When Heroes Fall (Anti-Heroes in Love 1)

“We will speak only English, okay?” he promised solemnly.

I stared at him, finally pinpointing what it was exactly about Dante Salvatore that put me so ill at ease.

He was utterly genuine.

In his dominance, in his charm, in his concern.

He committed himself entirely to the moment, to that which was at the center of his attention. To be in his spotlight felt like being naked, razed of every defense I’d spent twenty-seven years meticulously forging.

“Fine, I’m sitting,” I offered stiffly, crossing my legs. Dante’s eyes immediately went to the edge of the opaque band at the top of my thigh-high stockings. I uncrossed them and tugged my black cashmere skirt down farther. “What did you break into my house to tell me?”

“We do not do business at the dinner table,” he admonished even though he shot me that wicked grin.

It was an age-old rule, one that even I knew as a civilian outside of the mafia.

“I’d rather we get on with it. You’re encroaching on my plans for this evening.” I arched a chilly brow at him as I reached for the tuna sashimi, my stomach rumbling quietly, reminding me I’d only eaten half an apple since breakfast.

“Oh?” The word was swallowed up in a chuckle. “Hot date?”

I looked down my nose at him as I popped a piece of silken fish into my mouth and hummed lightly as I swallowed it. There was no reason he had to know the closest I’d been to a hot date since Daniel left me was a glass of wine, a box of my favorite French chocolates, and an episode of True Blood. “Perhaps.”

Dante’s hands, the palms thick with plump muscle, looked faintly ridiculous holding the slim chopsticks, but he maneuvered them like a pro as he picked through a spicy salmon roll. “Then I insist we talk about this. Cosima implied you were… not interested in men.”

I choked on a piece of sushi, inhaling the wasabi painfully. Calmly, eyes dancing, Dante handed me my untouched glass of Italian red.

I glared at him as I swallowed it down, breathing with relief when the burning in my throat eased.

“I’m very interested in the right kind of men,” I corrected him in a throatier voice than usual, rough from my coughing fit. “Men of honor and substance. It’s not my fault they’re a rare breed.”

“I wonder if you’d give any man the chance to prove his worth?” Dante mused.

The words weren’t unkind, but they hurt all the same. Late at night lying in the big bed I’d once shared with him, I’d wondered if I hadn’t given Daniel a proper chance to be himself with me, to prove that whatever more he was could be beautiful to me.

I’d shut him down because I’d been afraid.

I could admit it now, after months of reluctant therapy.

His sexual proclivities had broken open old scar tissue from Christopher’s abuse in my youth, and like a coward, I’d let my fear rule me and ruin my relationship with the best man I’d ever known.

I didn’t say any of that to the mafioso sitting across from me as if we were at his house instead of mine. Something about his easy manner seemed to exacerbate every single one of my flaws. I felt naked and raw under that olive-black gaze, and I didn’t like it at all.

So, I tipped my chin and slanted him a cool look. “Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

An abrupt laugh erupted from his broad chest. “Oh yes, Elena, with this, I can agree.”

I plucked up a piece of silken sashimi and let it melt on my tongue before I set my chopsticks down and fixed him with a cool, professional look. “As long as you’re here, we should run through tomorrow’s proceedings. The probation officer will be at your address at ten in the morning to fit you with your ankle monitor and set up the system. Unless you have approval from their office to attend doctor’s appointments, church, therapy, or something equally pragmatic and important to your health, you will be restricted to your home.”

He shrugged one thick shoulder and took a long sip of his wine. I watched his throat contract as he swallowed, wondering at the density of muscles in his neck deepening over his shoulders. I was an avid runner who never missed a workout, so I knew he must have worked every day to maintain such an outrageously fit physique.

“It is okay to admire me.” His voice bumped into my thoughts, upending a flush that spilled like the wine in his glass all the way from my cheeks to my breasts. “You are a Lombardi woman, and as such, I’m certain you have a deep appreciation for beauty.”

“This is why I dislike Italian men. You’re so arrogant.”

“Is it arrogance if it is based in fact? Why fake humility? Would you rather I deceive you than speak the truth?” he countered calmly.