Page 94 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet

They were patriarchs not only of a criminal conglomerate, but of a family.

And that family, that home, had been opened to me without reservation.

For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt part of a happy family.

Part of a whole home.

The feelings it stirred in me left me almost nauseated as I checked my rearview to pull onto Korean War Veterans Parkway leading out of Annadale. There was a motorcycle a few yards behind me, a dull black but sleek and powerful.

It stirred a memory that was instantly forgotten as I remembered the real question I wanted to ask Dante.

“Did Cosima kill Don di Carlo?” I asked, the words exploding from my mouth without my normal tact.

I needed to know.

There were so many secrets Dante and Cosima kept from me as individuals and as friends. I was tired of being on the outside looking through foggy glass.

It was time I knew what the hell their history entailed.

I didn’t push myself to admit why I was so desperate to know the particulars of their relationship, but I almost couldn’t breathe for the need of knowing.

“Let’s speak when you get back,” Dante suggested over the sound of men arguing in the background. “I am not alone.”

“Just answer the question. Yes or no. It’s simple,” I pressed.

“Do not push me,” he warned, low and hushed. “You want my secrets, Elena? You earn them.”

“I’ve lived with you for a month,” I snapped, feeling cornered somehow, desperate to lash out because panic was creeping through my blood. “I haven’t breathed a word about anything I’ve learned since then.”

“You haven’t learned anything I didn’t want you to,” he countered, all cold, hard mafia capo.

“So, you don’t trust me,” I surmised, shocked by the pain that wrung out my spine and left me slumped against the seat.

Why did I even care if he trusted me? I was his lawyer. I’d worked with clients before who lied to me constantly and were suspicious of my every word.

So what if he didn’t want me to know his dirty little secrets?

I didn’t really want to know them anyway.

“Elena,” he murmured in that way he had of making my name an Italian song. “If I didn’t trust you, would I let you inside my home? Would I tell my men to buy every season of that god-awful vampire show and send Bambi to get that expensive French chocolate you like? Would I train you with my inner circle every morning and laugh with you over good Italian wine?”

He paused, letting that sink in, knowing better than most that it could take a while for things to seep under my thick skin.

“Come home, Elena,” he ordered gently. “We will talk when you return.”

I was about to agree, somewhat petulantly because I was still shaken by Ric’s observation of my happiness, by the revelation that Dante was probably risking his entire life and livelihood for my sister, when the roar of a motorcycle cut through the air.

My eyes darted to the rearview mirror in time to see that same sleek bike accelerate around an old Buick and settle in behind me again.

I frowned. “Hey, Dante…”

A massive black GMC SUV appeared from the lane to my right, its windows tinted inky black so I couldn’t see the driver.

Apprehension skittered down my spine.

“Dante,” I repeated, my breath lost to the adrenaline spiking through my system. I revved the powerful engine of the Ferrari and changed lanes without indicating.

A second later, the motorbike cut into the same lane.