When Heroes Fall

by Giana Darling

  That he was so robust was attractive, but it was his mastery over that power that made my knees soften like butter.

  “Elena?” His voice cut into my thoughts, amusement in his tone as it always seemed to be when he spoke to me.

  “Mmm?”

  “I asked what kind of rules you were attempting to install in my home.”

  “Ah.” Yes, rules. We needed lots and lots of rules. I cleared my throat and forced myself to face him so he would think I was unmoved by his naked torso and the thick thighs stretching his black athletic shorts. “Rule number one, no touching.”

  “No,” he said simply, shaking his head in a way that made me notice he didn’t have product in his hair yet, the thick, silken strands flopping slightly onto his forehead. “I am Italian. My people are Italian. We touch.”

  “Not me,” I countered.

  “You ask a tiger to change its stripes just because a friendly kiss on the cheek from a countryman makes you uncomfortable?” he argued calmly, once again making me feel selfish and slightly foolish. “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.”

  “I’m always polite,” I said, but he’d hit an old bruise.

  I could be mean. It was in me to give, and sometimes I was so cruel, there was no coming back from it.

  Sometimes, I didn’t want to, like with Giselle and Daniel.

  But even then, a little voice buried alive in the ground of my mind where I’d left it long ago whispered that maybe I didn’t want them to hate me either.

  “I think you mean to be,” he agreed, his voice soft. I could feel his gaze on me, the quality of it warm, almost gentling against my cheek. “But the women in my family are very friendly. They might view your reserved nature as rude.”

  I rolled my lips under my teeth, feeling wounded somehow.

  Dante sighed and stepped even closer, the heat of his body buffeting mine. “Elena, I do not mean to imply you are mean, only that I wish for you to get along with the people in this house. Do you understand me?”

  I shrugged a shoulder as I looked out the window again. The night hours always made me feel melancholier, the dark thoughts in my mind drawn to its shadows. “I’m not here to make friends, but I understand. I don’t like reminders of Italy, but I will try to be…warmer.”

  I could see the bright flash of Dante’s smile from the corner of my eyes and couldn’t resist the impulse to face it full on as if it was the sun itself and I wanted to bask in his rays.

  “I appreciate that,” he said genuinely. “I know you do not want to be here, and you can hate me for it, but this is best. This is necessary.”

  I didn’t agree with that, but I’d already battled with Yara and Dante both, and in the velvet quiet of the night, for once, I didn’t feel like arguing again.

  “Rule number two, I don’t want it widely known I’m living here. If anyone found out, I could lose my license to practice law, and…” I fought to find the words to express what such a tragedy would mean to me and finally settled on an Italianate shrug. “It would not be possible for me to recover from that.”

  “Done,” Dante agreed, reaching forward to take my hand as if for a shake, but instead, he just held it loosely in both of his own. I could feel the thick callous along the ridge of his palms. “In fact, Adriano will drive you to work in the morning in my Town Car. The windows are tinted, and you will leave from the garage, which is accessed directly from the suite. No one should have reason to see you leaving the building.”

  Of course, the criminal had thought of everything in order not to get caught.

  “Rule three,” I continued with a glare. “My privacy is paramount. No snooping in my room and invasive questions.”

  I was laying the groundwork for the next week when I was scheduled to have my surgery with Monica.

  “I have a procedure next week and will be out of work for a few days. I would like to be able to convalesce at my own home,” I requested with what I hoped was a pleasing smile.

  From Dante’s scowl, it wasn’t. He crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging beneath the bronze skin like coiled rope. “Is it serious?”

  “No,” I said instantly, hoping to offer as few details as possible.

  “Then no, you will stay here,” he decided, nodding like a king bestowing his grace on a subject. “Bambi can see to you if you need anything while you rest, and no one will disturb you otherwise.”

  “Bambi?” I asked, unable to leave the name alone.

  “The woman who cooks and cleans for me,” he explained, eyes dancing again as he read my reaction. “Her name is Georgina, but she has the big eyes and the softness of Bambi. She hasn’t been called anything else since she was six when her mother died.”

  I shook my head at Italians and their nicknames, but I was not happy about staying with Dante after my surgery. There was no extensive aftercare except rest because they were doing the surgery laparoscopically, but it was too vulnerable to stay with a virtual stranger after having something so intimate performed.

  “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.

  I sucked in a little breath I hoped he didn’t hear and stepped back. “I would rather stay at my house.”

  “I would rather you didn’t,” he countered easily as if my opinion didn’t matter one jot.

  “Uh,” I growled in frustration. “Are you always so pigheaded?”

  “Not always.” His grin was large and boyish, slightly crooked between his cheeks, the faint dimple in his chin deepening. “Are you done with your rules now?”

  I hesitated, worried I was forgetting something. Dante’s chest kept distracting me. I’d just noticed the thicket of black hair below his naval and the deeper shadow of raised muscles angling in from his hips to his groin.

  “For now,” I settled on after struggling not to swallow my tongue. “If we have an agreement?”

  I was too aesthetic not to appreciate beauty in its many forms, even heathen ones like Dante.

  “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.” He stepped forward smoothly, diminishing the remaining space between us to a single pulsing inch of air between our torsos. The scent of him, bright like citrus and pepper, invaded my nose as I was forced to tip my head back to look up into his coal-dark gaze. I didn’t flinch, but I wanted to when his hand caught mine and lifted it to his mouth. His words were hot breath against my skin. “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.

  No, in fact, I was fairly certain it was a terrible idea. But he was making it sound as if I had a choice when I did not. At least, not one my pride could live with. My life had been razed to the ground when Daniel left me, and only one dream still lived in the ashes of that fire, pulsing madly.

  I wanted to be a nationally renowned lawyer.

  This case, written about in the papers and splashed on the news, was already gaining me notice in the right circles. If we could actually win against all the odds, I’d be one of the most highly sought-after attorneys in the city, in the entire goddamn country.

  My father’s sinner's blood ran through my veins, and I couldn’t pretend for one second longer that I was above my avarice and egotism.

  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.

  So, I blinked slowly, disdainfully at the disgraced mafia capo and pressed my hand in his even closer to his lips like a queen offering her servant the opportunity to kiss her ring.

  “It’s you who should be afraid. You just don’t know it yet,” I promised as I resolved to keep him at bay with every single one of my resources while I used his case to make my career.

  His eyes were dark as freshly tilled soil, fertile with wickedness as they locked on mine, and with a slight brush of his lips against my fingers, he agreed to my terms.

  Just like that, I made a deal with the Devil of NYC.

  “Excellent, now for my rules,” he countered brightly, tugging me by my captured hand away from the window and the exercise machines toward black mats laid out near the back of the room. “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 those muscles contracting with mirth that I’d caused.

  It felt good to make someone laugh.

  To make him laugh.

  It was a pleasant sound, that was all, and it wasn’t often I relaxed enough to make anyone laugh like that.

  When he recovered, he tipped his head down to look at me with a soft smile pleating his ruddy mouth. It was somehow an intimate expression that made my belly ache.

  “What an interesting woman you are, Elena Lombardi,” he said in that same vein, quiet and steady like he was imparting wisdom.

  A blush threatened to overtake my cheeks, so I moved away onto the mats as if to test their cushion.

  “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, starting to stretch for my workout, eager to exert myself physically to rid my body of this…excess energy fizzing through my blood like soda pop.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m beginning to, and it’s a journey I’ve found I am enjoying,” Dante said as he moved toward the wall and flicked on the overhead lights.

  I was glad when he moved out of my view so I could duck my head and take a few steadying breaths.

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

  “Now, for my second rule,” Dante began as he crossed back over the mats on that rolling, athletic gait that made my mouth go dry.

  He stopped a few paces from me and crossed his arms as he assessed me. I tried not to squirm under the intense perusal. I worked out five times a week, so my long, lean body was tight with muscle, my curves slight and distinctly lacking unlike my mother and two sisters.

  “I heard from Marco––when he finally stopped laughing––that you disabled Adriano and held a knife to his throat. Is this true?”

  I studied my nail beds. “Maybe.”

  He chuckled, a dark note that pulsed between us like a plucked bass. “Molto bene. I like to hear this, Elena. A woman should know how to defend herself. I’d like to see what you can do.”

  “Why?” I asked suspiciously, suddenly seeing his thickly formed limbs in a new light. I did not want to fight him. Even my instructor at the dojo wasn’t as big as Dante.

  His lips flickered with the urge to suppress his humor. “Humor me. I need to see the moves of the woman who caught the most able man I know off-guard.”

  I wanted to protest because I definitely did not want to fight him. Not because I was truly afraid—despite everything, I didn’t think he would hurt me—but more because I didn’t want him to touch me.

  It was an irrational fear, something like a superstition that each time Dante put his hands on me, something elemental changed in my physiology. I didn’t like his hand on my throat or my hand in his, so why had I let him do that to me? Why had I leaned into that strong collar just to feel my heart beat faster?

  It hinted of darker, deviant things I wasn’t ready to think about, let alone confess any kind of liking for.

  But I couldn’t voice any of that because suddenly, two hundred and thirty pounds of hard-muscled British-Italian man was barreling down on me.

  Instinct kicked in, thrumming through me like music, prompting my body to step into fighting the way most people did into dancing, the moves programmed into my muscles by memory.

  He grabbed for me, meaty hands going for my shoulders. I ducked slightly to the right, leaning down into his body as if going for his groin. Instinctively, he lowered one of his hands to protect his family jewels. I took advantage of his distraction to pop up on that right side and jab a short, strong punch to his low belly.

  He laughed.

  A warm, rich chuckle that increased in volume as we continued to tussle.

  He grabbed me from behind when I spun away from his questing hands, his arms banding around my torso nearly twice over. I kicked back with my left foot, connecting with his shin, then quickly dug my right heel into the tender arch of his other foot. His hold loosened just enough for me to pull my arms from the bear hug. I reached up to slap them over his ears, hoping to disorient him. I must have gauged the angle wrong because he only chuckled menacingly, his entire body hot and hard with exertion pressed front to back against mine. Thinking quickly, I wrapped my leg around his and tipped my weight, trying to take him off balance. The big lug was just too heavy, and instead of falling to the mat on his back, he tossed me to the ground on mine before kneeling over my prone body.

  I was panting hard, the metallic burn of adrenaline on the back of my tongue as I glared up at his smug mug. He wasn’t breathing hard at all, nor was there a single bead of sweat on his smooth skin.

  “Non male,” he praised.

  Not bad.

  I huffed, blowing an errant curl out of my face as I struggled to break free of his hands pinning mine to the mat by my head. “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.

  For one second, I wondered, was this comradery?

  I was close with Beau. We saw each other all the time, snuggled and chatted, shopped and dined. But we had been friends for five years. It made me realize I hadn’t made a new friend in a very long time and maybe, I was out of practice.

  But that was kind of what it felt like lying there with the urge to laugh in my belly while a big mafioso crushed my torso where he straddled me after his fake attack.

  Like maybe we could be friends.

  “Che palle,” someone exclaimed from the door. “Is this the way we train now, Boss?”

  I raised into a crunch so I could see the door only to wish I hadn’t.

  The short man from yesterday who I now surmised was Marco, and the big one, Adriano, along with Frankie, the Grouch, Jacopo, and the Japanese man I hadn’t met yet all stood in the doorway watching us.

  I flopped back to the mat and wished briefly for a return to my senses.

  “Only when I’m training her,” Dante said flippantly over his shoulders before he rolled to standing with utter ease and offered me his hand to help me up. “Amici, let me formally introduce Elena Lom
bardi, my lawyer and unwilling roommate.”

  Marco winced. “He does snore.”

  “Thankfully, I have a separate room,” I said dryly, pulling my hand from Dante’s lingering grip after I stood to offer it to the short man with the strong Brooklyn accent. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marco.”

  His thick brows arched comically wavy lines into his forehead like a cartoon character. “You’re a real classy woman.”

  A little laugh escaped me at his reverence as he kissed the back of my hand. “Thank you, I think.”

  “For sure,” he said like it was no problem. “This here is Frankie, he’s the brains. Adriano is the brawn, but he also cooks like a fucking dream. Chen is our secret weapon, and Jaco here is… hey, Jaco? Why do we keep you around again?”

  Jacopo scowled at him while the others laughed.

  “Are you…?” I wasn’t exactly sure how these things worked. “Capos too?”

  They laughed again, but it was Dante who stepped in line with me to say, “Rule number three, don’t ask questions.”

  “Because you won’t give me the answers,” I bandied back.

  I’d grown up in Naples, so I knew all about the antiquated constructs of our culture around women. We weren’t allowed in on “the business” because we weren’t to be trusted.

  “Because you won’t like the answers,” he surprised me by offering.

  “You skipped rule number two,” I reminded him.

  His grin was feral, lips so red they seemed stained with wine pulled back over big, white teeth. “Rule number two, you learn how to fight.”

  “I just showed you,” I argued, side-eyeing the assembled men, all visibly strong and scarred, even the short guy, Marco. “I can defend myself.”

  “Not from me,” Dante countered.

  “Not from us,” Marco agreed a second later.