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Nothing can be loved or hated unless it is first understood.” – Leonardo di Vinci
“‘Law is reason, free from passion,’” I quoted. Aristotle’s words had always resonated with me.
“You watch too many movies, Elena. In real life, the villain always wins because we are willing to do anything to succeed.” He paused as I did in the doorway. “I think you know a little something about that.”
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.”
I didn’t mind working with a bitch. In my humble opinion, they were underrated.
“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.”
“I’m wearing heels bigger than your dick, so if this is a pissing contest, I think it’s safe to say I win,” I said lightly, finally looking up to deliver Ethan a mega-watt smile I’d learned from Cosima.
I wanted to be the kind of a woman who was called a hero, but I’d spent most of my life being called a villain. If enough people treat you like a villain, you become one.
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.
“Not all love is romantic,” he pointed out rationally, staring into my fearful eyes. “I don’t think you’ve had enough of it to know that, but I’m offering the love of a friend and the love of my body. The
love of a man who can see you are not hateful. You are not villainous. You are misunderstood. And Elena, you don’t realize this yet, but I see you, I know you, and I’m fucking undone by the beauty of you.”
They say there is a thin line between love and hate. The moment Dante Salvatore twisted his hand in my hair and yanked me in for a savage kiss, I knew he had just pushed me over that invisible line into something infinitely more dangerous than hate.
“I’ll try my best to make sure your judgment lapses again,” he called as I turned on my heel and started for the elevator. “Frequently.”
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. I kissed him right back, pouring every single inch of me into that embrace. There were no words for the relief and gratitude and love flowing through me, so I fed them to him with my lips.
My hands moved over him, touching whatever I could just to reassure myself that things hadn’t ended differently in there. That he was alive and Seamus hadn’t succeeded in taking yet another thing from my life.
And I knew it then. What it was to truly be in love with someone, body and soul, everything else be damned.
“Sono con te, lottatrice mia,” he said, “anche quando non lo sono.” I am with you, my fighter, even when I am not.
