Page 27 of The Deal

“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath as I rest my clenched fists on the marble countertop and bow my head. My chest tightens as I struggle to fill my lungs with the air I so desperately need.

Is this my karma for what I’ve done?

Seeing Chloe weep as she clung to her father as they said their goodbyes made me doubt everything I was doing, but after talking to Theodore Carmichael at length before she arrived home, I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing—for her, for him, for all of them.

Hopefully, one day, she’ll see that too.

I cleared my entire day once I got confirmation from Antonio yesterday that the car, indeed, belonged to Chloe.

When I first learnt her surname, a sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. What were the odds thatshe could be from the same Carmichael family that is deeply connected to my own?

Chloe Angelina Carmichael.

She even bears part of her mother’s name.

As soon as I discovered that it was true, I was torn about what to do. Common sense told me to steer clear, that nothing good could come of this, but I’d already made up my mind by then … I wanted her. So, I decided to hell with the consequences.

Last night, I sent a car with two of my men to the address I had on file for her to stake it out. She’d already confessed to working several jobs, so I knew it was only a matter of time before she left the house. My men were under strict instructions to keep me updated on any movement.

I got the first call at 2 am, informing me that Chloe had just climbed out of a side window and was walking down the street in the dead of night,alone, carrying a mop, broom, and cleaning bucket.

It took every ounce of power I had not to get in my car and drive over there myself, but I couldn’t do that. I had yet to formulate an actual plan, so I knew I would have to bide my time.

Instead, I got them to follow her—at a safe distance. I paced back and forth in my room for the rest of the morning as the updates slowly filtered in.

When she finally headed to her second job—sans her mop and broom—Antonio and I headed to her house to look around. I was unaware if she lived alone because there wasn’t enough time to do a thorough background check.

I will say that when I first saw the dilapidated dump she called home, I almost had a fucking coronary.

It was unfit to live in and a fire hazard at best. The front door was permanently nailed closed, and the back doorcould only be opened with force. No wonder she’d resorted to entering and exiting her home through a window.

I hadn’t anticipated finding her father at the house when we arrived, and although it had been years since I’d last seen him, he recognised me immediately. Let’s say the Mancini genes are strong. While my character is much like my mother’s, God rest her soul, I definitely get my looks from my old man.

Theodore—or Theo, as my family once called him—was less than pleased to find me lurking around his yard. He thought I was back to collect on his debt, but in my eyes, he’d already paid the ultimate price.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by more banging. It’s been happening intermittently for the past hour or so.

“Let me out of here, you bastard! You can’t keep me locked up like some caged animal!”

I swipe my hand across my mouth to stifle my laugh. I shouldn’t find her antics amusing, but I can’t help it.She’s a little spitfire.I like her fighting spirit and refusal to back down, even when the odds are stacked against her. It’s something I can respect … maybe even admire.

I purposely put her in the room beside mine because I wanted her close. Why? I can’t say, but moving her to the other side of the house wasn’t an option. I’m now second-guessing that decision, especially if this is what I can expect over the coming days.

I’m currently lying on my bed in my boxer briefs, staring at the ceiling. Like her, I haven’t left my room since we arrived home a few hours ago. I stripped out of my suit and showered, but decided to lay low for a while. The flashbacks have left me feeling off-kilter.

When there’s a soft knock on my door, I sit up. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Mr Mancini, Carmella.”

I let out an exasperated sigh as I push myself off the bed and stand. Walking into my closet, I snag a fresh pair of trousers from the hanger and slip them on.

When I open the door to my room, my housekeeper stands there nervously, knotting her fingers in her apron. She’s used to looking after me and my men, but this is the first time I’ve had a woman at the house.

“She seems upset … possibly she’s hangry. Would it be okay if I fed her?”

“Hangry?” I ask, furrowing my brow.

“So hungry it’s making her angry,” she replies. “I’ve experienced something similar before.”

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