When Villains Rise (Anti-Heroes in Love 2)

I shook my head hard, grinding my teeth as I lurched to my feet and lunged forward to grab the chamber of the gun from the side. He fired a shot, the bullet flying through the open patio doors without incident, but my hand on the chamber obstructed the casing from discharging. When he went to fire another shot, this one aimed at the shoulder I’d already taken a bullet to when I’d saved Elena from the Irish mob, the gun clicked, but didn’t fire.

I grinned wickedly at him just before I swung my elbow at his face, catching his left cheekbone with the edge of my bone. His head snapped to the side, his body going limp as he staggered. The gun fell to the floor, but I didn’t go for it.

Instead, I stepped behind him and took advantage of his disorientation to catch him around the neck with one arm, the other bracing around his head. He struggled against the sleeper hold, but I was bigger, stronger, more determined than the figlio di puttana who was there on someone else’s orders.

So, I waited. Feet braced, the muscles in my arms flexing so hard they burned, the bulk of my bicep cutting off his airway.

It only took fifteen seconds.

Any longer and I would cause irreparable damage.

I didn’t want that.

I wanted this sack of shit alive and fucking alert so he would feel every one of my punches and knife strikes as I tortured him for information.

When he was out, I looked up to find Elena standing in front of us. The wind blowing in from the broken patio doors shifted around her, tossing her red hair like a pennant, her black silk nightgown plastered to her body.

But that wasn’t what held me transfixed.

It was the sight of the misplaced gun in her hands, raised high and level at the chest of the intruder. There was no fear in her gaze, no tremble in her posture.

She held the gun as if it was a gavel, the weight of righteous justice in her steady gaze.

“Tranquillo, lottatrice mia,” I murmured calmly. “Steady, Elena. Don’t shoot him.”

“Why not?” she asked, her words clinking together like ice cubes.

She didn’t lower the gun.

“We do not want him dead.”

“He came in here while we were sleeping to kill you, Dante,” she said in a reasonable tone contrasted entirely by the dark gleam in her eyes.

It was deeply inappropriate, but laughter bubbled up through the fury in my chest and I was forced to swallow it back. Elena would not find the situation as amusing as I did.

But look at her.

No matter the adversity, I could always count on one constant.

Elena Lombardi was a weapon.

And she was mine.

“Put the gun down, cuore mia,” I coaxed, letting the comatose man drop unceremoniously to the ground so I could go to her. She kept the gun raised, almost frozen with her determination to protect me, until the barrel was pressed to my stomach. I put my hand over the weapon and released the chamber so it fell into my waiting hand beneath. Then, I carefully untangled her fingers from the grip and used my free hand to sink my fingers deep in her hair, angling her head to take her mouth in a possessive kiss.

Instantly, she melted. All that dangerous revolve dissolving on my tongue like fucking candy, sweet and addictive. I ate at her until she trembled. Unable to resist, I used my other hand, still cradling the dismantled gun, to palm her sex. It was as wet as I’d known it would be, her juices slick on my fingers, on the weapon that had been intended to kill us both.

When I broke away, she clutched me close, her breath as harsh as mine.

“No one will take you from me without a fight,” she whispered vehemently, the nails of the hand she had curled around my neck sinking into my skin so I hissed.

“Anyone who tries to come between our love will suffer then die,” I swore to her, kissing her again because I was high on adrenaline, on the scent of her damp pussy in my nose and the victory of a fight won in my blood.

I almost took her right then and there, my cock hard as stone in my boxer briefs, but I knew the intruder would wake any second and I wasn’t going to take chances on her safety. So I stepped away with effort, leaving her hands clasping at air, her breath stuttering through her swollen lips.

“Later, lottatrice,” I promised as I went to the chair near the doors and collected the sash from Elena’s robe draped over the back. Crouching beside the man, I rolled him to collect his hands behind his back and secure them in a handcuff knot. “Let me question this figlio di puttana and then I’ll finish what we’ve started, va bene?”