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

by Giana Darling

Nothing can be loved or hated unless it is first understood.” – Leonardo di Vinci

He looked criminal, filled with wicked intent and handsome enough to tempt the pope to sin.

“You know, it is the contrast between two opposites that heightens them both to keener glory. You shouldn’t be afraid to be coarse, just as I shouldn’t be afraid to be gentle. Too much of one thing is boring, Elena.”

“Who knows, lottatrice, maybe you’ll find more pleasure being in bed with the devil than you would have imagined.”

“This is what you must understand, Elena. They are wrong. Women bear the trials of their men, the delivery of their babies, the weight of their families. Women are extraordinarily strong. So, you must trick the men into giving you power. Do not tell them you are strong, and do not fight them with words because words can be undone. Fight the injustice with action, lottatrice mia, because action can be understood in any language, by any man.”

we must make the most of opportunities we have to enjoy ourselves between the drama and the chaos.”

Because the magic Elena pulled from that instrument was art I felt plucking at the strings of my own soul.

“Not everything is so black and white, Elena,” I murmured as I slid a lock of her deep red hair between my fingers. “Between the hero and the villain, there is the anti-hero. A person who may do evil deeds and seem unscrupulous, but who, within their own set of morals, possesses a big heart and the willingness to protect that which they know to be good.

Heroism was about your willingness to right wrongs, to sacrifice your own comfort and safety to affect change when you crossed something that needed changing. It was assuming responsibility for people who didn’t have the power to stand up for themselves. It was about being brave enough to live life by your own rules and accepting who you were, flaws and all.

“Only you would be mad at me for saving you, my fighter,” he teased, the nickname my father had used somehow poetry from Dante’s lips. And then his hand fisted in my hair, and he pulled me down to kiss me. Hauling me halfway over his body even though it had to hurt, he kissed me like he hadn’t taken a breath since the last time he saw me, and he was dying for fresh air.

“Sono con te, lottatrice mia,” he said, “anche quando non lo sono.” I am with you, my fighter, even when I am not.