When Heroes Fall (Anti-Heroes in Love 1)

The man my father was working with.

I told myself I was being stupid even as I paid for the cab and slipped into the cold air, the flurries falling densely now, so thick I could barely see across the street to the bar. I ducked into a little convenient store, bought a cheap, watery coffee, and stood at the window while I drank it. Watching.

Seamus Moore was a drunk and a gambler.

As a child, I could remember walking up to him passed out on the kitchen table surrounded by bottles. I’d always ushered him to bed before the others woke up, but the scent of hard liquor was burned into the grain of the wood table.

If this was where his crew hung out, he’d be there, even at just after one in the afternoon.

I only waited for forty minutes when I caught sight of vivid red hair tucked into a black knit cap. He moved quickly, braced against the wind, pausing for a moment at the bar door before ducking inside.

I sucked in a deep breath and called the number I’d looked up on my phone.

“Father Patrick’s,” a gruff voice answered. “What?”

“I’m looking for Seamus.”

A pause then a disgustingly phlegm-filled sniff. “Not my problem.”

“No,” I agreed. “But he might be interested. Tell him it’s his daughter.”

Another pause, then, “Wait.”

I waited, picking at a hangnail on my thumb until it bled, red running down to the inside of my wrist, staining my cream coat.

“Cosima?” Seamus said, a little eager and breathless.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “I doubt your favorite daughter would bother with you after you sold her to repay your gambling debts.”

“Elena,” he said, this time on a sigh. “Of course, it would be you. The only one of my children with more balls than sense.”

I didn’t have a response for his inaccurate statement, so I just cut to the chase. “I want to make a trade.”

“A trade?”

“Have you gone deaf in your old age?” I asked sweetly. “A trade. I have information on the Salvatore borgata I think you would find…interesting. In exchange, though, I want to know what kind of relationship you have with the di Carlos.”

There was a little pause, and then he said suspiciously, “Don’t jerk me around, Elena. I’m not some il novellino. I’ve been doing this since you were in diapers.”

“Then you should recognize a good offer when you hear it,” I countered calmly.

“Why are you doing this? You told me you hated me, never wanted to see me again. Now you’re offering to help out your dear old da?”

“No, I still hate you,” I assured him. “But I hate Dante Salvatore more. He’s unscrupulous and evil.”

The words felt bitter on my tongue, but Seamus wanted to believe me so badly that he took the bait even though it stunk.

“We should meet,” he decided. “Phones are too sketchy. You could be recording me for all I know.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Bethesda Terrace at six tonight. I expect you to bring evidence I can use.”

“You want to use it to put the di Carlos away?” he guessed on a laugh. “That’s my girl. Never happy with what you have, gotta go for more.”

His words burned in me because before then, they’d always been true.

I’d never been content.

Not even at the height of my relationship with Daniel as a shiny new associate at Fields, Harding & Griffith.

It had taken losing everything to realize how empty I’d felt as I chased and chased for more. I’d never taken the time to appreciate those things I already had. I’d let my relationships with my siblings’ waste away. I’d prioritized my career so much I’d never made many friends, and I’d let the only wonderful man I’d ever wanted slip through my fingers because I was always running from my fears.

This time, I didn’t want more.

This time, I only wanted to keep what I had.

“I’ll see you at six,” I told Seamus, and then I hung up.

But I didn’t leave the little Russian-owned convenience store.

I waited for another twenty minutes until the familiar redhead ducked back out of the bar and headed west down the street.

I followed him.

It was actually much easier than I would have thought. His overlong red hair and beard were an easy beacon, but the snow made visibility difficult, obscuring the faces of the people in the streets. It was a busy enough neighborhood that I wasn’t the only one behind Seamus, heading away from the Bronx toward Madison Avenue Bridge.

Of course, I was never going to turn on Dante.

The thought of it made my stomach cramp.

But my dad, the same man who had sold his own goddamn daughter into sexual slavery, didn’t understand the concept of loyalty, so he had believed me all too easily.

I had counted on that same lack of dependability to lead my father to betray me. So I wasn’t surprised when he huddled under the awning of a gas station just beside the bridge and waited.