My sister and I didn’t have the same accent as our mother, but when it came to looks, we took after her with our inky black hair, dark brown eyes, and year-round tanned skin.
“I love you too, Mom. I have to go. I’ll let you know about Sunday.”
I hung up before she got a chance to remind me about not waiting too long before I called her again.
Glancing at my watch, I smiled. It had been fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of stewing for the woman still waiting for me. My detective ass was willing to bet she was probably sweating like a damn farm animal by now.
I took my time as I sauntered in the direction of the interrogation room. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
Monroe passed me as I walked down the hall, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, probably wondering what the hell I was up to. Too bad. This was my case—well, technically, notmycase—but I fucking made it my case.
I stopped in front of the one-way mirror, and there she was—Karina Valenti, daughter of infamous Italian-American mafia boss, Lorenzo Valenti—waiting just for me.
Now, I had to admit, I was slightly disappointed at how absolutely cool and calm she looked. She hadn’t even broken a sweat during the fifteen minutes she was cramped inside that stinking room without a clue as to what she was doing there.
Slanting my head, I continued to look at her. This was the first time I’d seen her in person. All the other two thousand, one hundred and thirteen times I’d seen that face was when I stared at a picture of her—in a non-weird, non-perverted kind of way.
I’d been keeping a very close eye on the Valentis, studying them—her parents, her two brothers,her. For the last sixteen months, I’d basically been glued to every move that family made. And by now I sure as hell knew a lot about Karina Valenti.
For instance, I knew she was twenty-two years old, her birthday was January eleventh, and she was in her third year at Columbia University Law School. Currently, she was home for summer vacation, one of the three times a year she visited—the others being Thanksgiving and Christmas. I also knew her family owned the Italian restaurant where I just had my lunch, the restaurant where I’d been having my lunch quite regularly lately.
The Valentis pretended the restaurant was a goldmine—judging by their pizza, it probably was—and that Lorenzo’s impeccable knowledge of everything Wall Street was where they got all their wealth. But everyone knew Lorenzo Valenti was so much more than that.
Children had been disappearing like crayons at a daycare center, bodies piling up, and drugs spreading like a fucking disease on the streets. I was convinced this woman’s dad was behind it all.
She flipped her long, dark hair over her shoulder, holding her phone in the other hand. She was texting, or probably updating her Facebook status for the hundredth time today.
I decided to finally grace her with my presence and walked into the room.
“Miss Valenti, thank you for coming. I’m Detective Stone.”
“Detective Stone.” She looked up at me, and the moment her eyes met mine, I was captivated. I’d seen them so many times in pictures, but it was obvious the camera didn’t do them justice. Her big, round eyes were like melted chocolate swirls—dark, rich, and alluring, making me wish I could jump in and get lost inside them.
“Do you mind telling me what all this is about, Detective?”
My gaze fell to her full, luscious, tempting red lips, and all I saw at that moment, all I thought about were eyes and lips, and about a dozen acts of sin.
Karina Valenti was beautiful.
Fuck.
Chapter 2
KARINA
I stared at the detective in front of me. I didn’t trust him. I also knew the whole story of a receipt with my credit card number being found on an armed robber last night was bullshit. My credit card wasn’t stolen. Plus, I checked my bank account, and there were no funds missing.
What I did know was this probably had everything to do with my last name being Valenti. I might not be anything more than a rich princess, daughter of a powerful and wealthy family, to most of the people here in Boston, but I wasn’t stupid.
And the way this detective was staring at me with his dark brown eyes all smoldering and confident—maybe a little too confident—I was about ninety-nine percent sure he was hoping to get some information out of me.
He placed his arms on the table. “Miss Valenti, we found a credit card receipt—”
“No, you didn’t.” I didn’t have time for bullshit.
He narrowed his dark eyes, and a smirk started at the corners of his mouth, dimples appearing just above it. If I wasn’t so annoyed that he lied to get me here, I would have taken at least ten minutes to admire him.
With a sturdy, square jawline that could possibly—easily—chisel granite, a five o’clock shadow, and a pair of full, appealing lips, Detective Stone was really easy on the eyes. And judging by the way he filled out his shirt and jeans, I was willing to bet he had the physique and muscle to back up all that confidence oozing out of him.