Page 143 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
I’d never yearned for possession the way I did with Dante. I was a woman who valued my independence fiercely so I’d always thought that the idea of belonging to someone else was a direct contradiction to my independence. I’d been wrong. Owning the heart of a man like Dante Salvatore didn’t make me weak, it made me strong. I was proud to be seen as his because I was proud of the man he was and the woman he helped me to become.
“We land in twenty minutes. Come sit with me,” he said as he pulled away. “You look beautiful.”
“I look like I spent ten hours on a plane,” I argued. “And before that, I spent hours locked up in a basement in Brooklyn.”
“I don’t like the bruise thatbastardoput on your face, but no one will judge you for that, least of all Tore.”
“My outfit is part of my armor,” I told him even though it exposed a vulnerability. “I’ll be out in two minutes. Just give me time to change.”
“You don’t understand this yet, but you do not need your armor all the time now. Not when you have me.” He lipped the edge of my jaw all the way up to my ear, where he spoke his next words on a purr. “I will be your sword.”
Before I could gather my scattered thoughts enough to respond, he squeezed my hip in his palm then moved away, the door clicking behind him.
Love hadn’t suddenly made me naïve.
I knew no matter what, Dante and I would continue to face adversity. I would need his sword and my shield both if we were going to survive Naples.
But I couldn’t ignore the way my heart seemed to float in my chest, filled with a joy so effervescent it couldn’t be contained.
I will be your sword.
I shook my head to ground myself again, then went into the bathroom to fix my curls and apply a fresh coat of Chanel lipstick in the shade ‘Gabrielle’ that made my mouth a bold, sultry pout. I settled on a tight black, high-waisted pencil skirt and a sheer black blouse that hid the scabbing wounds at my wrists from when Seamus had zip-tied them, feeling instantly more at ease when I looked in the mirror at the respectable image I formed. I didn’t wipe the dried cum from my chest even though it made my skin tight.
Something in my gut delighted in the sinfulness of wearing it there while I looked otherwise suitable.
When I returned to the cabin, both Frankie and Dante were seated for landing. The former whistled low as I took my seat, laughing when Dante shot him a raised brow glower.
“She’s beautiful, D. What do you expect?”
“I expect respect,” he countered. “You treat her like a piece of meat,amico, and I’ll let her treat you the same.”
When they both looked at me, I raised a haughty brow at Frankie. “Next time ‘you look beautiful, Elena’ would suffice better than a catcall, Francesco.”
He bit the edge of his smile as he saluted me. “Aye aye,Donna.”
I took the seat across from Dante and smiled when he extended his leg so that our shoes were pressed together. He leaned forward, forearms on his thighs, to dip his fingers into a bag on the floor.
“I have a present for you,lottatrice.”
“Oh?” I asked, unable to curb my excitement.
I could admit to being a material girl. I loved gifts.
He chuckled at me. “This is not the kind of gift you are used to, I think. This is more…practical.”
My eyes widened comically as he pulled a small silver gun from the bag and held it in the palms of his big hands. It seemed oddly innocuous there, too small in his grip, but there was no doubting the threat of the weapon.
“Surely, I don’t need that,” I whispered even as my fingers reached out to touch the cool metal. “You’ll keep me safe.”
His features softened slightly, but he still shook his head. “No. Only a very foolish man thinks he will be able to protect his loved ones at all times. You’re a good fighter already. I will teach you to be good with a gun. I won’t have my own egotism be a chink in your armor.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “I know I shot Seamus, and I don’t regret it, but I don’t want to make a habit of killing people.”
His lips twitched with morbid humor. “No, I don’t want that either. But it never hurts to be prepared to defend yourself, does it?”
“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
“Have you ever held a gun before the other day in Brooklyn?” he asked, already moving to place the weapon in my limp hand, molding my fingers to the grip. “This is light and small. The recoil shouldn’t jar you too badly. This here is the safety. Press it in when you want to fire. You cock the top like this to reload the chamber. There is a makeshift range at Tore’s villa we can practice at.”
