I hadn’t even been in the same room as this man for two minutes and I already knew his ego was bigger than fucking China.
“Miss Valenti—”
“That’s it, isn’t it? It’s my last name that has me here at two o’clock on a Friday afternoon, instead of drinking cocktails by the pool with my friends.”I might as well act like the rich princess everyone thinks I am.
That smirk was still plastered on his face as he leisurely leaned back in his chair. “I see you’re a no bullshit kind of woman.”
“I’m Italian, what do you expect?” I crossed my legs under the table and noticed him glance down at my lap while biting his lower lip as he slowly moved his gaze up my body.
“Tell me about yourself, Miss—”
“Something tells me you already know everything there is to know.” I cocked my head, letting my dark curls slip over my shoulder.
He frowned, then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
I watched as he slid his finger across the screen.
“According to Facebook—”
“You have Facebook?”
He glanced up at me. “Stop interrupting me.”
“Stop antagonizing me.” I lifted a brow.
He snorted and turned his attention back to his phone. “So, according to Facebook,” he glanced at me for a split second like he was expecting me to interrupt again, but I didn’t, “Karina Valenti checked in at the Skin Spa in New York,” he turned the screen toward me, “and she checked in five minutes ago to get some ‘well-deserved pampering with my girlfriends,’” he mocked, reading my status update.
Well, shit.I did not see that one coming.
That would teach me not to use the fifteen minutes stuck in an interrogation room to update my fake Facebook page. I had a PR company doing it for me up until a few months ago. But they kept messing up by posting the biggest load of crap that clashed with some of my public appearances. Like “Karina Valenti is out fishing with her friends today,” when in fact, I was at the new local library opening ceremony getting my picture taken with my dad and the fucking mayor—shit like that.And since when does Karina Valenti go fishing?
So, I decided to do this whole fake-public-profile-picture-on-social-media thing myself in order to protect the little privacy I did have. The issue of privacy was one of the reasons I didn’t come home very often. My parents usually had to beg me relentlessly for two months straight before I eventually agreed to visit.
I didn’t like the way I felt when I was here in town, the way everyone made me feel. Like I said, I wasn’t stupid. I was not oblivious to what my father did, and neither was the rest of Boston—the world, for that matter. Wherever I went, I was labeled as the daughter of Lorenzo Valenti, the infamous mafia boss everyone knew he was, but was unable to prove.
I’d long made peace with the knowledge that whispers would always follow me wherever I went, no matter where in the world I was. But here in Boston, my hometown, it wasn’t just whispers—it was screams. No one here even tried to be inconspicuous when they talked about me, about my family. And I hated it.
I hated every second I spent here. I hated the giant label that hung around my neck like a scarlet letter, which was why I’d spent the last two years trying to distance myself from my family—from my dad. It was hard, but not being around them was the only way for me to be able to breathe normally.
Anyway, seemed like I just fucked up on this whole doing my own PR thing as well.
I pulled my hand through my hair, tangling my fingers through the curls. It was something I did when I was nervous, but only those closest to me knew that.
“Are you nervous, Miss Valenti?”
What the fuck?
I shifted slightly in my seat. “Detective Stone, you seem to think you know me. But let me assure you, you don’t.”
He shook his head, an inky black curl moving down his forehead. “I might not know you, Miss Valenti, but apparently all one hundred and eighty-two thousand, three hundred and twenty-two followers don’t know you either.” A cocky grin crossed his face, drawing my attention to those damn dimples again.
I uncrossed my legs then crossed them again. “It’s a necessary precaution.”
He held his arms up and shrugged. “And I totally get that. Being the daughter of the wealthy, powerful, notorious Wall Street guru, Lorenzo Valenti, has its downsides, I suppose.”
I glowered at him from underneath my lashes. “Tell me what you want, Detective Stone.”
He tucked his phone back into his pants pocket. “I want you to tell me what the fuck is happening in this city.”