𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 JAMESI ran down the street with the determination of a man on a mission, chasing a guy who felt it was okay to snatch and grab an elderly lady's pouch. Of course, I just had to be the one who had wandered around the corner at the exact moment all this was going down - as if some supernatural power was on the old woman's side. She might not have known this, but I was a cop, so It was my job, after all. To be honest, this was one of the reasons I joined the police force. Why I became a detective. I wanted to be the one chasing after guys like this. Guys who thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted on these streets. And although I knew I should be investigating big cases-cases that involved the Bologna or the Morellos, the worst and most dangerous families ruling these streets of Boston for lord knew how long, I'd take anything that has to do with protecting civilians in a heartbeat. Even if it meant me chasing dumb criminals who had shit for brains. What could

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 JAMES I turned back to Roman and noticed him staring at me. True as fuck, a grin started up at the corners of his mouth, almost reaching his eyes. Seriously? That was all it took to crack any kind of expression onto this guy's face? Un-fucking-believable. I leaned over my desk. "You know, we're supposed to be partners, and among other things, that also entails you having my back." Roman's dark brows slanted down. "If I remember correctly, you said you didn't need a partner. Your exact words, I believe, were, 'I don't need any motherfucking middle-aged bastard being my partner.' Ring a bell?" "None whatsoever." Roman snorted and got up from his seat. "Whatever, man. Just make sure you keep your nose out of the feds' business with the Bologna. Believe me, you don't need to get caught in the middle of shit like that." "Thanks for the warning, partner." "Anytime." He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and sauntered out of the building. I couldn't believe they

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀 VANESSAI 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 secon

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 JAMESIn life, you got two types of women. You got the women who thought they were hot, pretending like they knew how to use their bodies to get a man's attention, but they didn't. Sure, they would probably end up getting a man's attention - or his responsiveness - now and then, but only because seeing how pathetic they were guaranteed a quick and easy lay. Not a good lay, just an easy one. You know, like a good jerk-off in the shower. It didn't satisfy you completely, but it was sufficient to get you through the day. And then you got the kind of women who didn't need to use their bodies to get a man's attention at all. They didn't walk around thinking, "If I sway my ass a little to this side, and then a little to that side, I'll get the men drooling." No. They walked the way they walked, and they talked the way they talked. And without even trying, sexual energy seeped through every pore, sensuality emanating from their every move, and they wore eroticism like a second s

𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀VANESSAAbout five years ago, the heat on my father and his activities was pretty intense. Until the Morellos moved in on what my dad called our territory. Then the heat got worse as the Morellos started wreaking havoc on the streets. I wasn't exactly sure what they did, but by the way, my dad and brothers always cursed whenever the subject of the Morellos came up, I'd say it was pretty bad shit.Still scrolling down James' page, I decided there wasn't much else to see or to stalk. So, I went back to my page, contemplating whether I should remove James Gunner as a follower. He was probably using it to keep tabs on me, watching me, waiting for me to slip up so he could get what he wanted—incriminating shit on my family. Plus, now he knew ninety per cent of my status updates were bullshit anyway. What if he called me out on it?While I stared at the screen, a notification popped up saying James Gunner commented on your post.Shit, shit, shit.I slid my finger across the s