When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

It was boring as hell.

But also, helpful. This was what happened with thugs rose to power, they prioritized bragging rights over mystery.

Mystery was what had kept me alive thirty-five years despite the risks I took every day in my position as the New York City capo dei capi.

Frankie stood against the wall with a few other lower level men, practically rolling his eyes whenever he could get away with it. Another mistake by Rocco. He tried to crush other men with power and ambition instead of cultivating them to strengthen his own objectives.

He disgusted me.

I kept that disgust from my face even when he gestured for me to kiss his damp, fleshy cheeks in goodbye.

“You’ll be in touch regularly,” he advised me as if I was some wayward nephew.

“Of course.”

“And the girl, bring her around,” he ordered, his eyes gleaming with lust and calculation as he assessed my response.

I shrugged coolly, checking my Phillipe Patek watch because I knew it would annoy him. “She has a mind of her own.”

“She needs a strong man to rid her of that bad habit.”

My brow hiked. “And you’re the man for the job? I think Frankie would take umbrage with you absconding with his wife.”

Rocco shrugged, but there was too much interest in his eyes. He was old-school. Women were things, commodities to be traded in marriage for political gains or used for pleasure, housekeeping and child rearing.

It was almost impossible not to laugh at the idea of Elena willingly consenting to any of that to the detriment of her own independence.

“Where is she?” Rocco asked. “I would like to say goodbye.”

“I think that’s enough for today,” I countered. “I’ll collect her and we’ll be on our way. Thank you for your…warm welcome, Don Abruzzi. It is one I won’t soon forget.”

He inclined his head like some king to his subject, but I was already turning on my heel to walk out the swinging door into the kitchen beyond where the women had congregated.

Only, Elena wasn’t among them.

Mirabella sat at a small, scarred wood table peeling potatoes with a woman I recognized as her elderly aunt and another younger girl barely out of adolescence.

“Oh,” she said, her mouth a round expression of shock.

I tipped my chin at her, irritated as I’d always been that she was terrified of me simply because of my size and position. Growing up, I’d only ever been kind to Mirabella, if slightly disinterested. She was pretty, with breasts that ripened before the rest of her could catch up, but I’d always found her meek and uninteresting.

“Mira, where is Elena?”

She blinked.

I bit off the end of a sigh. “It’s been a long day. A long few days. Please, tell me where Signora Lombardi went off to.”

“The bathroom,” the younger girl said boldly, shooting an annoyed look at Mirabella as if she too found her slightly pathetic. “She needed to touch up her lipstick.”

“Thank you,” I said, even though I was impatient to find my woman and get the hell out of there.

“D-Dante?” Mirabella cried softly as I moved to the door to the hallway.

I hesitated, but didn’t turn around.

“I-I don’t want to marry you either,” she had the guts to tell me.

So, I took the time to turn around and catch her wide, frightened gaze. “I can’t say I’m surprised when you can hardly look at me without fainting.”

The younger girl snorted and Mira’s aunt cuffed her lightly on the back of the head.

“Are you in love with her?” Mira had the surprising audacity to ask. When I didn’t answer, she nodded slightly and looked down at the half-peeled lump of starch in her hand. “Rocco isn’t as dumb as you think he is. Be careful.”

“And you? You can’t have been careful if you remain unmarried all these years later and Rocco is determined to fob you off on a foreigner he doesn’t even like.”

She flinched slightly, staring at that damned potato like it held the answers to all of life’s questions. “I was meant to be married, but it… it didn’t work out. Now, my uncle is ashamed to have a spinster niece with no prospects. We all have our crosses to bear.”

“You won’t be one of mine,” I promised her without waiting for a response, pushing out the other swinging door into the hall.

I wasn’t willing to leave Elena alone in this viper’s den for any longer than necessary.

My shoes clacked against the burgundy ceramic tile as I stalked down the hall, peering into open archways and behind half-closed doors.

No Elena.

Finally, there was a single locked door at the end of the hall before the stairs. I knew she was behind the wood barricade the way a seer knew what lay behind the opaqueness of a crystal ball. I could feel her.

Without preamble, I pulled the folded knife from my pocket, jerked it open with a flick of my wrist and angled the blade between the door and the wood frame. A moment later, the blade found the edge of the latch mechanism and the door popped open with one thin voiced creak.