Page 250 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

I used the memory of her like a drug to make me forget my surroundings and circumstances. Argued with myself over the right color for her gray eyes, if they were pewter or wet stone, storm clouded or clear gray skies. Thought of the first time I kissed her on my desk and the first time I took her on the hood of the Ferrari after I’d thought I might lose her in that car chase.

Our future kept me company at night while I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore my tongue-less cellmate’s incessant snoring. How I would marry her again in front of her entire family, get it photographed for Page Six if she wanted. How I would give her babies any way I could. If we couldn’t conceive naturally, we could adopt. Elena would be an incredible mother, and I couldn’t wait to have the privilege of watching that dream come true for her. Secretly, even though I hadn’t in years, I prayed to God that we would be able to make a baby together. That I would be able to see Elena’s smoky gray eyes in a beautiful face I could hold in my arms and call my daughter or son.

When I wasn’t thinking of her, I was plotting.

I knew we were at war.

The men from Italy I’d recruited when we were in Napoli had arrived the day after Christmas, twenty of them whose single reason for being in the city was to support Chen, Addie, Jaco, and Frankie’s efforts to end the di Carlo Family.

The Basante cartel was happy to help because they were currently trying to overtake the Ventura Mexican cartel in the East Coast market.

The Fallen MC pitched in, still furious that the di Carlos had ambushed them and killed the VP of the New York Chapter.

Caelian Accardi and Santo Belcante, the two sons of Dons in The Commission, were lying low but doing their own work. Caelian used his connections with the Gaming Commission and the Liquor Board to shut down two of their casinos and five of their restaurants. Santo used his particular set of skills to find and take out three of their high-ranking capos.

The tides were turning already.

As I knew they would if I returned home to set things right.

It was obvious with Marco in the hospital that the leaks from our side had stopped.

We had a man in the hospital at all times to make sure he didn’t escape, but otherwise, we didn’t tip our cap that we knew he was our mole.

I wanted to deal with him personally when I got out.

They’d transported me to the courthouse hours earlier and left me in a holding cell. I was doing push-ups in the cell when the door to the outer room opened, and the air went static.

Elena.

I jumped to my feet, my eyes snapping to hers like currents connecting. Electricity raced through my blood as I got my first look at her in a month.

She was beautiful.

So beautiful I couldn’t fathom how anyone who saw her wasn’t struck deaf and dumb by the sight. Her hair was that vivid, unusual shade of red that shone like candlelight through merlot, and her eyes were filled with smoke, dark and undulating as her emotions played through them. It wasn’t that she was perfectly formed because that was boring. Her upper lip was slightly fuller than the bottom, and she had a trio of moles on her left hip in the shape of a perfect triangle. She was willowy, her curves slight and tight because she worked out every day with my men or me so she wasn’t a typical bombshell.

But she was striking, arresting, someone you couldn’t help but steal a second look at.

She was as interesting to look at as she was interesting to know. I’d revisited her mind and her body enough by then to know I would never get enough, know enough to claim mastery over either.

She was my ice queen and my fierydonna.

My very own enigma I’d spend the rest of my life unraveling.

“Capo,” she said then, as if my name was God’s.

“Elena.” I walked to the edge of the cell and pushed my hand through. “Prove to me you aren’t some golden dream.”

She moved to me immediately, lacing our fingers, kissing each of my knuckles worshipfully. “I missed you so much. I can’t even explain how much.”

“I know,” I soothed, pushing my other hand through the bars to hold her to me, hugging her the only way I could. “Cazzo, I thought of holding you again every day.”

“Me too.”

We were silent then, clutching each other like we’d drown if we let go. I smelled her hair and stroked my thumb over our joined knuckles, marking every single sensation of my body against hers.

“Never again,” I promised even though it was stupid to do so. Every capo accepted the possibility of incarceration or death as almost inevitable. To pretend otherwise was foolish.

But I was a fool.