KARINA
My heart still wasn’t beating normally. And my skin still felt like it was on fire, all because of one arrogant, overly confident, egotistical male with devil eyes and a smirk that could melt panties everywhere. For the last half hour, I’d had a constant prickle of warning in the back of my head. Detective Stone was a temptation I needed to stay clear of.
I leaned back in the seat of the car and inhaled, counting to four, and then exhaled. Maybe if I did a few breathing exercises, my heartbeat would normalize.
I tried it a few times, and it actually seemed like it was helping since I no longer felt the overwhelming urge to make a slut out of myself.
It was about half an hour drive back home, so I grabbed my phone, thinking it might be a good idea to interact a little with my one hundred and eighty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty-two followers.
One thousand, two hundred and nineteen notifications in under forty minutes. How was that even possible? Did these people sit around waiting for public figures to update their status so they could comment and like—and poke—to their little hearts’ content?
Were these people even aware there were things like world hunger and global warming? Things that were way more important than what I had for lunch, or what Kim Kardashian wore to the damn beach.
I opened the Facebook app and clicked on my notifications bar, marking all as read. If I replied to every comment made, I’d be here until next Tuesday.
Just as I was about to close the app, I paused.
I wondered…
Scrolling to my list of followers, I started typing in “Stone.” I had no idea what his first name was, but if he’d managed to get my latest status update back at the station, he must be following me.
And, sure as shit, there he was—Lorik Stone. Lorik. Was that Greek? No, then it would be Lorikos, or Lorikaras, or something with an os or an as at the end. Maybe it was Albanian?
If it weren’t for me recognizing that sinfully gorgeous face, I never would have guessed it was him.
I knew I shouldn’t—I really shouldn’t—but I clicked on his profile anyway.
As I scrolled down his timeline, I noticed there really wasn’t much going on, since his last status update was two months ago saying, “I’m drunk. That is all.” That was so attractive.
I rolled my eyes and went to the About section. He had Self-Employed listed as his job, which made me snort since I knew that was a crock of bull. But it did make sense he wouldn’t go put Detective on something as public as Facebook, especially when he was apparently investigating my father.
My stomach turned at the thought. Not that it was anything new. The police had been investigating my father for as long as I could remember, but they’d never managed to get any concrete evidence against him.
Lorenzo Valenti was as intelligent as he was cunning. Hell, I was his daughter, and if it weren’t for a conversation about the Cosa Nostra, which I just happened to hear between my parents ten years ago, I never would have suspected my father was a mafia boss. Back then, I didn’t even know what that meant, what it entailed. And when I heard my dad say the words “managing protection rackets,” I knew it meant something bad. I was too young to understand back then, but I did now.
About five years ago, the heat on my father and his activities was pretty intense. Until the Mancusos moved in on what my dad called our territory. Then the heat got worse as the Mancusos started wreaking havoc on the streets. I wasn’t exactly sure what they did, but by the way my dad and brothers always cursed whenever the subject of the Mancusos came up, I’d say it was pretty bad shit.
Still scrolling down Lorik’s page, I decided there wasn’t much else to see—or to stalk. So, I went back to my page, contemplating whether I should remove Lorik Stone as a follower. He was probably using it to keep tabs on me, watching me, waiting for me to slip up so he could get what he wanted—incriminating shit on my family. Plus, now he knew ninety percent of my status updates were bullshit anyway. What if he called me out on it?
While I stared at the screen, a notification popped up saying Lorik Stone commented on your post. Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I slid 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 hell did that even mean? I knew I shouldn’t, and I hardly ever replied to comments, but I couldn’t help myself.
Quickly I typed, 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 didn’t.
Instead, I opened my messenger app and started typing a message to Lorik Stone.
Karina: 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.
First, why the fuck was I doing this? Why was I even dignifying this asshole’s lame attempt at contact with giving him exactly what he wanted—contact?
And second, why the hell did I put my name in the end? This was Facebook Messenger, not a damn text message. Besides, something told me 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 popped his message.
Lorik: 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.”
Karina: I’m giving all my followers what they want.
Lorik: And what’s that?
Karina: 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 was angry, and I was annoyed. How dared he think he had me all figured out, when, in fact, he had no goddamned clue?
Another text bubble appeared, and when the message came up on the screen, I had to read it twice.
Lorik: I know you’re much more than just a rich princess.
He was playing the nice guy card, pretending he understood all my fucking problems. Unfortunately for him, I was smarter than that.
Karina: Well, thanks, Dr. Phil. Now leave me alone.
The text bubble appeared again, but then it was gone. Appeared again, and then gone again. I watched for about five minutes as he started and stopped, a message never showing up. Until finally…
Lorik: What if I don’t want to, princess?
An image of his dark eyes slid 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 wasn’t even sure he was doing it on purpose. I thought for a man like him, it came naturally. Lust and sex just bled out of him, infecting you with the most intense carnal desires like a damn virus. And it kept on spreading through every vein, every bone, until you ended up craving him more than any other type of drug.
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.
Karina: 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 was wondering how I was 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 stayed away, how long I waited before I came back home, the people here never forgot. They always recognized me, especially when I was out with my two brothers hovering over me like guard dogs.
Italian men and the women in their lives. You could always count on an Italian man to be extremely overprotective.
My brother Dante, who was turning twenty-four tomorrow, was too busy chasing after tits and ass. Not that he needed to chase it; it somehow followed him wherever he went. It was like he was a magnet for everything that had an abundance of estrogen. The problem was, his dick didn’t know how to say no.
But Antonio, my oldest brother, was most like my dad. He was all business and no play. When it came to the family and running the business smoothly, he was a perfectionist. He was what they called the underboss, the son who would take over my father’s empire and run it exactly the way he was taught. Antonio was darker, harder than Dante, more focused.
I worried about Antonio sometimes. He was twenty-eight, and I knew for a fact he hadn’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 was afraid he was going to wake up one day and realize he’d been living someone else’s life, not his own.
Actually, that was the reality of all three of us Valenti children. We’d always live in the shadow of our father—the Wolf.
I looked down at my phone with Lorik’s face still on the screen. Why did I have the feeling that not only did I have the Wolf to worry about, but also that damn detective?