I like this place; it gives you that instant calm feeling of being somewhere safe and welcoming. 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 manipulate 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 place
to start altering the person I have shown you up until now. I brought you to the one place where barely
anyone else gets to come, for that reason; no prying ears either.”
No one else except whoever got this place visitor worthy today. I’m onto him.
“So even though you grew up and bought a swanky apartment, you still have this place … as a bolthole
of sorts?”
I’ll play 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
place 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 played 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, playing around us
unobtrusively and I smile on the inside. I’ve heard him play 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 plays a lot.
He bends down as I watch him from my sitting position as he slides out a black 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 blames for his cold heart and chosen life path.
I flick open the pages, presented with an array of similar 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 of command 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 deflated 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 relationship and I pretty
much spent my childhood on the outside of my own family. The black 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, glances 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 uncomfortable and I really don’t want to. Not wanting the side of him I fear coming out to play on
purpose, even if I planned 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 to come save me
before I attempt to bring out the devil in him. Better to have an exit plan in place 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 balance 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 glance away. Instant gut wrench and I push the painful feelings away quickly. Back to the
photo on my lap 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. That lack 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 forthcoming and being a completely 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 that comfy 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 as comfortable 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 too comfy 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 plan.” I smile too, except mine is genuine, glad 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 relaxes 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 more comfortable slouch. I guess my mood is softening
his as he sees me warming up.
“My brother was the polar 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 relate 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 soft laugh, 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 my lack 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 very combative when you come 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, completely hoodwinking me with the last 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 uncombative, he reacts so much
better. Soft and reasonable as opposed to guns at the ready. Explains 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 regulars 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
uncomfortable. Feeling naked, which I can sympathise with fully. I sat in his apartment just as
vulnerable when I saw those journals.
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 flawed. 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 blame 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 glass 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 his complex layers. 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 playing 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 planned 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 explain because it's less personal. He’s
explaining 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.
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