| Wrong Time To Burn

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀

VANESSA

I decided to do this whole fake-public-profile-picture-on-social-media thing myself 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. As 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 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 whispered—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 Bologna?"

What the fuck?

I shifted slightly in my seat. "Detective Gunner, 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 Bologna, but all one point two million followers don't know you either." A cocky grin crossed his face, drawing my attention to those damn dimples again.

I uncrossed my legs and then crossed them again. "It's a necessary precaution."

He held his arms up and shrugged. "And I get that. Being the daughter of the wealthy, powerful, notorious Wall Street guru, Dante Bologna has its downsides, I suppose."

I glowered at him from underneath my lashes. "Tell me what you want, Detective Gunner."

He tucked his phone back into his pants pocket. "I want you to tell me what the fuck is happening in this city."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean."

"During the last two years, it's like everything got shot to shit in this place, and I'm willing to bet my life savings your father is behind it all."

"It's not much, is it?"

"What isn't much?"

"Your life savings." I almost gave myself a high five.

He continued to stare at me, his expression is unreadable. "So, you're not just a no-bullshit woman, but you're funny too."

I smiled.

He leaned back and lifted a leg, placing his ankle over one knee, and God helps me, when I noticed how perfectly his jeans hugged his thick, hard thighs, I couldn't stop my gaze from moving upward to see what else that denim was hugging. The thought alone caused the slightest ache to pulse between my legs. Jesus.

"See something you like, Miss Bologna?" His voice interrupted my sleazy thoughts that had no place inside my mind. I jerked my head up and cleared my throat.

"Not particularly, no." For some reason, I couldn't look at him since I practically had thoughts of his cock infesting my mind just seconds ago. Judging by the heat that spread across my skin, I knew I was flushed from chest to forehead. I hoped he didn't notice.

"You look flushed." Goddammit.

"It's from the lack of oxygen in this damn room." I met his gaze.

He narrowed his dark eyes, and one side of his lip curved up. "Yeah, I'm sure it's that."

"Do me a favor, would you? Cut the bullshit and get to the point so I can get out of here."

"Okay, then. Tell me about your dad—or the Wolf, as he's known on the streets. Tell me what kind of operation he's running."

Oh, my God. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that exact question. The Wolf was always on everyone's minds and lips whenever they were around me. It was like I didn't even exist apart from being Dante Bologna, the black Wolf's daughter. Everyone was so damn predictable when it came to me and my relationship with my dad.

"Detective, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Oh, come now, Miss Bologna. We both know your father doesn't make his millions just by running a family business and playing around on the stock market."

"What exactly are you implying, Detective?"

He shifted in his seat and placed his hands on the table. "You can cut the crap, Miss Bologna. Your father is what we call an Italian-American mafia boss, and even though I can't prove it now, I will."

A cold tremor wracked my body, and I wiped a curl out of my face to mask the mini-panic attack I was having. "I don't know where you get your information, but you should consider removing those informants from your payroll, Detective."

He snorted. "I thought you were a no-bullshit kind of woman."

"I'm not. I mean I am." Shit. I'm nervous. This damn man was making me nervous and growing up with two headstrong Italian brothers who made me the tough woman I was today, that was saying a lot.

"So, which is it?"

I cleared my throat, determined not to let my discomfort show. "Detective Gunner, am I under arrest?"

"Not at all."

I grabbed my purse and stood. "In that case, it was nice to meet you, Detective Gunner. But please, in the future, do not waste my time like this."