Page 5 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

Racketeering.

Illegal gambling.

And murder.

Sitting there in all that black, cloaked in shadows, he looked every inch the crime boss he was being accused of being.

“A penny for your thoughts then,” he offered.

His voice was strange, Italian, British, and American accents tangling in his tone to create something wholly unique and oddly appealing. I told myself it was this odd mix of personas—the Italian hedonist, the British reserved mystery, and the ballsy American arrogance—combined into one man who intrigued me and not the almost overwhelming sight of such a beautiful body sprawled contemptuously across the leather.

I narrowed my eyes at him and adjusted my portfolio on my lap, conscious of how sweaty my palms were against the stiff paper.

“Maybe you aren’t ready to hear them,” I countered coolly, brow raised. “Some people take criticism better when it’s not from a virtual stranger.”

Yara didn’t chastise me this time, probably because Dante’s smoky chuckle filled the interior again and took away her opportunity to do so.

But also, maybe because Dante hadnotbeen an easy client thus far.

He flouted our suggestions, ignored sensible ideas, and seemed almost childishly easy to distract from the gravity of his predicament.

It was as if being accused of murder was only passably amusing whenever he did succumb to its presence in his life.

If he was enjoying my company, it might mean he would be more…pliable in the future. I decided then, even if this hadn’t occurred to Yara, I would suggest it to her myself after the indictment. I had no doubt I intrigued him because of my relationship with his best friend, who also happened to be my sibling, but I was a lawyer, so I’d use anything I had in my arsenal to earn an advantage.

“You’re not much like your sister.” It was a statement, not a question, and it made me grit my teeth to avoid the impulse to bite back at him.

He shouldn’t have said that.

Of course, I’d divulged my connection to the client before I’d made my bid for placement on his legal team, so Yara was unsurprised by the comment.

That wasn’t what made irritation burst into itchy, painful flames on the back of my neck.

Even though I loved her deeply, I dreaded any comparison to my youngest sister.

Cosima Lombardi, an international supermodel, was married to a gorgeous British aristocrat and she was as lovely at heart as she was on the surface.

In a comparison battle, anyone would lose to Cosi.

Still, I hated to lose.

And I’d been losing that war since she was born.

The favorite of my father, maybe silently of my mother, and certainly of my other siblings.

Cosima was the golden child, whereas I was the black sheep.

I was the firstborn but the least liked and most unsuccessful.

My ambition surged through me like adrenaline at the thought, reminding me just what was at stake in taking this case.

If we won this trial against all odds, it would make my career and catapult me to the kind of greatness a lawyer could only achieve in the Big Apple.

I wanted that.

Not for the money or even the power, though both were more arousing than most men had ever been to me.

No.