Page 68 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

“No,” he agreed on a low purr that was more threat than seduction. “Vieni qui, lottatrice mia.”

Come here, my fighter.

I hesitated, my mind battling with the impulse to obey. My teeth clenched so tightly my jaw panged, but finally, I moved closer, stopping an arm span away from the tense mafioso.

“What?” I demanded mulishly, feeling like a child called to the principal’s office to atone for her misdeeds.

Dante studied me with those liquid black eyes, his entire body clenched with the force of holding back the anger that toiled beneath his surface.

“I heard you met a man today,” he said finally.

Instantly, I went to take a step away from him, but Dante was already moving, knowing me well enough to stymie my flight. His hot hand curled around my wrist, engulfing it in his meaty palm. He didn’t say another word, but he watched me with those predatory eyes, those hungry animal eyes that said he wanted to eat me up for his next meal.

The adrenaline sluicing through my limbs pooled warmly in my gut and seeped lower, heating the place between my thighs I hadn’t felt the urge to touch in months.

“Who told you?” I made the mistake of asking.

Dante bared his teeth. “You should have told me. Do not be angry with Adriano for doing what I asked.”

“For spying on me?” I snapped, leaning closer to the angry Made Man even though I knew it was dangerous. Fear and excitement tangled in my chest, dancing together in a way they never had before. I felt alive with sizzling energy, restless with the need to poke at the growling bear before me until he snapped.

The perverse side of me wanted to see what would happen when he did.

“For watching out for you,” he ground out, pushing off the edge of his desk so that our bodies collided, my slight curves yielding to his iron edges.

My nipples beaded so tightly they pulsed as they brushed against his upper stomach.

“I can take care of myself, Dante. I don’t need to be watched like some child,” I argued, raising up to my toes in my high heels to get even closer to his sneering mouth.

“Like a child? No. A child has more sense than you sometimes,” he countered cruelly. “Ma dai!Do you know the man you gave your number to, Elena?”

“Does it matter? Unlike you, he was a gentleman.” I never raised my voice, but I found I was nearly yelling at him, the slim space between our snarling mouths filled with our comingled breath hot as dragon fire.

“Gentiluomo? That man was Gideone di Carlo,” he growled, cupping my shoulders in his hands to give me a little shake. “The same man whose brother is trying to assume leadership of the fucking Cosa Nostra. The same man whose family nearly murdered your sister. The same family who tried to kill me at my own party.”

I blinked, shocked by the revelation.

Dante continued, battering into my defenses ruthlessly. “I told you my enemies would want to use you against me, Elena, and I told you to be careful. Instead, you give a man who wants me dead your fucking phone number.”

Anger leaked from the puncture wound in my pride. I sagged slightly in his hold and pinned my eyes over his shoulder to avoid his censorious gaze. “I didn’t know.”

He sighed harshly, his warm, wine-scented breath against my face as he surprised me by hauling me tight against him in a sudden hug. His arms nearly crushed me, fury still palpable even in the tender expression. “For a smart woman, you can be very blind.”

I struggled out of his arms, face flaming, skin pricking with shame. “Excuse me for thinking for one moment that a man could have taken a genuine interest in me.”

I winced slightly as I realized the vulnerability of my words.

Some of the antagonism vibrating through Dante quieted as his expression morphed into somber consideration. When he shook me again by the shoulder, it was almost gentle.

“Elena,” he said, clearly exasperated. “You are the most complicated woman I’ve ever known. So tough and strong, a born fighter because life taught you the need to survive, and that’s a beautiful thing.”

I pulled away from him, stepping back because suddenly I couldn’t breathe well. He let me go, but his eyes were hooked through mine, forcing me to witness the sincerity there, to hear the words I knew would eviscerate me.

“Yet, you’re so afraid,” he said in a low voice, his words creeping across the space toward me like the slow roll of thick, ominous fog. “You’re so goddamn afraid of being soft and tender because all that silk beneath your armor would rip so easily in the wrong hands. This insecurity blinds you to the truth. It corrodes the goodness in you. If you saw what I saw when I looked at you, you would never doubt yourself again. You wouldn’t be tricked by the easy flattery of somestronzolike di Carlo into thinking he was good enough for you.”

“Oh,” I lashed out, hand slicing through the air as if my words were a knife I could wield. “And I suppose you are?”

His gaze was unnerving, unblinking on mine, so dark I lost my way in the black maze of those eyes. Finally, he shrugged that eloquent Italian shrug and put his hands in his pockets as if to contain them. “Forse.”