Page 91 of Phantom Mine

“Not yet. But he’s been meeting with the Armenians more frequently. Last night, I followed him to an auction.” Disgust curls around every single word out of Enzo’s mouth. “It would explain the additional cash flow.”

Unfortunately, sex trafficking is a recession proof business. Demand will always be there and high. But it’s a red fucking line. TheFamigliahas never dealt in human trafficking of any kind, let alone the sexual exploitation of women.

“Get hard proof. We’ll take it to my father. He won’t be able to ignore this like he has in the past—Rocco will pay.”

“I will,” Enzo vows.

Hanging up, I turn in time to find the waiter reaching to take the coat off Valentina’s shoulders. He freezes when he catches the arctic glare I level at him, and backs away.

“Why did you want me to meet you here?” Valentina asks.

I round the table and take her coat off myself. After handing it to the waiter, I dismiss him with a wave.

“What does it look like?” I ask, pulling out her seat and looking expectantly at her.

She doesn’t move. “It looks like you want me to have dinner with you.”

“That’s correct.”

Valentina stares at me, her gaze unwavering. “We agreed that this would be fun only.”

“Are you planning on doing a hunger strike while we’re sleeping together?”

“No.”

“Fabulous, then you can eat with me.”

She eyes me warily, hesitating. Her body sways slightly, as if something inside her is pushing her to give in.

“It’s food between friends, not a marriage proposal, Leni.”

Something flashes through her eyes before she finally starts to close the distance between us with small, cautious steps. “Isthat what we are?” she asks as she sits and I push her chair in. “Friends?”

I wait until I’m seated opposite her before I answer.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” I ask, pouring her a glass of red.

“Always.”

“Plan on using any of them on me?”

She takes an unhurried sip, assessing me with astute eyes above the rim of her glass. Her blood red lips rub together and her tongue peeks out of her mouth to lick at the residue. I’m about to blow in my trousers and I don’t think she’s even aware of what she’s doing to me.

“No,” she says, setting her glass down.

A slow smirk rolls across my lips, tugging at the corners. “Then I’d say that makes us friends.” My gaze catches on her ensnaring mouth once more. “Is that the cherry lipstick?”

Another sip. “You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

I smile at her. “You might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

A faint blush appears on both her cheeks and her lips twitch, but she fights back her smile.

She’s like being addicted to cigarettes—you know they’re bad for your health, you know they might one day result in your death, but you keep coming back for the high. For that moment the nicotine hits your lungs and the anxiety and irritation disappear. For that moment it enters your bloodstream and the restlessness inside you settles, bringing with it a calming quiet.

I’ve quickly become addicted to it.

“Why do you hate your brother?”

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