Page 13 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

Eight Months Ago

“ Y ou want me to retire?”

My father smirks before his laugh fills the office.

His office hasn’t changed in thirty years.

Dark mahogany bookshelves, thick velvet drapes that block out the city like it’s beneath him, and a massive oil painting of my mother on their wedding day above his desk.

She’s frozen in time there; smiling, radiant, looking like love was enough to tame a man like Marcello Amato.

It wasn’t.

My father sits behind a desk so large it feels like a goddamn altar. And I’m the offering.

I exhale, trying to reel in my fury.

“I think it’s time. I’m ready.”

His eyebrows rise. “Ready?”

He ashes his cigar and sets his eyes on me.

Marcello Amato has been Don of Cosa Nostra for far too long. At seventy-two, the man should’ve stepped down years ago.

“My Angelo,” he begins.

Here we fucking go.

My jaw clenches, and his expression morphs into something serious .

“Ruling Cosa Nostra isn’t just about wanting it—it’s about surviving it. Can you survive in this world alone?”

I stiffen at his words.

I survived you.

I want to say it, but I swallow it down.

“I’ve been your right hand for fifteen years. I’ve seen and done things you don’t even know about.”

He smirks, leaning back in that old leather chair like he owns the world.

“That you think I don’t know about.”

There it is. That look.

The one he always gives me. Like I’m the fuck-up. The mistake he’s never been able to clean off his record.

“But you haven’t proved that you can lead.”

The fuck I haven’t.

I take another breath.

My outbursts are why he thinks I can’t lead.

Channel Santo.

Calm.

Decisive.

In control.

“I can get an alliance with the Bratva.”

Fuck.

No, I can’t.

My father freezes.

Then he laughs. The fucker laughs.

“You think just because you and that Korsakov kid are friends, he’ll give me what I want?”

I hate his tone. Condescending bastard.

“I know he will,” I lie.

I’ve known Maksim Korsakov since we were kids. Our families don’t see eye to eye, but Maksim got what I want.

A chance to rule .

My old man needs to step down.

He sighs, heavy, dragging a hand down his face as he leans forward.

Disappointment.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” His eyes lock onto mine. “Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

“I’m ready,” I say without hesitation.

He studies me. Long. Quiet.

“What you and your brother don’t understand,” he finally says, “is that when I look at the two of you… I see her.”

I still.

My mother.

He never talks about her.

“You’d think it’s Elena I see her in the most, but no.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “That girl is all me.”

Bullshit.

Elena is our mother’s mirror.

His eyes settle on mine again, a shadow passing through them.

“Lucia was wild. Free. Righteous. Untethered to this world.”

His voice dips, quiet and distant now.

“Just like you.”

I swallow hard, the burn behind my eyes catching me off guard.

“Your brother… now he —he has her eyes. It’s like she plucked them out and gave them to him. All those soft edges, that’s her.”

Of course.

Of course Santo would get the parts he loved.

And I’d be stuck with the parts he couldn’t tame.

He exhales, almost like he’s let something go.

“You have my blessing, Angelo.”

I exhale.

I got what I wanted.

Almost.

Now I have to get Maksim on board .

“Thank you.”

His eyes soften momentarily.

“Remember, the world of Cosa Nostra is not kind to those who can’t handle its pressures. If there’s a single crack in your armor, they’ll find it and kill.”

***

This is my third shot of whiskey and I just have to man the fuck up.

I settle back on the plush couch in my penthouse, phone in hand.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one wall, the city lights burning like scattered embers against the night sky. A decanter sits half-drained on the bar, and the air still smells faintly of smoke and cedar.

The line buzzes once before Maksim picks up, his voice as smooth and unhurried as ever.

“Maks,” I start, keeping my tone calm. “I need your help.”

There’s a pause and I can hear the assholes smirk through the line.

“Do you now? Going soft on me, Amato?”

I clench my jaw, but let the jab slide.

Maksim’s a dick.

An acquired taste, but I don’t have time to placate him tonight.

“I want what we agreed on. My father said he’d step down, if I bring him an alliance with the Bratva.”

Maksim scoffs.

“He tried that shit with me, he wants territory, I’m not willing to give.”

“I don’t want that shit, we can tell him you’re giving it, but I won’t take it. I just need him out of the seat.”

Silence.

I check the phone. Call is still live.

Maksim’s laugh just about vibrates the phone in my hand, that loud boisterous fuck .

“Interesting,” he drawls. “You want him gone that bad?”

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“It’s my time.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Amato.”

“Isn’t that what we do?” I retort, my tone biting.

Another pause.

“True, so what’s the deal?”

“An arranged marriage.”

“Amato, I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.”

I tug at my collar as the fury inside me rises.

“You still have your cousin under your thumb?” I ask outright.

“Vasilisa?” he questions and I swear I can hear concern in his voice.

“She’s still tangled up with the mayor’s brat. You’re thinking of taking her for yourself, Angelo?”

I bark a laugh, low and humorless. “Not me.”

He goes quiet.

“She’s too young for your father Angelo. No.”

“Not for him either,” I shudder at the thought.

The idea clicks in my head almost instantaneous.

This is going to work.

“Her father has NovaRael, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” Maksim answers hesitantly.

I can feel the elation rolling through me.

“Then listen up. I suggest to my father that we lock down the Bratva through marriage. Santo marries Vasilisa, and as part of the deal, Santo gains a share in NovaRael—a foothold in the tech industry. My father gets his precious alliance, thinks we’re getting territory and steps down.”

I take a breath.

“I get what I want and we get what we want; the Sovereigns Alliance.”

Maksim grows quiet.

Too quiet.

“Vasilisa… with Scythe? ”

My heart falls to my stomach.

Fucking Scythe.

My brother’s murderous alter ego, always a problem.

“You’re thinking of putting my favorite cousin at the mercy of the most ruthless bastard in your family?”

I exhale, forcing myself not to snap.

“Santo isn’t Scythe twenty-four seven,” I lie.

I don’t know if he or isn’t.

“He knows how to control it. He wouldn’t hurt her.” I add, another lie.

I’ve never seen Santo with a woman longer than a day. Hell I haven’t seen any of those women after either.

“This is our best shot, it’s a damn risk worth taking.”

I wait.

The silence on the other side of the line deafening.

Finally he speaks.

“Amato, I don’t know.”

I’m fucking done.

“If you have a better plan, I’m all ears.”

He laughs, sharper this time. “We could always marry you off to Katya.”

The whiskey nearly burns going down, and I choke out a curse. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Then Santo it is,” he replies smoothly, his voice carrying that familiar mischief. “I’ll send the proposition to Vasilisa’s family. But now, you owe me a favor.”

“I don’t owe you shit,” I respond curtly, my grip on the phone tightening. “I paid that debt twelve years ago.”

Silence.

“True,” he finally murmurs. “I suppose we both hold that skeleton, don’t we?”

“That we do.”