When Heroes Fall (Anti-Heroes in Love Duet #1)

by Giana Darling

At that moment, I wanted to crush her to my body and ravish that prim mouth, dishevel that perfectly curled hair, tear open the silk bow on her blouse with my teeth, then rip apart the bra barely visible beneath that so I could suck on her breasts. I wanted to make her shake for me, quake for me, fucking break for me. Because I knew no one had ever broken Elena Lombardi. That fucker Daniel Sinclair hadn’t even come close.

“You aren’t a soldier or a slave. You are a fighter, my fighter until you’ve won this war with me. But I am the general, Elena, and the sooner you get used to taking orders from me, the better.”

“I don’t take orders from any man,” she snapped, teeth clicking together with the force of her delivery. Ah, I’d hit a nerve. “Ah, but I am not just a man,” I promised her, gentling her the way I would a nervous mare, my thumb stroking down her throat. “I am capo dei capi of the New York City Camorra. If you do not know how to obey, I will teach you.”

“Next time you hit me, lottatrice, I will hit you back. Only it will be on that sweet little arse I’ve glimpsed behind your tight skirts, capisci?”

Elena Lombardi was an acquired taste, something to be appreciated by only the most refined palette, the most exquisite mind. As deep and brilliantly complex as expensive Italian wine, and the more I learned about her, the more I wanted to drink her down like a glutton and force her to be mine.

“New York City is the most beautiful at night.”

“Then again, most things are,” Dante continued

“Oh, Elena, be careful cursing around me,” he purred darkly, moving just a little closer. “I like the sound of something dirty in that red mouth.”

“If I’m going to stay here, there must be rules,” I decided primly, finally turning to face him. My God. I turned back to the window immediately, seeking solace in the New York night. Because Dante was half naked beside me.

He was astoundingly magnetic, a perfectly formed monster of a man.

“No one will touch you without your consent, Elena. You have my word that you are safe in this home. But, in return, I ask that you be kind to the people who live here and visit me.”

“Please, Dante,” I started to explain, but an expression overcame him that arrested me mid-speech. “What?” “The sound of ‘please’ from your lips sounds even better than a curse,” he murmured, stepping closer to raise a thumb to the edge of my mouth.

“You can call it what you want. A game. A deal. But don’t forget who it is you’re dealing with, hmm? I’m nothing but the devil, and I’ll take you for all you’re worth. When I’m done with you, your precious rules will be in tatters just like your clothes around your feet.”

“I can see the fear in your eyes. I feel it in the pulse just here. What are you afraid of, Elena? That my wickedness might contaminate your thoughts… or your body? Are you so certain entering into this agreement with me is so wise?” No.

I wanted success, money, fame. I wanted to be seen and known and heard. I wanted it all. And Dante Salvatore was the only man who could satisfy those base desires.

“It’s you who should be afraid. You just don’t know it yet,”

“One, you must obey me, Elena. I will not ask much of you, but if I make an order, you must heed it.” When I opened my mouth to argue, he placed his entire palm over my lower face to stop me.

“No. This is nonnegotiable. You are in the belly of the beast now, and while it’s safer for you here, it is also still dangerous. If I tell you to do something, it is mostly for your own safety.”

Caving into my childish impulse, I lashed my tongue out against his palm. He pulled away, staring at his moistened hand incredulously. “Did you just lick me?” I shrugged, the urge to giggle bubbling in my throat. “You wouldn’t let me speak.” He blinked at me once, then threw his head back to laugh so hard he held on to his belly as if to contain his humor. I watched him, enjoying the sight of all tho...

“What an interesting woman you are, Elena Lombardi,”

“I’ve decided I like you,” Dante told me as if I’d asked or cared about his opinion. “You don’t know me,” I countered,

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m beginning to, and it’s a journey I’ve found I am enjoying,” Dante said

Why was that somehow the nicest thing anyone had said to me in years?

“I haven’t had to fight someone so fat before. It’s a lot of weight to offset.” His laughter scored through me like a shot of grappa. He leaned back, releasing my hands to pat his tight, boxed stomach. “I like your mama’s pasta.” “I can tell,” I sniffed, but inside, my blood was bubbling and popping, warm inside my veins.

A small girl with long, curling chestnut brown hair was seated on the long matte black kitchen island. Her white and pink dress pooled over the dark granite as she carefully rolled orecchiette pasta in her hands. Her tongue poked between her teeth in concentration as she studied her pasta dough, then darted a look over at Dante, who occupied the same task beside her. I couldn’t move as I watched them, overcome with something that hurt.

“Princesses always need saving, and I’ve always wanted to be the type of woman that saved herself. Maybe even the one who saved her handsome prince in the end instead.”

While she babbled happily, Dante appeared from the pantry with an apron and approached me. Instead of handing it over, he stood behind me, close enough I could feel his heat, and reached around my body to tie the fabric around my waist. Once secured, he lifted my hair with one hand to tie the other strings beneath it. But he didn’t. Instead, his hot breath fanned over the back of my neck, followed closely by the warm press of his nose skimming along the side of my throat. “Mmm,” he hummed, the vibration tickling thin skin. “You smell intossicante.”

“It’s just Chanel number 5.” “The body’s natural chemistry reacts with a scent,”

“No one scent ever smells the same on different people. And this? It suits you. Elegant and sultry like a midnight assignation in a garden.”

Rora had gone back to shaping pasta in her little fingers, but Dante was watching me with something written in black ink in those long-lashed eyes. “Bellissima,” he mouthed.

“Vieni qui,” he ordered brusquely. Come here. My lips flattened. “Don’t order me around. I’m not one of your soldati.” “No,” he agreed on a low purr that was more threat than seduction. “Vieni qui, lottatrice mia.” Come here, my fighter.

“Gentiluomo? That man was Gideone di Carlo,” he growled, cupping my shoulders in his hands to give me a little shake. “The same man whose brother is trying to assume leadership of the fucking Cosa Nostra. The same man whose family nearly murdered your sister. The same family who tried to kill me at my own party.”

“I told you my enemies would want to use you against me, Elena, and I told you to be careful. Instead, you give a man who wants me dead your fucking phone number.”

“I didn’t know.” He sighed harshly, his warm, wine-scented breath against my face as he surprised me by hauling me tight against him in a sudden hug. His arms nearly crushed me, fury still palpable even in the tender expression. “For a smart woman, you can be very blind.”

“Excuse me for thinking for one moment that a man could have taken a genuine interest in me.”

“Elena,” he said, clearly exasperated. “You are the most complicated woman I’ve ever known. So tough and strong, a born fighter because life taught you the need to survive, and that’s a beautiful thing.”

“Yet, you’re so afraid,” he said in a low voice, his words creeping across the space toward me like the slow roll of thick, ominous fog. “You’re so goddamn afraid of being soft and tender because all that silk beneath your armor would rip so easily in the wrong hands. This insecurity blinds you to the truth. It corrodes the goodness in you. If you saw what I saw when I looked at you, you would never doubt yourself again. You wouldn’t be tricked by the easy flattery of some stronzo like di Carlo into thinking he was good enough for you.”

“Oh,” I lashed out, hand slicing through the air as if my words were a knife I could wield. “And I suppose you are?” His gaze was unnerving, unblinking on mine, so dark I lost my way in the black maze of those eyes. Finally, he shrugged that eloquent Italian shrug and put his hands in his pockets as if to contain them. “Forse.” Maybe.

“Don’t be absurd.” “I prefer romantic,” he offered, making light of me as he always did.

“I’m your lawyer, Dante. Nothing more.” “You were more than that from the moment I met you,” he countered, stepping forward, stalking me across the room step for step. “You were my best friend’s sister, the woman she admired most in the world. How could I not be intrigued? And then you saw me in the hospital room, and I thought you would fight me there and then to protect her. But it wasn’t until you pushed me up against the wall with your little fist in my shirt and threatened me with death if I ever hurt Cosima that I knew you were something special. A true lottatrice, a female gladiator.”

“How could a man like me resist a woman like that?” “Try harder,” I suggested, but the impact of my cold words was lessened by the heaviness of my breath and the mad beat of my pulse against the pad of his thumb. “For once in your life, be brave,” he demanded. “And maybe I’ll give you what you’re too terrified to ask me for.” “I want to leave.” “No,” he purred darkly. “No, you want me to fuck you senseless without asking for your permission. If I don’t ask, you don’t have to pretend to be a lady and say no.”

“Coraggio, lottatrice mia,” he coaxed softly. Courage, my fighter. “Let me show you all the ways a man can appreciate a woman,” he continued, running his nose along my cheek to my ear, where he took the lobe quickly between his teeth in a sharp nip that made me gasp. “Let me teach you all the ways you can appreciate me.”

“Elena,” he said, just the one word, just my name, but in it a wealth of promises, an invitation in. Come to the underworld with me, it seemed to say. Come and play with me in the shadows where you belong. But I didn’t belong there.

Forget this ever happened.” “What if I cannot?” he defied,

When your own family thought you were a bitch, it was difficult for anyone else’s knife to inflict the same kind of wound.

“Someone gives you hell, Elena, you give it to ’em right back. You teach them that for every move against you, however slight, you’re ready to battle. So many of the wealthiest, most successful men you’ll ever see are bullies at heart, and there’s nothing a bully hates so much as pushback.”

“Besides,” Frankie continued, cuffing my chin lightly the way I’d seen fathers do to sons, as if he was imparting life wisdom. “You’re with us, now. You think the Salvatore borgata puts up with limp-dicked stronzi like this bastardo?”

Now, next time I see you fucking with Elena Lombardi, I’m gonna put your head through a window, you get me?”

“Hey, you think I’m a psycho, you should see Dante Salvatore when he’s been crossed. Cavolo, they call him the Devil of NYC for a reason.”

“You fuck with Elena, you should know, that’s you fucking with him. And he’ll do a lot worse than I would, capisci?”