Chapter 149


    I like this ce; it gives you that instant calm feeling of being somewhere safe and weing. A bit like


    being in his arms. I shake that thought from my head before my brain follows the being in his arms to


    something a little more X-rated and remind myself, I’m supposed to be dissecting this man and figuring


    him out.


    “That depends on how much I’m allowed to know,” I ask with a slight brow raise and a half smile. My


    seductress side smoothly flowing now I feel more at ease. I too am drawing serene from our calm


    abode.


    “Whatever you want. I meant it when I said I would earn your trust. If that means being an open book


    and telling you whatever you want to know, then here we are.” He gestures around him, watching me


    carefully.


    “You could have done that at the club, why bring me here?”


    Because Alexi is a devious shit who likes to set a scene and manipte a response. I have seen him


    do it for his own ends a hundred times. It’s what he does, and he does it so well.


    “This is my little corner away from reality. A sanctuary, I guess. I get to leave Alexi Carrero at the door


    and just be Lex. A teen kid who came to the city to figure his life out. I figured it would be the best ce


    to start altering the person I have shown you up until now. I brought you to the one ce where barely


    anyone else gets toe, for that reason; no prying ears either.”


    No one else except whoever got this ce visitor worthy today. I’m onto him.


    “So even though you grew up and bought a swanky apartment, you still have this ce … as a bolthole


    of sorts?”


    I’ll y along, see where it takes us. I start to wonder if this is all staged, and this belongs to one of his


    minions and not him at all, but his obvious ease is contradicting that. I get the impression he knows this


    ce intimately, has lived here, and even though it doesn’t initially reek of Alexi Carrero, there is


    something of him in the atmosphere. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.


    “Yeah. I bought it after I started working for my father and just couldn’t let it go. I have a lot of memories


    here, a lot of me that was left behind when I changed the path I took.”


    It’s also in the same area he once took me to lunch, so the geography adds up. He told me that day he


    once lived near there. I didn’t forget that tiny titbit.


    I exhale heavily, knowing the only way I will get the full story is to go back to the start. Like me, his story


    is not clear cut or as simple as I thought it was, and I guess to know the man, you need to know the


    journey. I want to know how he came to be King Carrero if his father opposed it. I want to know how


    someone who could lovingly create this home, became someone who could tie me up and rip my sanity


    to shreds. The two don’t match up.


    “I don’t know what to ask about how you got here. I’m guessing your mother yed a part and I know


    you shot someone at 13. I want to know your history. How you got to be what you are now if you


    started here and your father turned you away from being like him?”


    Seems like a reasonable request, given he offered.


    Alexi considers me for a long minute before getting up and walking over to his bookcase. There’s a


    stereo and a row of CDs and he turns it on putting one in before turning back to me, lifting the remote


    and turning it down low. Maroon five starts soothing me with familiar notes, ying around us


    unobtrusively and I smile on the inside. I’ve heard him y their songs at the club when he’s in the


    office. This is definitely Alexi’s pad. His music tastes are very rigid, and this is a song he ys a lot.


    He bends down as I watch him from my sitting position as he slides out a ck leather photo album


    from the shelf below before walking back; he hands it to me and returns to his seat confidently. That


    smooth swagger that reminds me of who he is.


    I watch him closely, unsure what to do until he nods at it and gives me permission to open.


    “My family album, one of them, courtesy of Gino. Figured you might want a visual of the people in my


    past.”


    I let out a little ‘huh’ under my breath, smiling as I screw up my face. Surprised that he even owns these


    kinds of things and look down to do as I’m told. I want to see what ‘family’ for him is. I want to see the


    bitch that Gino mes for his cold heart and chosen life path.


    I flick open the pages, presented with an array of simr looking men and children, family pictures,


    holiday shots. The usual for any family in an album. A lot of strangers and some familiar. I recognise


    Gino and Alexi in some, as small children. I spot who I think might be Mico in many of them. Alexi


    however, I can’t mistake.


    Not much has changed to not recognise him, even as a boy. Those eyes apparent throughout, and that


    serious scowl he has when he is unhappy. It’s in a lot of these pictures, which is sad considering those


    around him are beaming with smiles and obvious glee. Even with that little frowny face, he was an


    incredibly cute kid. A little dark and sinister even then, but adorable and even harder to separate from


    Gino without tattoos and badass tailoring. They are creepily identical. There is a lot of him and his twin


    and then just one with their father. He isn’t really in a lot of the images and I guess his line of work kept


    him absent a lot. Much like Alexi who never seems to go back to The Hamptons often.


    His father hasn’t changed in many years from what I can see. Still a lot like the tall, powerful man I met


    at the club. So much like his son in looks but with more wrinkles, grey hair and different colour of eyes.


    He has that air ofmand but not that sadistic aura like Alexi.


    I flick the page to a whole family shot and instantly recognise the twins, their father, three other children


    and a woman who is certainly not a Carrero. They did not take after her if she is who I think she is. She


    looks drawn and bitchy, to say the least. Attractive, long dark blonde hair, which is probably dyed, and


    brown eyes, but with her, there’s an impression of coldness to her I sometimes see in him. It makes me


    pause on her face for a second, hesitating at the connection.


    A striking woman with intimidating cruelty in that look that as much as I hate to admit, he has. Alexi has


    more of her in him than I think he wants to admit. It’s not in the looks, it’s in the manner. The way she’s


    poised, and even though one hand is on her child’s shoulder, a girl, there is an impersonal detachment


    in it. She is groomed and precise and seems like an addition to the picture, not really one of the family.


    She gives me the heebie-jeebies.


    “Your mum … this is her, right?” I tap her face and motion him to look where I’m pointing, and he leans


    in and nods.


    “Yeah. That’s her.” He doesn’t sound impressed.


    “She seems a little sterile. Even in a picture.”


    “She was mad at me before that shot. As usual, I did something to make her angry, and it was my fault


    she looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there.” He sighs heavily and drinks a good portion of


    his wine, averting his eyes to his stereo and I flick back down to the cold woman’s face. Not convinced


    that it’s the only reason she looks like an anally retentive arsehole. Alexi seems deted with me


    picking out her to start this, but I want to know so desperately.


    “My mother and I have never bonded in the way she did with my siblings. I have four. I was always a


    problematic kid, and she didn’t know how to deal with me. It affected our whole rtionship and I pretty


    much spent my childhood on the outside of my own family. The ck sheep, making everything


    difficult.” He adds as he stares at his fire and bookcase, avoiding my eye, and that little tug of


    heartache appears low inside of me. Empathy for that poor little boy who just wanted her love, flooding


    me from nowhere. Maybe Gino was right, and their mother had a huge part in how he is.


    “So, it wasn’t because of what you did when you protected her as Gino said?” I know I’m admitting to


    eavesdropping by asking this, but I’ve always wanted to know the full story of Alexi and his mother. If


    she was like this before that event, then why?


    Alexi narrows a look at me, bringing back his face with a tilt, obviously wondering where I got that


    snippet of info, but he doesn’t ask. I think he knows that I’ve listened in when I shouldn’t and carries on


    as though it no longer matters. Maybe back then he would have been pissed, but not now when he’s


    offering me it all, anyway.


    “No.” he looks pensive, nces to the floor then gets up and heads to the kitchen for a beer instead of


    his wine. I can tell he doesn’t like talking about this stuff and the agitation is all over him already. That


    evasive behaviour of his. The first thing he always does is avoidance is to get out of range and give


    himself space. I know him too well.


    “We don’t need to do this you know,” I call after him, feeling like I’m crossing into an area that makes


    him ufortable and I really don’t want to. Not wanting the side of him I fearing out to y on


    purpose, even if I nned on bringing it out. I want to know, but I don’t want to ruin the mood that


    started, and I’m stuck here with him for the time being. I’d rather not poke the bear and make this a


    miserable first proper date. It has the potential to be nice, considering how it started.


    I will wait until we are back on neutral soil and I have the means to call Jackson toe save me


    before I attempt to bring out the devil in him. Better to have an exit n in ce first.


    “I want to; this is how you get to know people properly, and I feel like I have all the inside scoop on you


    already and should bnce the scales a little.” He walks back, beer in hand, but doesn’t sit. Just


    wanders to the stereo and flicks through his collection of CDs.


    That reminder he has my journals heats my face, my stomach dropping at the fact he knows all about


    me and I nce away. Instant gut wrench and I push the painful feelings away quickly. Back to the


    photo on myp and scowl at the bitch staring back at me. I don’t like her, even without seeing more,


    there is something in her that reminds me of my own mother. Thatck of warmth in her eyes and the


    way she is holding herself aloft like she hates everyone in the fucking world. I shudder, pulling myself


    away to shake her off.


    “I guess. It’s just weird seeing you so open and forting and being apletely different person.” I


    lose my bravado, almost talking into my chest and swirl my wine in one hand. Remembering he knows


    everything really sours my mood, reminding me of why I’m here. I have so much riding on this, and no


    clue where to begin. I’m out of my depth with him.


    “That’s kind of the point of this. Changing how you see me; being able to trust me.” He smiles my way


    when I look up and catch his eye before he returns to his previous position, sitting near me with his feet


    on the floor this time. Taking over the space once more in thatfy armchair that looks made for him


    —weirdly.


    There’s a feeling of awkwardness seeping back between us, straining the atmosphere, and I can tell


    he’s not asfortable with this as he is making out. He doesn’t share personal things so this must be


    taking a huge amount of effort on his part. It’s not lost on me that he’s doing this for me.


    Always pulling my brain in two directions with every move.


    “I don’t know where to start,” I utter shyly. No clue how this began and not knowing the questions to


    ask. My version of his life is wrong, so I’m at a loss.


    “Okay, so maybe a condensed version and you don’t have to ask questions?” He smiles softly, it


    doesn’t reach his eyes though, and I can sense the nervous tension in him still. He’s still as a statue, a


    little too calm which usually means he’s working twice as hard to be so. This bothers him. Offering this


    so he won’t have to be grilled like a POW by me. It’s obvious he doesn’t like divulging his past and he


    probably isn’t toofy with doing this at all. As a person he keeps his life private and his thoughts and


    feelings hidden from most, all the time. This must be hard, and it chips another little shard of ice away


    from my heart where he is concerned.


    “Sounds like a n.” I smile too, except mine is genuine, d I won’t have to coax a story or ask things


    that might upset him. If he’s in control of the intel he gives, maybe we can get through the backstory


    with minimum fuss.


    Alexi pauses, I guess trying to figure out where to start and shifts in his seat, a little straighter and at an


    angle where he can look at me without turning his head.


    “I was a bad kid, right from the get-go. Hyper, naughty, never seemed to do as I was told and


    disciplining me did nothing. If anything, it made me worse and more likely to be a little shit. I was


    aggressive, defiant and stubborn as hell. Every mother’s dream kid, huh?” Alexi sort of half smiles, half


    frowns. A self-deprecating statement that hints that he never really grew out of it. Even I know that.


    “Nothing much changed there then.” I giggle at him; his hopelessness is sweet and that makes his


    smile break properly too. A genuine ‘cute boy with dimples’ smile that rxes me, and some of the


    nervous tension I was holding balled up inside me, dissipates a little. The tense atmosphere around us


    eases slightly, and as I cradle my wine and take a sip, I can see him loosen up visually too. Those


    shoulders not so square and rigid as he finds a morefortable slouch. I guess my mood is softening


    his as he sees me warming up.


    “My brother was the pr opposite to me. I guess it was a case of good twin, bad twin, and as we were


    my mother’s first offspring, she didn’t know how to deal with me. So, she pushed me out, praised him


    and decided that ignoring the bad behaviour was how to punish me. Gino was the golden boy, and I


    was the kid she apologised for wherever we went. It wasn’t deliberate, I didn’t know how to be any


    different. I wasn’t actively trying to be bad; I just couldn’t stop it. I grew up knowing I was the one she


    didn’t really like, barely loved, and I guess it got to me a lot more than I admitted to myself.” Even


    though his words are level and show no hint of the turmoil they cause him, I can tell he’s hurting. His


    manner is way too controlled and cool, which I have learned is when he is hiding the most.


    My poor baby.


    “I can’t imagine watching your siblings being loved while she was being cold to you, that’s horrible. It’s


    a form of cruelty that is just unfathomable to me.” I blurt out, my heart already aching for a little kid who


    was shunned for being the naughty one. I guess also having a mother who was cruel I can rte to him


    in that way. See the abuse, even if his mother never delivered punches and blows as mine did. She


    fucked him up just the same. Denied him the basics that a child needs—a mother’s unconditional love.


    “It wasn’t her fault I was the way I was. It wasn’t until I was around nine they finally figured out I have


    ADHD, and back then I had something called ODD, or Conduct disorder … which pretty much means I


    had a reason for being a bad kid; my shrink told me parental rejection exacerbated the disorder into a


    much more serious issue. I was pushed away for being bad and it made me worse on so many levels.


    Ironic really.”


    It’s a defeated softugh, a shrug and a shake of his head as he tries to pass it all off as meaningless. I


    sit in stunned silence and try to absorb this fully. I never thought for a second there would be more to


    why he is this way.


    I don’t even know what ODD is.


    My brain whirs and clicks into overdrive as it filters through.


    “I guess knowing I had an actual reason for myck of correct behaviour helped me understand myself


    enough to improve on some levels. Having a name for what it was helped me calm down a lot. I wasn’t


    so angry all the time, I had tools to get through and a counselor, and my father tried to help. He got me


    into boxing and clubs to expel my energy and changed how he dealt with me when the meds did


    nothing. I’m verybative when youe at me head on, aggression is second nature. Softly works


    wonders, even with parents, although my mother never learned that about me.”


    Alexi looks away,pletely hoodwinking me with thest of that statement and I blink at him in


    disbelief. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but it makes perfect sense now it’s out there in front of


    me. Brain engaging what I know and figuring it all out.


    I also figured out a long while back that when your approach to him is ubative, he reacts so much


    better. Soft and reasonable as opposed to guns at the ready. Exins why Mico, the calm and wise


    companion, gets through to him.


    ADHD—impulsive, aggressive, hyperactive, full-on and obsessive sometimes. I know a lot of the traits


    as one of my regrs back when I first came to America had it and was very open about what it was


    like. Alexi is a tick list of so many only just more extreme, I guess. Maybe that’s what the ODD thing


    does, amplifies the worst parts.


    Although I know nothing about the ODD thing, the disorder, and I try to analyse his face as he takes a


    swig of his beer and avoids looking at me properly, obviously feeling out of his depth when revealing


    this kind of information to me. He taps his thumb on his bottle and I know for sure he is uneasy and


    ufortable. Feeling naked, which I can sympathise with fully. I sat in his apartment just as


    vulnerable when I saw those journals.


    This belongs to N?velDrama.Org: ?.


    My heart goes out to him. Endearing him to me even more.


    “You had an actual reason for how you were, surely she changed how she was towards you? Once she


    knew.” I coax him, knowing he probably feels a little exposed in the way I did when I knew he’d read my


    journals. People like us don’t open up, and it’s hard to admit all your deepest shameful secrets to


    someone. Alexi has never hinted at having real problems before, so I guess not many people know and


    I can see how someone like him would see that as being wed. It’s no wonder he hides it. It could be


    used against him by anyone who wishes him harm. Real emotional scars.


    Who knew?


    “Not really. She saw it as an excuse to discard me all the more. I was broken and unfixable. She took


    no me for the antisocial behaviour and exaggerated aggression I was developing. My dad put me in


    various types of counseling but all it did was give her more reason to push me out of sight. She’s all


    about appearances, and a kid in therapy isn’t good for that.” For the first time in this whole confession,


    he sounds bitter as he says it, and my heart breaks for him. A deep churning tight pain that lodges


    halfway up my chest and suddenly I have an overwhelming need to hug him to death. I have to hold


    myself still, the urge is so deafening.


    “So, this disorder. What is it and what does it mean?” I lean forward and put my ss on the table,


    thirsty for info rather than booze, and home in on his face, even though he is now staring at the neck of


    his bottle. Pushing my swirling feelings aside to get what I can out of him. I’m not about to stop him


    now, even if his words are hurting both of us.


    I never expected I could feel this protective of him, and yet here I am, cursing that bitch and wanting to


    squeeze it all out of him with cuddles.


    He sighs heavily, colour appearing ever so slightly on his cheekbones, and I know he’s probably


    fighting himself on every level to continue telling me. I’m picking at wounds and hesitant with how deep


    I should scratch but I’m like an addict who needs more. I would hate him doing this to me so it feels a


    little one-sided even though it shouldn’t. He has more on me than I could ever tell him, anyway.


    I’m so awed that I’m getting this much from him, I’m like a kid at Christmas, fixated on him and


    desperate for more. To understand, to dissect the man and hisplexyers. Alexi is way more than I


    thought he was. I could never have imagined us sat here and him telling me a sad story about an


    unloved child with real issues. I could never imagine that within half an hour of this I would be perched


    on my chair, leaning to him and so focused and empathetic to him that I’m longing to touch him.


    This is Alexi levelling the ying field. Giving me the same ammo he has on me. It’s a show of trust


    and I can see that. Letting me in to know things very few do and showing me that if he has the means


    to hurt me, then I now have the means to hurt him. He is clever, very much so. He nned this date to


    every detail, knowing it would set the bar on how things between us will proceed.


    “They call it antisocial personality disorder in adulthood. It means I don’t have the right emotional


    responses to certain things and have a lot of bad behaviours I don’t see as wrong. Kind of a good fit for


    what I do, so it’s hard to help it when it makes me good at what I am.”


    He’s back to factual, maybe this topic is easier for him to exin because it''s less personal. He’s


    exining a condition and not divulging the wounds his mother inflicted.


    “What kind of things?”


    Cold-blooded murder? Sexual aggression?


    Maybe. I mean, I have to ask.