging whore with a fake accent and a tight grip
on your bank balance. Look at her. Where did you find her? A strip club, Alessandro? She is common
and obviously used to wrapping men around her finger for all she can get. How could you be so stupid?



You are not a naïve boy, why would you lower yourself to marrying someone so unworthy? A woman of
the night, painted red for the world to see.” That nasty toxic tone dissolves into pathetic crocodile tears
as she pulls on the victim act, and I can see exactly what she is doing. Turning the tables on him
because her anger isn’t getting her the result she wants from him. I know this act all too well because
I’m fucking epic at it and can manipulate on a whim. She’s doing exactly that, ripping out his feet from
under him to reduce him to a remorseful mess.

Alexi’s temper dies a death and the look of shame and guilt sweeps over him instantly.

I guess I know where he gets his ability to manipulate people from too.

I can imagine what kind of mother she was to this little boy growing up. A viper tongue with a million
insults for a child she could not control, and then the heavy emotional blackmail and accusations when
she couldn’t get him to toe the line. He rebelled, he played up and chose his own way in the world and
no doubt met this wrath with every step he took. Either by viciousness or tears, she manipulated him
and made him feel worthless, just as she is doing now.

That’s enough for me. And I can’t take this anymore. Something inside of me snaps at the sight of her
trying to reduce him to this mess. I won’t let some bitch twist my Lexi’s head and heart this way.

He’s mine now and you do not fucking hurt him in any way!

“Actually, it was a gutter downtown after a bunch of thugs beat me up for a drug debt I bumped. I’m an
ex-hooker, luv, and I fucked men for money, not married them. I had my own little operation going
before this one bailed me out of the shit storm and gave me a job in his sex club. Saved my arse and
well, I fell for him hook line and sinker. As for the accent, it’s genuine, sort of. I’m a Londoner, but yeah,
common as they come, and grew up begging for scraps and screwing men from a very young age. You
were close though, so half a gold star for that. As for his bank balance, well, I don’t really need it
considering he gave me the club, and it turns over a nice little profit with all the rich suits who come to



cheat on their wives from your neck of the woods. Oh, I’ve met your husband, by the way, he seemed
nice when he popped in.” I raise a catty brow, tone dripping with disdain as I pull myself up and lift that
defiant chin, fixing a blue hostile glare right on her face. I watch her go from rosy fake despair to ghost
white, shocked stupid, and then the beetroot puce of filthy rage in the space of thirty seconds flat.

Hand on my hip and a cocky smirk on my face as I count the seconds it takes for her head to explode.
If she is anything like her son, then it won’t be long, and I smirk as I relax into an obvious ‘fuck you’
pose. Alexi turns and looks at me, mouth slightly agape because I obviously cut him off before another
snarling rant, and shocked that I just said what I said to his mother, of all people. I throw him an
apologetic ‘she made me do it’ shrug and try for a smile to meet his stone-faced expression.

If I can handle him, then I sure as hell can handle her, stuck-up psycho bitchface.

“What the …? Oh, my God. That’s …” She stammers with so much seething anger she can’t get the
words out, stuttering, forgetting she was whimpering and trying to guilt him into submission, and then
lets rip. Broken Italian follows in a great gush of words aimed his way as she rants and stomps in a
circle waving her hands and arms in the air in an overly dramatic gesture. A whoosh of incoherence.

Alexi just turns and downs another drink as though he doesn’t know what else to do, face completely
deadpan, and he seems to just shut up shop and go on an instant vacation.

That’s not a good sign. He’s trying to control whatever is about to burst out of him.

I don’t know if he too is about to go nuclear because my mouth and I just can’t help themselves, or
whether he is wishing he would just fall down a very deep hole in the next three seconds. Either way,
Alexi is also brimming on an all-out explosion and I’m not one hundred percent sure which of us it will
be aimed at. He closes up tight, like that little dark enigma he can be, and we get nothing at all of what
he is feeling now as he manically starts downing shots. It’s a weighty, sudden pause where all the



oxygen is sucked out of the room and I instantly feel faint. The crackle of tension electrifies the room,
and it becomes so heavy the atmosphere begins to crush me.

If she is the one he gets his worst side from, then being stuck in the middle of two of the them in this
kind of epic outburst is not my idea of a great place to hang out. The fallout might kill me accidentally.

“You have to divorce her! I WILL NOT have this kind of filth in MY family. Do you hear me, Alessandro?
I will not let you continue to shame me in this way!! I have been through enough at your hands and I
won’t allow this to continue. You dissolve this marriage right now!” She screams it at his back, and he
tenses so visibly I tense too and hold my breath as I wait for the first strike of Armageddon to befall this
room. I don’t know if it’s static in the air from all the friction or Alexi himself that makes the sizzling
noise, but an overcharged current seems to zap me, and I shiver with it. Recoiling inside myself too.

I don’t know what to do beyond my smart-mouthed retort and I am now literally at a loss. Trembling in
my shoes and watching him like a hawk, knowing that some form of retaliation will come once he stops
downing straight vodka. He downs another and I pray internally. Really worried that he is verging on
some sort of self-combustion.

“No, he will not!” The loud commanding bark makes me and her jump a mile high in unison as a tall,
familiar figure storms in and slams the front door shut behind him. The noise echoing harshly in the hall
and travels towards us, probably alerting the entire household of drama. A look of complete rage
crossing that normally peaceful face, and Alexi’s father storms through to this room and towers over his
wife as he glares her back into submission. She completely crumbles into a small, feeble act as though
he somehow didn’t catch her being an utter prize bitch. It’s clear who wears the trousers in this
relationship.

“Our son has chosen a wife, a woman he loves, who is willing to love him unconditionally. I was rooting
for them for months and this is how you treat our daughter-in-law on the first meeting? If anyone should
be ashamed, it is I with the conduct of my wife. Go upstairs and bring some sense to yourself, woman! I



won’t have this anymore.” It’s a thundering, humiliating command and now I’m over here wondering if
Alexi really had any chance at all. Commander and chief and scary as shit side clearly came from
Daddy, and cold, cruel and sadistic arsehole came from Mummy. He really had zero chance of doing
well in the lucky dip gene pool when added to the ADHD thing.

He is one hundred and fifty percent the product of his parents, and as he finally seems to come back
into the battle with a look that tells me nothing much at all, his mother whimpers that pathetic snivelling
drivel once more. I guess the little broken girl act is meant to make her menfolk back off and
mollycoddle her. It’s actually quite pathetic, and I can see why tears had no effect on him that time I
was breaking my heart at his feet. She uses them as much as she uses her coldness and made him
immune.

 


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