When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

“Raggazzi,” he called in a jovial shout that carried easily across the large yard. “It’s good to be home.”

There was a resounding shouted response. Amadeo Salvatore broke free of the formation on the right side and made his way toward us. He wore a white linen shirt undone to his sternum, revealing a thicket of black chest hair and a simple gold cross necklace. In loose pants, sandaled feet, with his deep olive brown tan and tousled black hair threaded only lightly with silver at the temples, he looked like some wealthy vacationer, not a ruthless mafia Don.

“Welcome home,” he greeted with a broad grin that cut creases into his cheeks, beside his eyes. It made me realize just how handsome he was and once again, how rare it was to see such truly golden eyes. I’d only even known Cosima and Sebastian to have that yellow gaze and it tugged something loose at the back of my memories I resolved to study later.

For now, I let Dante usher me forward to his pseudo-father.

“Tore, come stai?” Dante asked him as they clasped each other by the shoulders and exchanged smacking kisses to either cheek.

Tore didn’t release his grip on Dante when they stepped back, squeezing the taller man’s shoulders as he beamed at him. “Better, much better seeing you free and well.”

“You were right,” Dante said cryptically, both of them casting a sidelong glance at me. “From the start. I was always going to change everything for her.”

Tore clucked his tongue, but there was more humor and happiness in his expression than I’d ever seen before. The brooding, often angry man I vaguely knew in my youth and the stoic, careful Don I’d come to know slightly better in New York was replaced entirely by this vivacious, warm host.

“You aren’t the first man to change your life for love and you won’t be the last.” He turned his tiger eyed gaze to me and opened his arms. “Elena Lombardi, welcome to you. I hope you come to love it here as much as my son and I do.”

I hesitated slightly, years of hatred and judgement stopping up my joints like rusted hinges. There was a flash of something in his eyes then, a shadow over that sunny gold. He looked…devastated. It was such a strong emotion, but it was there in the tightness beside his eyes even after he controlled his response.

Something tender in me reacted to that sight. I was used to rejection, to judgement, and I didn’t want to be the cause of that in Dante’s stand-in father.

So, I shook off my reserve and stepped forward to embrace the older man myself, pressing warm kisses to each of his creased cheeks. “Thank you for having us here, Salvatore.”

When I stepped back, both Dante and Tore were smiling at me. My man looked proud and the latter looked properly chuffed. He pressed a hand to his cheek where I’d kissed him then laughed a deep, chest rumbling laugh.

“It’s me who should be thanking you. I never got used to America and the cold. Winter in the south here is exactly right, cool enough to wear a sweater at night and that is it.” He shuddered. “There was snow on the ground in New York when I left.”

“Your old man’s bones can’t take the cold, huh?” Dante teased.

Tore shot him a withering look. “I’ll show you just how young I am tomorrow when we spar. I heard from Frankie that you’ve slowed down.”

Dante searched over his shoulder for Frankie who stood by the SUV that followed us from Naples with a wicked grin. “I’m coming for you tomorrow.”

Frankie shrugged. “If Elena doesn’t keep you in bed.”

A blush fired up my cheeks as Dante and Tore laughed, but I forced myself to relax when Dante tucked his arm in mine.

“Ignore Frankie,” he ordered loudly so the man could hear him.

I tipped my chin up. “I usually do.”

He and some of the men lined up to meet us laughed again. It made something in my chest loosen to make them chuckle.

“Come meet our Italian family,” Dante told me as he led us to the left side of the line. “First, my cousin and our Italian right-hand man, Damiano Vitale.”

A huge man with gorgeous dark skin glistening under the sun like ebony stepped out of line to greet me. He smelled warm and musky as he bent to give me the customary kisses and when he stepped back his white smile was one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen.

“Hello,” he said in lyrical Italian, the hint of a different accent in his speech. “I’ve heard much about the fierce lawyer Cosima forced to represent our Dante. The rumors of your beauty don’t do you justice.”

“Stop hitting on my woman, Damiano,” Dante muttered darkly. “You have enough women.”