Luckily, nothing ever came of it. A night in the slammer, and I was a free man. That was the first time. Since then I’ve been careful, but occasionally we get pulled in for questioning. It’s rare to spend a night in jail, though. Not when we have the best lawyer money can buy, and more than enough cops and judges on our payroll to make up our own court system. We always know when we’ll be detained ahead of time, so we’re always prepared.
But this time, fuck--this time it could be the real thing for me. The uncertainty surrounding this arrest is different from all the other times, and I don’t like it.
“You’re gonna be fine,” Anthony says, taking a seat on my sofa. He drapes his arms across the back of the grey leather couch, and I wish I were as relaxed as him. I've never been envious of Anthony. He's a few inches shorter than me, and between the two of us, I'm the bigger pussy magnet. But right now I wish I'd been smart like him and and taken a job that didn't have me risking my neck like this.
“He said there’s a good bit of evidence,” I point out. Those are the words I keep hearing. Good bit of evidence.
“What are they gonna charge you with, huh?” He takes a swallow of his whiskey and leans forward, setting his drink down on the glassy surface of the coffee table before answering his own question. “Doing their job for ‘em?” He says it sarcastically with a raised brow.
We got into a tight spot with some business partners, Abram Petrov and his crew. He was a big fucking deal, along with his supposed second-in-command Vadik Mikhailov. They took over international territories like it was nothing. Then he came here and wanted us to deal in the sex trafficking industry. That’s not our thing. Unfortunately, when you tell people 'no' in our line of business, cutting ties takes on a whole new meaning.
“Murder, that one’s legit,” I finally respond. Thirteen dead members of Petrov’s crew were left at the scene, along with twelve women we made certain were safe in the back room. We had a heads-up from Kane about Petrov's plan to murder us, so Petrov and his crew went down easier since they didn’t know our ambush was coming.
Now the cops are trying to pin it all on me. I was the one stupid enough to leave evidence behind. Usually the clean-up crew gets all of it. But this time, they didn’t. It’s not like I was sloppy--I’m never sloppy. Shit just falls through the cracks sometimes. And this time it might fuck me over real good.
“Stop sweating it. They’re just trying to get something from you,” Anthony points out, still trying to reassure me. I should listen to Anthony. My brother’s got great intuition, and he’s always right. “I’ll be there to pick you up when you’re done, waiting right outside.” He picks up his drink again, taking another pull before continuing. “And I bet the ice in my drink won’t even be melted by the time you’re getting into my ride.” He swirls the ice around in the glass for emphasis as he says it.
He keeps my gaze, but I have to break it. I have a sick feeling in my gut. Vince says it’ll be fine, that the judge says some of the evidence is inadmissible. But some is not all, and something deep down is telling me they’re going to get me this time. It was way too big of a scene to clean up. Too much shit on our turf. We’ve been laying low, but it’s going to blow up in our faces. I just know it.
Tilting my head to the left and right, I crack my neck on both sides. I down the remainder of my glass, savoring the sensation of the cold liquid mixed with the hot burn of the whiskey. It slides down my throat and warms my chest. That’s when I hear them. I take a heavy breath and roll out my shoulders, knowing they’ll be hurting once the cuffs are on. Gotta loosen them up now. Somehow, hearing the wail of the sirens get louder as they approach puts me at ease. Maybe it’s just the waiting part that irritates me.
My heartbeat steadies, and my nerves follow suit. It’s just like any other day, I tell myself. I’m used to this. These high-stress situations can’t faze me. I can’t let them see me in any other states but calm and confident. No one ever gets to see me in any other condition than prepared. If they view you otherwise, you give them a chance to think of you as weak. And that's one thing I'm not.
“That’s the brother I know.” Anthony gets up and walks past me to the window, tipping the upper blinds back to get a better view. “Oh, five,” he says as his voice rises sarcastically. “You’re so fucking special.” I chuckle and pat him on the back as I head to the door.
Him being so at ease and having a sense of humor about it all does help. I gotta admit, whenever I’m in this shit, he’s always here for me, before and after. The other guys are at the bar, but I know they’ll be waiting for me there when I get out, too. That’s something the familia is always good for, buying you a drink when you get out.
“You’re not gonna make them walk their asses all the way up here? Seems like a missed opportunity to me.” He shakes his head with a grin.
“You just wanna watch, don’t you?” I ask him with a smirk.
He pats my back again and sets his glass down on the end table. “I’ll go with you.”
I grin at him as I open the door and hear the sounds of them walking through the building. I decide to leave my apartment unlocked. I know they’re going to search my place, and I’d rather not have to replace my door in case they decide to be assholes. “Lock it up for me when they’re gone?”
Anthony nods. “You know I will.” They’re already climbing the stairs as we get to the landing, so I just stand there with my hands clearly visible. I don’t want these fuckers to shoot my ass.
“It’s all good, Tommy. Just remember that. Not a damn thing’s gonna happen,” he says under his breath with a straight face. His smiles and jokes are all gone. He’s doing the same thing as me and putting on his mask.
I’m large and all muscle. I look like I’d fuck you up with my bare hands, and you’d be right to think that. Anthony has a different air around him, he always has. He’s a little shorter than me, a lot leaner, but toned. But something about his expressions and his dark eyes lets you know not to fuck with him.
“Thomas Valetti, we have a warr--” the cop closest to me begins, as he starts pulling out a piece of paper, but I don’t even need to see it.
I cut him off and don’t let him finish. “Yeah yeah, I know.” I turn and put my hands on the top of my head.
As a set of hands grab my wrists to pull them behind my back, and a voice starts spouting off the standard bullshit, I look up and see Anthony.
I almost don’t see it, but I know I do. I see a flash of worry in Anthony’s eyes. And that’s the only thing that keeps playing through my head as they take me in.
Tonya
I’m fucking furious. It feels like I’m back in high school again, dealing with petty, catty drama. I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now. The only difference is that I can’t meet up behind the school to put this bitch in his place. I may be small, but I could take him. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to prove myself.
“This is bullshit, Harrison, and you know it!” I slam the folder down on my desk and push off my chair so fast it almost tips over. I don’t give a shit. I also don’t give one fuck that my skirt is all wrinkled and riding up from sitting at my desk all day. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t be sitting at this damn desk. I’m not a paper pusher;I like getting shit done, and I hate that he’s trying to stand in my way.
“Is there a problem, Officer Kelly?” he asks me with a twisted smile. He’s such an ass. He went behind my back to have more paperwork assigned to me. If he thinks he can wear me down until I’m his little bitch, he has another think coming. I’m a fighter. That’s what I do, and I’m damn good at it.
“Oh, now I’m ‘Officer Kelly’?” This angry woman, yelling at her coworker? This isn’t me. But I’m so pissed. I hate my temper, and I’ve worked so fucking hard to tone it down. I really hate getting angry. But Harrison brings out the worst in me.
I’m fed up with this asshole. He’s a crooked cop, and now he’s trying to boss me around. I might be new, but I want to be t
he lead on this case more than anything. It’s the only reason I’m here, and I won’t let him stand in my way. Motherfucker better back off. I don’t care that he has more experience than me; what he’s doing is wrong.
“Thomas Valetti is a criminal,” he says from the doorframe of my office. There’s conviction in his voice. I get that. I know Thomas is mobbed up; everyone knows the Valettis are the big time mafia around here. But that doesn’t mean he should be going down for this.
“He didn’t do this, and you know it.” My voice wavers, and I hate that it does. I wish it were steady and strong. I am strong, but I feel like I’m on the verge of breaking.
“You don’t know shit.” I swear I see spit fly from his mouth as he sneers his words. “If you knew what I had to deal with from these lowlifes, you’d be chomping at the bit to get him in here and sweating in his seat.” 'Lowlifes' hits a nerve with me. I’ve been called a lowlife before more than once. I grew up in a trailer until my mom got clean. It wasn’t my fault. If I’d had a choice, I wouldn’t have lived there. I wanted real walls around my bedroom, not thin sheets of metal that barely protected me from anything that happened to bang against them in the middle of the night.
My only saving grace was my sister. I’ll never understand how we grew up in the same environment, yet turned out so different. After we moved to the suburbs, she just naturally fit in. It didn’t take long for me to settle down and find ways to fit in as well, but I never forgot who I was. She was a good girl through and through. It’s not that I was a bad girl. I just had to tame that spitfire in me and throw my favorite sparkly pink polish on top so I could blend in better.
He walks closer to me with a scowl on his face. “He’s one of the big fish in the family. We can get him to talk. I know we can.”
That’s what this is about. He's looking for anything he can get to put the Valettis behind bars. But not this way. I fucking hate that he’s chasing a name and bending the law. What’s right is right, and what’s wrong is wrong. And right now what Detective Harrison is doing is just plain wrong.
I learned long ago that if you just do what’s right, bad shit tends to stay away from you. Most of the time. My heart clenches in my chest and I almost reach for the locket I used to wear every day, but I don’t. Sometimes bad shit just happens, but you still try to do the right thing.
Harrison and his vendetta could fuck this up for me. I don’t care about past crimes. Shit, I don’t even care about whatever the hell the Valettis are doing now. I care about one name, and getting the information I need to make sure he pays. I care about revenge.
Some may think it’s wrong, taking revenge. But it’s not. Not for me. My sister deserves justice, and I won’t stop until she gets it.
I speak through clenched teeth, arching my neck to look this prick in his eyes. He might be taller than me, but he’s not going to intimidate me. At least not so much that it’s completely obvious to him. “You and I both know Petrov had that deal lined up with the Bratva in Kirov.” All the wire transfers and cell phone activity point to it. He knows it, and I know it. It’s fucking obvious, and international relations corroborated our theory. The Valettis put an end to that shit, and got a target on their backs for their troubles. Yet Detective Harrison is ready to pin the entire case on Thomas Valetti. The evidence is weak at best, but he’s pushing.
“You’ll stick to the script, or spend every fucking day sifting through these files, Kelly.”
“I’m not your goddamned secretary.” I walk past him and head straight to the Lieutenant’s office. I’m done with this conversation. Since I can’t kick his ass, I’ll just go around him. He’s not my boss, and I’m not going to put up with this.
I knock on the closed door with my white-knuckled fist and keep my back to Harrison as he stomps up behind me. His shadow looms over me. I can’t fucking stand him. He crosses the line whenever the hell he wants. I’m tired of him ordering me around and threatening me when he’s the one in the wrong. I know I’m new and I have to prove myself, but there comes a point when it’s just him being an asshole.
I raise my fist to pound against the door again, but it flies open.
“Harrison!” Jerry Weldon is an old man who’s tired of Harrison’s shit, too. I have to work hard to keep the grin from showing on my face.
“Lieutenant--” Harrison tries to speak over me, but Jerry cuts him off.
“I swear to God, if this is over the Valetti case, I’m going to fucking pull you off it, Harrison.” The grin slips into place, and I feel like a damn villain for enjoying this. But I can’t help it.
“He’s threatening to take me off, Lieutenant,” I say as calmly and professionally as possible. Which is easier than I’d thought it’d be. I can play the good girl part when I have to.
Jerry’s eyebrow cocks and he looks at Harrison like the fucking cockroach he is, then back at me. “I don’t have time for this shit, Kelly. Ignore his ass for now and do your damn job.” The blood drains from my face. Fuck. I hate that he’s scolding me like a petulant child. I just want Harrison off my ass. Is that too much to ask?
Again I feel like I’m in high school. The teachers looked at me with sympathy because they thought I just couldn't help that I was always getting into trouble. It was bullshit then, and it’s bullshit now. I swear to God some days I feel like I’ve taken crazy pills.
“He’s in holding now, and you’ll interview him together. Is that clear?” Jerry asks, looking between both of us.
“Yes, sir.” I answer clearly while Harrison practically mumbles. I didn’t bust my ass to get here so that I’d have to stand by men like him. He earned this position, and I should respect him for it. I try so hard to respect him for it. If he’d stop being an asshole, it’d be easier. I know the Valettis are big fish, but this is my case. And he needs to stop trying to shut me out of it.
I would cave and drop it if it weren’t for Petrov. He’s the only reason I’m here, and if Harrison knew why, he’d stop trying to push me off the case, because he’d know there’s no way I’m ever backing down. But none of them know; I don’t want them to. I can’t let them know this is personal.
Jerry gives me a tight smile, and I can see a faint glimmer of sympathy in his eyes. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m standing next to this asshole and I don’t have a choice, or if it’s because he thinks I won’t make it.
I’m petite, I like the color pink, especially hot pink, and I’d rather smile and joke around than brood over something stupid. Or I used to, anyway. Now it seems like all I do is get pissed off. But that’s an exception. It’s because I’m forced to deal with an ass all day.
All of those girly touches I love so much make me seem young and naive. Everyone looks at me like I don’t belong, and maybe they’re right. Maybe I learned to like all of that girly stuff because it softened me up some. Maybe I just wanted to copy my sweet-as-sugar sister. I don’t know. I’m a tough girl, but I’m still a girl. I don’t understand why people don’t think I can be both, like they're mutually exclusive or something. Instead I’m judged and shunned, no matter how many times I prove I have what it takes.
I stopped wearing anything remotely fashionable to the social gatherings. Even though I have palettes upon palettes of eyeshadow, I keep my makeup simple, or I just don’t wear makeup at all. I don’t wear any jewelry or get my nails done anymore. I have to wear my hair up in a ponytail or a bun. When it’s down I look way too feminine. I do everything I can to look like I fit in, because apparently that’s a requirement here. It doesn’t matter that I graduated at the top of my class back at the academy. A girly girl can’t survive here. Or so they say behind my back.
The problem is that they don’t see my confidence and passion for what it is. My personality's misconstrued because of how I look. I’m a bad ass bitch when I need to be, but I don’t want to come off that way all the time. I haven’t proven myself to be strong in their eyes.
I’m pushing the bad bitch to the surface and repressing every
other part of me. All that’s left after getting rid of the frilly shit I love is just a tough girl trying to fit in, so I can do what I came here to do. But I’m failing, and that fucking sucks, because I don’t fail at anything, and this is the only thing that matters anymore. I have to work twice as hard, to be considered half as good.
When I hear the guys talking shit about being tough, all I can think is that they're talking about tough actions, not appearances or words. Maybe they're just trying to convince themselves that a petite woman with a penchant for pink couldn’t kick their asses. I’m happy to prove them wrong though.
A part of me wants to prove them wrong. I want to show them I’m a bad ass bitch when I need to be. But another part of me is tired of fighting their prejudice. I didn’t come here to win their approval. They can talk shit about me. They can assume I’m going to fail. I don’t give a fuck. All I need is to be on this case. It’s the only reason I put up with this shit.
It hurts though. I’m woman enough to admit it. I want companionship. I want to feel like I belong. But right now, I have no one. I try to call my mom every once in awhile, but that’s just depressing as hell. I’m most concerned with the fact that I don’t know what happiness is anymore. I don’t know what I expected. But this isn’t it. I was so shortsighted with wanting to get here that I didn’t think things through all the way.
The reality is a swift kick in the ass.
Harrison pushes past me just as I get to the door to the interrogation room. Fucker holds it open for me though, like he’s a gentleman. I give him a tight smile and walk in first.
I almost stop when I see the hulking man in the metal chair. An air of power surrounds him. His hands are clasped in front of him and they're resting on the table. He doesn’t bother to look up at us. His dark, thick hair is longer on top than it is on the sides, just long enough to grip onto. It tempts me; it excites the wilder side of me that I usually keep suppressed.
Those Boys Are Trouble: Valetti Crime Family Box Set Page 50