When Heroes Fall (Anti-Heroes in Love 1)

“I’m always polite,” I said, but he’d hit an old bruise.

I could be mean. It was in me to give, and sometimes I was so cruel, there was no coming back from it.

Sometimes, I didn’t want to, like with Giselle and Daniel.

But even then, a little voice buried alive in the ground of my mind where I’d left it long ago whispered that maybe I didn’t want them to hate me either.

“I think you mean to be,” he agreed, his voice soft. I could feel his gaze on me, the quality of it warm, almost gentling against my cheek. “But the women in my family are very friendly. They might view your reserved nature as rude.”

I rolled my lips under my teeth, feeling wounded somehow.

Dante sighed and stepped even closer, the heat of his body buffeting mine. “Elena, I do not mean to imply you are mean, only that I wish for you to get along with the people in this house. Do you understand me?”

I shrugged a shoulder as I looked out the window again. The night hours always made me feel melancholier, the dark thoughts in my mind drawn to its shadows. “I’m not here to make friends, but I understand. I don’t like reminders of Italy, but I will try to be…warmer.”

I could see the bright flash of Dante’s smile from the corner of my eyes and couldn’t resist the impulse to face it full on as if it was the sun itself and I wanted to bask in his rays.

“I appreciate that,” he said genuinely. “I know you do not want to be here, and you can hate me for it, but this is best. This is necessary.”

I didn’t agree with that, but I’d already battled with Yara and Dante both, and in the velvet quiet of the night, for once, I didn’t feel like arguing again.

“Rule number two, I don’t want it widely known I’m living here. If anyone found out, I could lose my license to practice law, and…” I fought to find the words to express what such a tragedy would mean to me and finally settled on an Italianate shrug. “It would not be possible for me to recover from that.”

“Done,” Dante agreed, reaching forward to take my hand as if for a shake, but instead, he just held it loosely in both of his own. I could feel the thick callous along the ridge of his palms. “In fact, Adriano will drive you to work in the morning in my Town Car. The windows are tinted, and you will leave from the garage, which is accessed directly from the suite. No one should have reason to see you leaving the building.”

Of course, the criminal had thought of everything in order not to get caught.

“Rule three,” I continued with a glare. “My privacy is paramount. No snooping in my room and invasive questions.”

I was laying the groundwork for the next week when I was scheduled to have my surgery with Monica.

“I have a procedure next week and will be out of work for a few days. I would like to be able to convalesce at my own home,” I requested with what I hoped was a pleasing smile.

From Dante’s scowl, it wasn’t. He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging beneath the bronze skin like coiled rope. “Is it serious?”

“No,” I said instantly, hoping to offer as few details as possible.

“Then no, you will stay here,” he decided, nodding like a king bestowing his grace on a subject. “Bambi can see to you if you need anything while you rest, and no one will disturb you otherwise.”

“Bambi?” I asked, unable to leave the name alone.

“The woman who cooks and cleans for me,” he explained, eyes dancing again as he read my reaction. “Her name is Georgina, but she has the big eyes and the softness of Bambi. She hasn’t been called anything else since she was six when her mother died.”

I shook my head at Italians and their nicknames, but I was not happy about staying with Dante after my surgery. There was no extensive aftercare except rest because they were doing the surgery laparoscopically, but it was too vulnerable to stay with a virtual stranger after having something so intimate performed.

“Please, Dante,” I started to explain, but an expression overcame him that arrested me mid-speech. “What?”

“The sound of ‘please’ from your lips sounds even better than a curse,” he murmured, stepping closer to raise a thumb to the edge of my mouth.

I sucked in a little breath I hoped he didn’t hear and stepped back. “I would rather stay at my house.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” he countered easily as if my opinion didn’t matter one jot.

“Uh,” I growled in frustration. “Are you always so pigheaded?”

“Not always.” His grin was large and boyish, slightly crooked between his cheeks, the faint dimple in his chin deepening. “Are you done with your rules now?”