Bad Girl_ Valetti Crime Family(4)

“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 the 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.