Royal Mafia Box Set: Books 1-4

by Bella J.

  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?

  Chapter 5

  LORIK

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

  There were empty beer bottles scattered throughout the living room, along with dirty glasses containing the sticky residue of last week’s rum. The microwavable plastic instant meal containers were 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 were lined up on the counter.

  The way I saw it, I was a detective, not a domesticated pansy. I had much better things to do with my time than clean, cook, and do laundry.

  Talk about laundry…I’d probably need to do that soon-ish since I pulled my last clean shirt from the closet this morning.

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

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

  Luckily, it didn’t take me long to clean up most of the mess. I was a minimalist. If I didn’t have a use for shit, said shit didn’t get into my apartment. There were the basics every human being needed. Microwave, coffee machine, fridge—and it was a fucking state of the art fridge with an ice maker. Because there was nothing more annoying than when you wanted to pour that first drink of the day and realized you were out of motherfucking ice. Happened to me once, and I maxed my credit card the very next day buying that damn expensive fridge. I’d been a happy man ever since.

  There was a La-Z-Boy in the living room because every man needed a La-Z-Boy. I was pretty sure it was written in the Bible somewhere. And then, of course, there was my fifty-two-inch Smart LED television set to complement my Xbox One perfectly, and the state-of-the-art surround sound for those nights I decided to piss off the neighbors.

  Naturally, there was also a black leather couch where I just happened to fall asleep five nights of the week. The other two nights were usually spent in either my bed or a bed completely unfamiliar to me, next to a woman I’d 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 knew 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. Carpentry was one of my many hidden talents.

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

  I tossed all my laundry into a black bag and headed to the front door. Then I almost squealed 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 right on in?” I flung the door shut and set down the black bag.

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

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

  Anderson took a seat on the La-Z-Boy. Motherfucker. Did he not know a man’s La-Z-Boy was right up there with his woman? You didn’t touch it, you didn’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 said it so calmly, like he was discussing the weather.

  I crossed my arms. “Not like I care, but what makes you think that?”

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

  I scratched my jaw. “First, fuck you. And second, fuck you. Third, I’ve been here for four years.”

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

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

  “Because if you’d been here long enough, you’d know 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’d done my homework. I knew the history of these motherfuckers better than I knew fifth grade math.

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

  I plopped 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 goddamn 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.”

  He shook his head with the most annoying smirk on his face. “Children started disappearing long before that. But no one took notice because only about two cases a year 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. “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 snapped 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’s no way in hell he’d snitch on them. He’d be good as dead.”

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

  “Oh, I know he’s lying.”

  “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 snorted again. God, I hated when he did that. It was only cool when I did 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 sounded so damn sure about this fact that it made me wonder exactly what had him so completely convinced about Valenti’s innocence. Sure, it was 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 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 good until this asshole ruined it.

  And then it occurred to me. “If you know I’m suspended, 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 was my turn to snort. What an asshole—albeit an asshole who just scored some major points.

  It pained me to admit it, but maybe he was right. Maybe I’d been concentrating too much on the wrong damn family. The heat had been on the Valentis for so long, the Mancusos’ movements went almost completely unnoticed.

  Clearly, I needed to spend some time investigating the Mancusos to see what I could come up with. I still wasn’t convinced I was wrong about the Valentis being behind this town turning into a criminal dumpster. But if—and that was a big fucking 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 on the couch, wondering why I felt the need to disinfect the La-Z-Boy before I made use of it again.

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

  Staring at her profile picture, her smile almost reaching her chocolaty eyes, I couldn’t help but think 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 didn’t think so.

  It was easy to see 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 didn’t know. One thing I did know was Karina Valenti was definitely a puzzle I wanted to solve, and I knew just where to start.

  Chapter 6

  KARINA

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

  If I were honest with myself, I’d admit the only reason I would want to do something so stupid would be to see if he was still keeping an eye on my profile. And would he react? Or would he suspect 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 were given.

  Usually, our dad didn’t condone us hanging out at bars or nightclubs, and 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 never to bring shame upon the family. We were classy, and our actions needed to mirror that.

  A few years back, Dante went through a real tough time. Acted out, got drunk, started fights, and went around being a total asshole. One night he was out partying at a nightclub, and a fight broke out because my dear brother decided to pursue a woman who clearly already had a man at her side. Overall, he was acting like a complete jerk, and the media was having a field day with it.

  The rest of the family didn’t understand, but I did. I understood. Being a woman and dealing with heartbreak was tough enough. But being an independent, strong man with an ego bigger than the Pacific, dealing with a broken heart was ten times worse. It was eating away at him. Partying and drinking was the only way he knew how to deal with it.

  But Dante was never one to follow rules, always wanting to see how far he could bend them before they finally broke. But that day at the bar, Dante bent the rules too damn far. I’d never seen my dad as mad as I did that day. He slapped Dante across the face so hard my brother had a handprint on his cheek for a week. The Italian that came out of my dad’s mouth was something I’d never dream of repeating.