Page 161 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

My heart burned at the sweet words. Nico was not very bright, but he’d always been a good friend to our family even though he’d joined the Camorra at eleven while my brother, his good friend, had not.

“Grazie mille,” I murmured.

Nico nodded, a flush in his cheeks as he ducked his head.

Dante ushered us forward, introducing me to the rest of the men who guarded the house and worked for Damiano and, therefore, the Salvatore men. They were all gracious, well-mannered, and slightly reverent as if they were meeting royalty and wanted to be on their best behavior.

When I whispered that to Dante after we finished the introductions, he kissed me. “Regina mia, Elena, it’s not something these men take lightly. I’ve never introduced a woman to them this way before you.”

Pride washed through me, cleansing me of my preconceived notions, of my terrible past with the Camorra. I wasn’t some little kid with a horrible father indebted to the mob anymore. I was an intelligent, grown woman with a mafia Don’s love and protection.

“I’d like to be respected because of who I am, not just who I sleep with,” I added coolly because I was tired of feeling vulnerable all the time.

Dante’s lips twitched as he guided me into the house. “I have no doubt they will if you give them time.”

The lobby of the villa was a two-story affair bracketed on one side by tiled stairs with a wrought-iron scrolled railing and on the other by massive arches leading into a living room and down a hallway that probably led to the kitchen. The color palette was all creams, yellows, oranges, and reds, warmth and light saturating every inch of the house.

It suited Dante much more than his black and white apartment in New York, and I found, somewhat to my surprise, that it suited me.

“I need to meet quickly with Damiano and Tore, but I’ll show you around after,va bene?” Dante spoke into the hair over my temple before pressing a kiss there.

I nodded, already wandering down the hall, waving my hand at him. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead.”

“Elena,” he called when I turned away, waiting until I looked back to smile and say, “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been before. You had the courage to follow me here and I won’t ever forget that or stop striving to be worthy of it.”

“Just you saying that proves you already are,” I murmured softly, the smile on my face almost unfamiliar, tender and aching.

We beamed at each other for a second before the men started trailing in from outside. I nodded to him, then turned back down the long hall. Family photos hung on the plaster walls, images of Salvatore, a young Alexander, Dante from his youth as a gangly kid with unruly thick hair to a robust teen and finally, the handsome, enormous man he was today. I touched my fingers to an old framed photo of Tore, Dante, Alexander, and who must have been Chiara and Noel. Much to their chagrin, the boys took mostly after their father, particularly Alexander with his golden coloring. Noel had been a large man, unusually tall and thickly muscled for a British peer of the realm, and utterly intimidating even just in the photo. He stood stoically at the edge of the happy little group, Chiara’s hand tucked tightly in his own.

He didn’t hide his ability to be more monster than man very well.

I knew from stories that Alexander did it a little better, and Dante hid it the best.

But there was an echo of darkness in all their gazes as they stared at the camera.

Even Chiara, who was so beautiful and Italianate she looked like a model from the 1950s. She had her hair back with a scarf, but the dark strands tickled her bare shoulders as she bent slightly to put an arm around Dante. They shared the same black hair and dark eyes, and the slight indent in the firm chin. The silver chain Dante now wore was visible around her neck, disappearing into the black dress she wore on her slim frame.

A gorgeous family until you looked a little closer.

I swallowed thickly before I moved on, feeling slightly intrusive even though the photos were clearly displayed for anyone to view.

I was about to move on into the kitchen when I noticed a final image, a Polaroid tucked into a simple black frame. It was faded as if it had been handled too often and exposed to the hot Italian sun. But I could make out the woman sitting on the edge of the causeway in the Bay of Naples because I’d spent most of my life looking at her.

Mama.

She was so young, beautiful, almost identical to Cosima, but with Giselle’s lushly curved body. Her smile was wider than I’d ever seen it, her head thrown back to the sunny sky, hair a cascade down her back as she relished in whatever joy had just been handed to her. So carefree in a way I’d never had the privilege of seeing Caprice.

I knew Tore had a history with our family, but I’d always assumed it had more to do with mafia dealings and Seamus than Mama.

Now, I wasn’t so certain.

Beside it, there was a larger photo of Dante, Tore, and Cosima. My sister was in the middle of the two men, bracketed by their arms around her and their big bodies angled into her as if they were protecting her and showcasing her at the same time. There was no darkness in their smiles, only pure, beaming light. After everything Cosima had been through when she was sold into sexual slavery by Seamus, she deserved that happiness and those two men’s protection and affection.

Still, that wicked voice in the back of my mind hissed at me, reminding me that I wasn’t the first Lombardi in this world, that Cosima and even Mama had come before me. I tried not to let it diminish how special I’d felt being introduced as Dante’s woman, as hisDonna, but loneliness seeped in around the edges of my forced conviction.

My old friend melancholy roosted once more in my gut.

I felt suddenly and horrifically alone standing in that long, empty hall in a house of memories I wasn’t a part of and didn’t truly understand because I didn’t actually know that much about Dante’s past yet.