Page 317 of Legacy

The breath punches from my lungs. I don’t even register the movement until glass shatters and Elena screams.

Angelo lunges.

Gunmetal glints.

Riot is immediately in front of Elena, hands up. Shielding her.

“Back off,” he says, calm but commanding. “We’re just going to go.”

Angelo’s gun stays raised. His jaw clenched. His whole body shaking.

He’s not looking at Riot. He’s looking atElena. And there’s a promise in his eyes. The kind of promise only a man like Angelo can make. The kind that ends with blood on the floor.

Riot doesn’t flinch. His arm slides around Elena as he steps backward, pulling her with him toward the elevator.

And I step in front of Angelo.

My legs feel like water. My heart is in my throat. But I step in front of him anyway, because if I don’t, he’ll pull that trigger. And he’ll never forgive himself if he does.

My hands cup his face, forcing his eyes to mine.

“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay. I’m not angry. She’s upset. I’m sorry, okay? Please look at me.”

His chest heaves, but his gaze slowly shifts, locking on mine.

One beat. Then another. A slow, shaking breath leaves him.

“Everyone out,” he orders, voice cold and final.

Santo lingers. “I want the book.”

Before Angelo can speak, I do.

“Vasilisa,” I say gently, still holding Angelo’s face. “It’s in the bedroom. Left nightstand, top drawer. You can’t miss it.”

She nods and slips away quietly.

I don’t let go of him. I won’t.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again as the elevator dings behind us and the last of the Amato’s disappear.

The door closes. The room falls into silence.

And Angelo hasn’t said a single word.

His eyes finally meet mine.

There’s no fire left in them now—just ash. Just pain.

“When did you know it was my mother’s story?” he asks, voice rough, almost hoarse.

I take a breath. My chest aches from the weight of it all. From the truth I didn’t mean to hold so long.

“I had a feeling when she drew a little picture of the townhouse in the margins,” I whisper. “It’s the same as the one you brought me to. But you never talked about your parents. Or their life together. So I assumed that was the reason why.”

His expression fractures.

“Heboughther?” he murmurs. “Is that true?”