Mafia Princess

by Bella J

  While I stared at the screen, a notification popped up saying that Lorik Stone commented on your post. Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  I slide my finger across the screen and read his comment on my ‘check-in’ at the Skin Spa in New York.

  ‘Was it worth it?’

  What the fuck does that even mean? I know I shouldn’t, and I hardly ever reply to comments, but I just can’t help myself.

  Quickly I type, ‘Was what worth it?’

  About three minutes went by before another notification popped up.

  ‘The twenty-five minute treatment.’

  I knew he was talking about the twenty-five minutes I was stuck down in that damn interrogation room with him. The urge to reply to his last comment was so overwhelming, and my fingers started to burn with the need to type a snotty reply…something like fuck you! But I don’t.

  Instead I opened my messenger app and started typing a message to Lorik Stone.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t put my public image in jeopardy. Karina.’

  Firstly, why the fuck am I doing this? Why am I even dignifying this asshole’s lame attempt at contact with giving him exactly what he wanted—contact?

  And secondly, why the hell did I put my name in the end? This was Facebook messenger, not a damn text message. Besides, something told me that if it was a text message, Detective Stone would know it was from me. He probably had my phone number memorized.

  There was a soft sound of bubbles popping, and I looked down, staring at the little text bubble appearing just below my message. Lorik is typing a message, and I am struggling to breathe. Seriously.

  And in pops his message.

  ‘I’m not trying to do anything. You’re putting your public image in jeopardy yourself by lying about your whereabouts.’

  My fingers flew over the screen quicker than you could say ‘arrogant son of a bitch.’

  ‘I’m giving all my followers what they want.’

  ‘And what’s that?”

  ‘A glimpse into the life of someone they see as nothing more than a rich princess with not a care in the world while she lives the highlife. I’m letting them experience it all, if only for a few damn seconds while they read that post and admire the picture.’

  I’m angry, and I’m annoyed. How dare he think that he had me all figured out, when in fact he has no fucking clue?

  Another text bubble appeared and when the message pops up on the screen, I had to read it twice.

  ‘I know you’re much more than just a rich princess.’

  He was playing the nice guy card, pretending that he understood all my fucking problems. Unfortunately for him, I’m smarter than that.

  ‘Well thanks, Doctor Phil. Now leave me alone.’

  The text bubble appears again, but then it’s gone. Appears again, and then gone again. I watch for about five minutes as he starts and stops, a message never popping up. Until finally:

  ‘What if I don’t want to, princess?’

  An image of his dark eyes slide into my mind. The way it felt having him so close to me, almost pinning me against the door, his warm breath wafting over my already burning cheeks. No use denying it. That man hit all the right buttons, playing every sensual impulse inside me like a fucking fiddle. And I’m not even sure he was doing it on purpose. I think for a man like him it just came naturally. Lust and sex just bleed out of him, infecting you with the most intense carnal desires like a fucking virus. And it just kept on spreading through every vein, every fucking bone, until you would probably end up craving him more than any other type of sustenance.

  Jesus—I was clenching my thighs. I was clenching my fucking thighs and he wasn’t even anywhere near me.

  With sweaty palms, I started typing. ‘You don’t have a choice. Have a nice day, Detective.’

  I didn’t hear from him again after that.

  The drive home was quiet, and I’m wondering how I’m going to get through the next few weeks. I arrived home two days ago and I already felt like I was suffocating just by having the Valenti last name. No matter how long I stay away, how long I wait before I come back home, the people here never forget. They always recognize me—especially when I’m out with my two brothers hovering over me like guard dogs.

  Italian men and the women in their lives. You can always count on an Italian man to be extremely overprotective.

  My brother, Dante, who is turning twenty-four tomorrow, is too busy chasing after tits and ass. Not that he needs to chase after it, it somehow follows him wherever he goes. It’s like he’s a magnet for everything that has an abundance of estrogen. The problem is, his dick doesn’t know how to say no.

  But Antonio, my oldest brother, he’s most like my dad. He’s all business and no play. When it comes to the family and running the business smoothly, he’s a fucking perfectionist. He’s what they call the Underboss, the son that will take over my father’s empire and run it exactly the way he was taught. Antonio is darker, harder than Dante, more focused.

  I worry about Antonio sometimes. He’s twenty-eight and I know for a fact that he hasn’t been out there enjoying life as much as he should. He had to grow up much sooner than the rest of us, and I’m afraid he’s going to wake up one day and realize he’s been living someone else’s life, not his own.

  Actually, I think that’s the reality of all three of us Valenti children. We’ll always live in the shadow of our father—The Wolf.

  I look at down at my phone with Lorik’s face still on the screen. Why do I have the feeling that not only do I have The Wolf to worry about, but also that damn detective?

  Chapter 5

  LORIK

  My apartment is a dump. It’s the motherfucker of all dumps. If you take into consideration what my apartment looked like, I’d say I’m pretty much one disgusting individual. My mom would die a slow and painful death if she had to see this place.

  There are empty beer bottles scattered throughout the living room along with dirty glasses containing the sticky residue of last week’s rum I consumed. The instant meal microwavable plastic containers are all stacked up in a tower next to the kitchen sink, and the empty cans of the soda I used to quench my morning after thirst are all lined up on the counter.

  How I see it, I’m a detective, not a domesticated pansy. There are much better things I have to do with my time than clean, cook, and do laundry.

  Talk about laundry… I’ll probably need to do that today since I pulled my last clean shirt from the closet this morning.

  I glanced at the heap of dirty clothes all bunched up in the corner of the living room. The living room, for Christ’s sake. Okay, this cannot continue.

  Since I’m apparently off for the rest of the day—and the rest of the month—I might as well try to make my mama proud by getting rid of at least eighty percent of the germs I’m currently sharing my living space with.

  Luckily it doesn’t take me long to clean up most of the mess. I’m a minimalist. If I don’t have use for shit, said shit doesn’t get into my apartment. There are the basics that every human being needs; microwave, coffee machine, fridge—and it’s a fucking state of the art fridge with ice maker. Because there is nothing more annoying than when you want to pour that first drink of the day and realize you’re out of motherfucking ice. Happened to me once, and I maxed my credit card the very next day buying that damn expensive fridge. I’ve been a happy man ever since.

  Then there’s a La-Z-Boy couch in the living room because let’s face it, every man needs a La-Z-Boy. I’m pretty sure it’s written in the bible somewhere. And then, of course, there’s my fifty-two inch LED television set to complement my Xbox One perfectly—and the state of the art surround sound for those nights I decide to piss off the neighbors.

  Naturally there’s also a black leather couch where I just happen to fall asleep five nights of the week. The other two nights are usually spent in either my bed or a bed completely unfamiliar to
me, next to a woman I’ve familiarized myself with from the inside out—or rather, my cock did. Bottom line, my bed was used for something completely different than sleeping—which was probably why I always seemed to find pieces of condom wrappers lying around in there. Amazing how those foil packets managed to creep into the tiniest of places and remain hidden for fuck knows how long.

  Then of course, there was the cabinet—the cabinet where I kept all my investigation tidbits. The very first thing I did when I moved in was build the huge cabinet, which I bolted against the wall. Yes, carpentry was one of my many hidden talents.

  Behind those cabinet doors was all the information I’ve managed to gather on the Valenti family. That cabinet was like my own personal Holy Grail.

  I toss all my laundry into a black bag and head to the front door. Then I almost squeal like a fucking girl when I opened the door and looked straight into Anderson’s ugly-ass face.

  “What the fuck, Anderson?”

  He walked right by me and into my apartment. “Heard you got suspended.”

  “Why don’t you come on right in?” I fling the door shut and drop the black bag.

  “I told you to drop it. And you just couldn’t listen, could you?”

  I turn around and swing my car keys around my finger. “I guess doing what I’m told isn’t something I’ve mastered over the years.”

  Anderson takes a seat on the La-Z-Boy. Motherfucker. Did he not know that a man’s La-Z-Boy was right up there with his woman—you don’t touch it, you don’t even fucking look at it, let alone use it.

  “Why are you in my apartment?”

  He leaned back into the La-Z-Boy, patting the armrests before gliding his hand up the smooth leather. Oh, the fucking horror.

  “You’re chasing after the wrong family.” He says it so calmly, it’s like he just started to discuss the weather.

  I cross my arms in front of my chest. “Not like I care, but what makes you think that?”

  He snorts. “Fucking rookie,” he mutters. “You really need to make it less obvious that you haven’t been around here long.”

  I scratch my jaw. “Firstly, fuck you. And secondly, fuck you. Thirdly, I’ve been here for four years.”

  “Four years,” he scoffed. “No wonder you’re so fucking clueless.”

  I narrowed my eyes into slits. “Please tell me exactly why the fuck I’m listening to you insulting me in my own damn apartment?”

  “Because if you’ve been here long enough you’ll know that the Valentis have been around for the last fifty years.”

  “God, are you that old?”

  “No. I just remember my grandfather telling stories about them, about Allesandro Valenti.”

  “Lorenzo’s father.” I’ve done my homework. I know the history of these motherfuckers better than I know fifth grade math.

  Anderson nodded. “They called him The Professor, a very intelligent man, just like Lorenzo. On these streets he was more popular than John Wayne in the seventies.”

  I plop down on the couch. “Is this why you’re here, to give me a fucking history lesson?”

  “Like I said, you’re after the wrong fucking family. It’s during the last five years that shit started to go wrong on these streets, am I right?”

  I shook my head. “Wrong. Children started to disappear around two years ago, smartass.”

  This time he shook his head with the most annoying smirk on his face. “Children started disappearing long before that. But no one took notice because there were only about two cases a year that got reported. It was two years ago that it got so out of hand everyone started to notice.”

  I moved to the edge of my seat. “What are you saying, Anderson?”

  “When did the Mancusos move into town, Stone?”

  The way he asked that question I knew he already had the answer, but I answered it anyway. “Five years ago.” And then I clicked where he was going with this. “But it doesn’t fit into the timeframe with the child disappearances.”

  Anderson lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “If you’re as smart as you think you are, you’ll know it was about five years ago that drugs started to flow on these streets like fucking champagne at a New Year’s Eve party.” He slanted his head to the side. “Do you think that’s a coincidence, Stone?”

  “This morning I arrested a guy and found cocaine on him. He said he was dealing for the Valentis.”

  “And you believed him?”

  I shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because there is no fucking way anyone with half a brain would give up the name of their dealer,”—he snaps his fingers—“just like that.”

  “Obviously you don’t know Gio then. He’s one stupid individual.”

  “I’m not kidding, Stone. If he was dealing for a family like the Valentis there is no way in hell he would snitch on them. He’d be good as dead then.”

  I leaned back in the couch. “So you think he’s lying?”

  “Oh I know he’s lying.”

  “So it’s a setup then?”

  “Maybe. Probably.” Anderson went to stand in front of the window, looking out. “If the Valentis are behind all the drugs and the child kidnappings, why did it only start to get out of hand two years ago when they’ve been around for fifty years?”

  “Who knows? Maybe the fuckers got greedy.”

  He snorts. God I hate it when he does that. It’s only cool when I do it.

  “Lorenzo Valenti is guilty of a lot of things, Stone. But kidnapping children isn’t one of them, and neither is selling drugs.”

  He sounds so fucking sure about this fact that it makes me wonder exactly what has him so completely convinced about Valenti’s innocence. Sure it makes sense that it’s a bit suspicious that Gio gave up the name so easily, but then again, Gio wasn’t exactly what you’d call street smart.

  I got up from the couch and stood next to him. “Do I want to know why you sound so fucking sure about all this?”

  He placed his hand on my shoulder, and all I could think was, why the fuck is this man touching me.

  “I’ve been around a long time, rookie. Trust me when I say it’s the Mancusos you want.”

  I peered down at his hand on my shoulder before looking up at him. “This still doesn’t mean we’re partners.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.” He removed his hand and walked to the front door. He paused just as he reached for the doorknob. “Besides, your ass is suspended, remember.”

  Ah fuck. I forgot about that for at least ten minutes, and it felt so fucking good until this asshole ruined it.

  And then it occurred to me. “If you know I’m suspended, then why did you just tell me all this?”

  He was already halfway out the door when he stopped and glanced my way. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just did my duty as your partner to check how you were doing after getting suspended.” A wicked half grin curved up the corner of his mouth, and then he closed the door behind him.

  This time it’s my turn to snort. What an asshole—albeit an asshole that just scored some major points.

  Maybe—and it really pains me to admit this—but maybe he was right. Maybe I’ve been concentrating too much on the wrong damn family. The heat has been on the Valentis for so long the Mancusos movements went almost completely unnoticed.

  So clearly I needed to spend some time investigating the Mancusos to see what I can come up with. I’m still not convinced that I’m wrong about them being behind this town turning into a criminal dumpster. But if—and that’s a fucking big if—Anderson was right, I needed to start paying closer attention to the other Italian family in town.

  I grabbed my phone, scrolling to Karina’s Facebook page before I sat down on the couch, wondering why I felt the need to disinfect the La-Z-Boy first before I made use of it again.

  There was still no status update on her page, and I’m pretty sure that since she now knows I’m watching her profile, she won’t be updating it that often
anymore. I’m surprised she hasn’t deleted and blocked my ass yet.

  Staring at her profile picture, her smile almost reaching her chocolaty eyes, I can’t help but think that she didn’t quite fit into the Valenti equation. Sure she was feisty with a healthy dose of that sexy as hell Italian attitude, but part of a criminal family? I don’t think so.

  It’s easy to see that her older brother, Antonio, was well on his way following in their father’s footsteps. Dante had that whole Italian bad-ass nailed to perfection—but her? I don’t know. One thing I did know was that Karina Valenti was definitely a puzzle I wanted to solve, and I knew just where to start.

  Chapter 6

  KARINA

  Staring at my phone I wondered if I should update my status, let the world know I was on my way to my brother, Dante’s, birthday party at Vertigo nightclub. But that would be stupid—plus, it would be a recipe for a stampede, too.

  If I were really honest with myself, I’d admit that the only reason I would want to do something as stupid as that would be to see if he was still keeping an eye on my profile. And would he react? Or would he suspect that it was just another ruse, a ploy at creating a little entertainment for my followers?

  God, I felt so pathetic even considering it. In any case, I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the little freedom my brothers and I are given.

  Usually our dad didn’t condone us hanging out at bars or nightclubs, and it was something we hardly ever did. Being Italian came with a lot of rules and family morals everyone needed to adhere to. From an early age we were taught to wear sophistication as a second skin, and to never bring shame upon the family. We were classy, and our actions needed to mirror that.

  A few years back Dante was out partying at a nightclub, and got drunk off his ass. A fight broke out because my dear brother decided to pursue a woman who clearly already had a man at her side.