When Heroes Fall (Anti-Heroes in Love 1)

It was small.

Barely a movement so much as a vibration.

But I felt her shiver against me a moment before she jerked away, stamping her heel on my foot. I released her with a growl that dissolved into loud laughter as I stared at her panting and glaring at me in that dress the color of sin.

“It’s not funny, Dante,” she hissed as those around us turned to watch me laugh at her. A stain of embarrassment marred her cheeks. “Stop it.”

I held a hand up to stall her as my laughter rolled into chuckles and then softened into a broad smile I felt tight in my cheeks. “It’s not a crime to have a bit of fun, Elena.”

She pursed those perfectly formed bow-shaped lips at me like a school marm in a sexy dress. “I could lose my license for having the type of ‘fun’ you consider appropriate.”

My amusement fled, and I took a hard step toward her, glad she didn’t flinch the way she usually did when I approached her like that. It was a small victory, but I’d take what I could in the battle against Elena’s hatred of me and everything I represented. “You and I may have different ideas of morality, but I’m sure I do not have to tell you about the concept of omertà. Silence between brothers is a holy thing.”

“And I’m your brother?” she asked dryly, hands going to her hips to strike a pose full of sass and fire.

It was a heady thing to know I could make the ice queen burn.

I grinned rakishly as I slid my gaze down her exquisite form. “Not in that dress. Comrades, though. Allies. Whether you like the association or not, Elena, you are now a lawyer for the Camorra. It seems you are only aware of the downsides to the arrangement, but there can be many boons, too.”

Unable to resist, I reached out to run a thumb over the silken skin of her shoulder.

She jerked away, but not before I saw goose bumps erupt over her flesh.

“I don’t need boons from the likes of you,” she said haughtily, adjusting that simple necklace in an oddly provocative way she was completely unaware of. “I want to be professional, nothing else.”

“Ah, lottatrice,” I sighed dramatically and snagged a wineglass from the collection on the kitchen island, offering it to her. “You don’t seem to understand you work for me now. And I make the rules. It is my game for you to play.”

“I could leave your legal team,” she suggested.

She was glaring at me, those storm cloud eyes dark and raging beneath her delicate red brows. It should have been an ugly expression, full of hate, but I saw only the beauty of her face beneath it and the fire of her fight shining through.

I was beginning to understand the intricacies of her character, despite her best efforts to remain aloof. At first, it was difficult to like Elena Lombardi. She was constructed like a work of modern art, all sharp angles, rigid lines, and dominant sensibilities; beautiful and intriguing but difficult to understand. It was only upon further reflection and intense study that the impact of her beauty moved through you, as complicated a feeling as she was a woman.

I was looking forward to furthering my studies.

“You wouldn’t. Success means too much to you,” I noted, leaning back against the island and crossing my arms over my chest. Her eyes dipped to the swell of muscles beneath the fabric before she could curb the impulse.

“You’re one to talk.”

I inclined my head. “The drive for success motivates me, si. Not more so than the drive for happiness.”

“They are one and the same,” she concluded with a shrug that was the physical expression of the word “duh.”

“They are not. Success is defined by society. Happiness is defined by our hearts and minds. I think, lottatrice, you would be much happier if you learned to value the latter.”

“Don’t call me that and don’t preach to me, capo. You’re in no position to offer me advice.”

“Am I not?” I opened my hands wide to gesture to the party surging around us. “I am a successful businessman with powerful friends who support me even when I am on trial for murder.”

“Success,” she countered, lifting her hand to show me her red fingertips as she counted them off. “A fancy apartment, probably a few ridiculous sports cars, enough money to bribe these powerful ‘friends’ to look the other way from your misdeeds.” She raised an eyebrow. “Would you like me to call you a hypocrite yet?”

I laughed, finally having fun at my own party, and it was at the hands of the most unlikely woman I’d ever met.

“Who is making my son laugh?” Tore said as he stepped up beside me and clapped a hand on my shoulder.