When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

His fingers slid into the hair over my ear, tipping my head so that he could feather a kiss over the bruising my father had left under my eye when he hit me. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft as suede. “No, you do not give yourself enough.”

And just that easily, Dante convinced me once again that abandoning everything I knew just to be with him was the best choice I’d ever made.

Two

Elena

We were staying at Amadeo Salvatore’s villa in the countryside outside the city of Naples where he kept a working olive grove and made his own wine. I’d heard Cosima speak about it before, the endless olive groves to one side of the property and the vineyard scaling down the hillside on the other. Apparently, Tore was meeting us there having caught his own private flight from upstate New York.

Even though Tore had been a stock villainous character in my childhood, I found myself wanting to impress him then. He was the closest thing Dante had to a father. Anxiety tied knots in my belly that made it hard to swallow as I thought about spending an undisclosed amount of time with the man in close quarters. How did one impress a mafia don?

I was in the back bedroom of the plane staring at the hap hazardously thrown together contents of my single suitcase when the door creaked open behind me. A second later, warm hands slid around my hips and over my belly under the fabric of my camisole.

Dante placed his head on my shoulder. “Based on the way you are staring at these clothes, I thought you were trying to crack open a safe or discern the meaning of life.”

I snorted softly. “Close. I’m trying to decide what to wear to meet your father figure.”

“You’ve met Tore before.”

“As your lawyer, not as your…” I hesitated, scrambling to define what this gorgeous man was to me and me to him. “As your partner.”

He turned his head so that his hot breath wafted over my neck, his lips tickling the thin skin over my hammering pulse. “Partner? Mmm, I don’t think so. I like the sound of… my lover, my woman, innamorata mia, amora mia.”

My love, my heart.

I shivered as he clamped his teeth around the side of my neck and sucked in a way that would leave a bruise. Hickeys were tasteless marks yet I found myself leaning into the suction, gasping at the sensation and the knowledge that everyone who looked at me with him would know I was his.

I’d never yearned for possession the way I did with Dante. I was a woman who valued my independence fiercely so I’d always thought that the idea of belonging to someone else was a direct contradiction to my independence. I’d been wrong. Owning the heart of a man like Dante Salvatore didn’t make me weak, it made me strong. I was proud to be seen as his because I was proud of the man he was and the woman he helped me to become.

“We land in twenty minutes. Come sit with me,” he said as he pulled away. “You look beautiful.”

“I look like I spent ten hours on a plane,” I argued. “And before that I spent hours locked up in a basement in Brooklyn.”

“I don’t like the bruise that bastardo put on your face, but no one will judge you for that, least of all Tore.”

“My outfit is part of my armor,” I told him even though it exposed a vulnerability. “I’ll be out in two minutes, just give me time to change.”

“You don’t understand this yet, but you do not need your armor all the time now. Not when you have me.” He lipped the edge of my jaw all the way up to my ear where he spoke his next words on a purr. “I will be your sword.”

Before I could gather my scattered thoughts enough to respond, he squeezed my hip in his palm then moved away, the door clicking behind him.

Love hadn’t suddenly made me naive.

I knew no matter what, Dante and I would continue to face adversity. I would need his sword and my shield both if we were going to survive Naples.

But I couldn’t ignore the way my heart seemed to float in my chest, filled with a joy so effervescent it couldn’t be contained.

I will be your sword.

I shook my head to ground myself again then went into the bathroom to fix my curls and apply a fresh coat of Chanel lipstick in the shade Gabrielle that made my mouth a bold, sultry pout. I settled on a tight black, high waisted pencil skirt and a sheer black blouse that hid the scabbing wounds at my wrists from when Seamus had zip tied them, feeling instantly more at ease when I looked in the mirror at the respectable image I formed. I didn’t wipe the dried cum from my chest even though it made my skin tight.