Page 109 of Legacy

Thebetter one.

Fuck.

Here it goes.

I walk around my desk challenging him. He steps back.

“You had everything,” I snap, my voice breaking with frustration.

His brows raise. “What?”

“You got to go to college, for fucks sake! You didn’t have to deal with Dad breathing down your neck every damn day, pushing, expecting—no,demandingthat I be perfect. You didn’t have to stay and pick up the pieces after mom died. You gotallof her attention while I was stuck proving myself tohim!”

Santo doesn’t say a word, and it makes me want to hit something orsomeone.

“And Stanford,” I continue, my voice rising. “You didn’t even have to come back!You were free!You had a whole life ahead of you, a chance to walk away from this shit and never look back. But you chose to come back.Why?Why the hell would you do that?”

His eyes meet mine. They’re cold now, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles twitching. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if he’s going to let me keep tearing into him without a fight. But then, he steps forward, and the calm cracks.

“You thinkIhad everything?“ he says, his voice low but sharp, each word like a dagger aimed straight at my chest. “You think I had it easier than you? That I just got handed some golden fucking life?”

His laugh is bitter, almost cruel. “I didn’t get everything, Angelo. I didn’t even get abrother.”

His words hit me harder than a fist ever could, but he doesn’t stop.

“All I ever wanted was for you to be my brother. Justonce. To look at me and see someone you were proud of. But no. I was just a problem to you. Someone to push aside, someone to delegate tasks to, someone to getridof.”

My throat tightens, but I can’t find the words to cut in. Santo steps closer, his eyes blazing.

“You want to talk about clawing andfightingfor everything? I had to fight for every scrap of approval, for every ounce of respect, not just from dad but fromyou. And you know what? You were never kind to me, Angelo. Not once. You treated Maksim as a brother, and I got the scraps.”

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels like it’s caving in, but I can’t look away from him. For the first time, Iseeit—the pain he’s been carrying, the resentment, the cracks in the armor I thought were impenetrable.

“I hate you,” Santo says coldly, his eyes locked on mine.

There’s no hesitation in his voice, just ice.

“I hate that youknew,” he continues, the words sharp enough to cut. “You knew she was in danger, and you let me leave her. You—” He stops abruptly, his jaw tightening as if the rest physically hurts to say.

I don’t respond. I can’t.

Because he’s right.

Everything he’s saying is true, and no matter how much I want to rewrite that day, I can’t. I carry that failure with me like lead in my chest.

“I would’ve never done that to you,” Santo says, his voice quieter but somehow heavier. “I saw the way you look at Adriana. I’d never allow her be in danger because I can already tell it’d kill you. But you… you let that happen to me.”

His words land like a blow.

“I have to look my wife in the eyes every day,” he continues, “knowing I chose—”

“You didn’t choose anything,” I cut in, the weight of my guilt cracking through.

“I failed you, Santo. I knew. I knew she could be a target, and I stayed quiet. I chose Maksim, loyalty to him, over loyalty to my brother.”

“And you still are, why won’t you tell me what you’re hiding?” he demands.

“Because I can’t!”