Page 42 of Anti-Heroes in Love Duet
“In my experience, criminal gangs are like cockroaches,” she said with a wry smile. “You stomp one out only to look over your shoulder and discover another.”
“And if you can’t beat them…” I dared to imply that this was why Yara had joined forces with a known criminal entity.
Yara stared at me for so long, my skin itched, and I fought the urge to squirm like a girl under her mama’s scolding gaze. “If all people were pure, Elena, there would be no laws. When we become lawyers, we are disbanding our perception of right and wrong in order to do our job to the fullest extent of our capabilities. Anyone who gets into law to defend the weak and innocent will inevitably become heartbroken and disillusioned.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Do not tell me you, the woman they call a gladiator in the courtroom, became a lawyer for such a nonsensical reason.”
I didn’t tell her, though she wasn’t far off the mark. In truth, I wasn’t sure how to express the complicated tangle of contradictions that clogged my throat and made it hard to breathe.
I could have told her I wanted to fight injustice because my entire childhood had been rife with it. With people who were so poor they had no choice but to appeal tola mafiafor loans and jobs and unrepayable favors. I understood why so many Italian revered the mafia as much as they feared it. It was a necessary component of their lives.
But a horrific one for some.
When I was growing up, I wanted to be a lawyer so I could stop the mafia’s exploitation of the poor.
But then we moved to America, and I lost the threads of my dream and only saw the broader tapestry.
Become a lawyer.
My idealism was replaced with realism and capitalism.
Yara let me marinate in my conflict for a long moment before she dealt her deathly blow. “Some people argue that lawyers are more criminal than their clients, Elena. Perhaps it would make you feel better to know that there are more villains in this profession than heroes. It might ease your adjustment period.”
People had always led me to believe I was cold, but looking into Yara’s morally bankrupt gaze, I reevaluated myself.
“I would rather work with good people,” I said somewhat lamely, feeling lopsided and upside down.
Anxiety spiked in my blood as I realized that spending time with Yara and Dante was already taking a toll on my perception of good and evil.
Yara shrugged easily. “I do too. I suppose it depends on your definition. Mr. Salvatore, for example, is a man I consider to be one of the best. He is a fair boss, a loyal friend and family member, and he does his part for the community.”
“For a tax break, I’m sure,” I muttered truculently.
“Just because someone loves and values different things than you do does not mean they are heartless, Ms. Lombardi. Dante would andhasrisked his life and livelihood for his loved ones and those he feels need championing. If you can’t understand that, perhaps you aren’t the woman I thought you were. Why don’t you head home? If there is any update on Dante, I’m sure tomorrow morning will be early enough for you to receive it.”
I blinked at her, properly chastised but still conflicted. Having dismissed me, Yara retrieved her phone from her clutch and began to work. I looked at Dr. Crown who was staring at me with pursed lips, judging me just as readily as I’d judged Dante and his crew.
“He’ll be okay?” I asked quietly, my voice stripped raw so that it throbbed with vulnerable sincerity.
Whatever my feeling about his criminal enterprise, I didn’t think Dante deserved to die.
In fact, the thought made me sway on my feet.
Dr. Crown fixed that pale blue gaze on me, and despite his classic all-American good looks, a distinct apathy in his gaze spoke to a cold heart. I recognized the look because I often saw it staring back at me in the mirror.
“It’s not the first time someone has tried to kill him, and it won’t be the last,” was his stoic answer.
A shiver rolled through me like morning fog off the harbor, and it felt an awful lot like a premonition of things to come.
It was only later, when I was between the silky sheets of a bed that was much too large without Daniel in it, that I mulled over Yara’s words. Unbidden, I recalled a quote I’d read in law school from the ever-lauded Thoreau.
“It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so much as a respect forright.”
I lay in the dark shadows of my echoing empty home, wondering if I’d become so entrenched in society’s perception of right and wrong that I’d forgotten to form an opinion of my own.
Death hadn’t scared me for a very long time.
Growing up at Pearl Hall in the moors of northern England where gold and pearls were inlaid in the furniture and my baby rattle was made of solid silver, very few people would have suspected I’d know the darkness of pain and death.
But very few people knew my father was a madman.
