Page 18 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Adriana

M y apartment is a mess of half-packed boxes and memories I didn’t ask to unearth. The scent of vanilla from my old candles clings to the walls, mixed with something sharp—cardboard and goodbyes.

Angelo called for me.

I guess I’m supposed to feel grateful he’s finally plucked me from my home and everything I know. But all I want to do is scream or climb the tallest building I can and jump.

“And this?” My mothers voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

She’s holding up my dress from junior prom.

My brothers men flood my apartment. Taking boxes of my things to ship to Angelo’s place.

I take a breath and focus on my mom.

“Mami, that doesn’t even fit me anymore.”

“Then why do you have it?” she asks as if she wasn’t the one who shoved it in my moving boxes the day I left home.

“Valentina!”

I wince, covering my ears. My mother’s screech could peel paint. Valentina walks into my bedroom, phone glued to her hand.

“Yeah?”

She doesn’t even look up as my mother shoves the dress in her direction.

“Do you think this will fit you?”

Valentina gives it a once over.

“Ew, no. It’s like a junior plus, yo no soy gorda.”

“I was not fat!” I counter, swiping at my sister to hit her phone, but she’s fast pulling it back.

Her eyes drag my frame and she gives me that face.

The one that says are you sure?

“Shut the fuck up Valentina.”

“Ay! Language!” mom shouts slapping me on the arm.

“Hey! She called me fat,” I complain rubbing my forearm.

“She said she wasn’t fat, not that you are Adriana.”

Valentina smirks smugly.

My mother rummages through more of my things and finds that damn contract.

Rafael dropped it off the night after I signed it.

Everything finalized. Locked down to Angelo Amato .

“Ay mija!”

My mother holds up a photo.

Of Angelo.

What the hell?

“Where did you get that?”

“From this envelope,” she says, the contract envelope in hand.

He put a photo in there?

Why? To remind me who owns me now?

I reach for it, but speedy Valentina snatches it first.

Her eyes widen.

“ Adri…. he’s beautiful,” she breathes out, tucking her phone away for once.

“Right?! You’re going to make the most gorgeous grand babies for me!”

My mother says it so brightly the sharpness stills me.

No.

No babies.

Angelo Amato won’t ever touch me .

“Everything’s packed, senora,” one of my brother’s men announces from the living room.

My mother claps her hands. “Perfect! Then let’s go. I’m starving. We’ll stop by that Cuban place, Valentina.”

Valentina’s already at my side, holding out the photo.

She doesn’t say anything, just gives it to me, and I feel the air shift the second my fingers graze the edge.

“You coming with us?” my mother asks, plucking the old prom dress off the bed like it suddenly holds meaning again.

“No,” I murmur. “I’ll stay here a bit longer.”

She shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

They leave without fanfare; heels clicking, laughter echoing down the hall. Just like that, the apartment goes quiet. Ghosted by my own blood.

I sit on the edge of the bed, thumbing the black and white photo.

It’s not posed.

Angelo’s seated in a chair, one hand curled near his mouth, like he was caught mid-thought. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled to the elbows, tattoos lining his arms, the top button undone. His watch glints under low light. He looks tired. Dangerous… Beautiful.

Like a man used to being obeyed.

His eyes aren’t looking at the camera. They’re looking just past it, like something offscreen has his attention. Or maybe someone.

My heart clenches.

My phone buzzes.

Angelo.

‘Your flight leaves at 11:15 AM. Plane will wait if needed. The car will be outside at 9:45.’

No apology. No flourish. Just cold, calculated logistics.

I blink at the message, then back at the photo in my hand.

Suddenly the walls of this place feel too close. Too empty. Too final.

I toss the photo onto the mattress like it burns.

I’m spiraling .

The words feel like air slipping through my teeth. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes.

“I need a drink.”

***

Three drinks in, the apartment is a hollow version of itself; once vibrant and lived-in, now sterile, stripped of everything that made it mine.

The silence is thick.

My footsteps echo off marble tile, the designer rugs already rolled and packed. The fridge hums like it’s the only thing left with a pulse.

I pour whatever’s still here, wine maybe rum, into a half-cleaned glass from a bar cart that hasn’t seen action since my birthday, and sink to the floor cross-legged, contract in hand, future unraveling around me.

There’s no clause about children. No heir requirement. No expectations laid out in neat bullet points.

My heart sighs in relief.

It’s just a merger.

A sentence without meaning.

But he still owns me.

And tomorrow, I fly into the lion’s mouth.

I sigh and set down the contract. I move over to my windowsill, where, tucked inside a little wooden box, lay the Burmese rubies I once smuggled in, back when I was allowed to roam.

And make my own name.

They glimmer in the moonlight, a fiery red that holds a familiar stubbornness.

Like me.

I lift one up, feeling its weight and the sense of accomplishment it brought.

“Why are you doing this to me, Angelo?” I ask the ruby aloud .

I’m talking to a gemstone now. I must be losing my mind

A knock at the door pulls me from the silence.

I check my phone. Midnight.

Wait.

I freeze.

Only one person knocks like that.

I open the door and find Rafael leaning against the frame, a bottle of wine dangling from his hand, familiar grin tugging at his lips.

“For old times’ sake?” he asks.

Temptation in a leather jacket.

“Rafe.. what are you doing here?”

His eyes trail my pajamas or lack there of.

His smirk drops and he steps inside invading my space. He’s too quick.

In a breath, he shuts the door behind him, spins us, and presses me back against it—his face inches from mine, eyes boring into me.

“I’m checking,” he says softly.

I blink.

“For what?”

“For the woman I know. He doesn’t get to break you again Adriana.”

My breath hitches.

“Do you have this?”

I nod.

“ Adriana , do you have this?”

My throats tightens.

“Yes.”

Rafael presses his forehead to mine. “I love you kid, but you have to be ready. You’re strong.”

I take a breath and hold it.

His knuckles graze my cheek. “Be the woman I know.”

His whisper hits me where I need it.

I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him. He holds me close.

Familiarity .

Strength.

Friendship.

I exhale.

“I have this. He won’t break me again.”

***

I feel like I can’t breathe.

I changed outfits six times before I settled on a cream blouse and high-waisted trousers, hoping they’d make me look put together even though I feel anything but.

No red.

Not anymore.

It used to be my favorite.

Now it just feels like a warning.

I do one last sweep of the apartment, not because I forgot anything, but because I want to remember it.

The polished quartz counters I picked out myself. The velvet curtains that never quite hung right. The faint scorch on the windowsill from the time I dropped incense mid-meltdown during finals week.

This place wasn’t perfect. But it was mine.

A space I carved out of chaos.

Even if it never really felt like enough.

The knock comes at exactly 9:45.

Not a second early. Not a second late.

My heart leaps up into my throat. There’s something about that kind of precision, like a blade pressed against the edge of routine, that makes me feel like prey.

I force my hand to the doorknob. Open. Breathe. Smile.

And then I see him .

Tall. Towering, really. He fills the doorway like a shadow that doesn’t need the sun. Thick arms crossed over a broad chest, both covered in black and gray tattoos, etched over muscle and scars like history carved into skin.

But it’s the one on his face that stills me—the scar that slices through his left eyebrow and runs down to his jaw like someone tried to take him apart and failed.

His eyes, though… they’re hazel. Sharp. Striking. A contradiction.

“Adriana Castillo?” he asks, his voice like cracked stone.

“Yes,” I say, politely. Automatically.

He gives a single nod. “Nico Conti. I’ll be taking you to the hangar.”

I don’t know what I expected, maybe some hint of kindness, some assurance in his tone—but there’s none. Just the kind of quiet that makes you afraid to fill it.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink. He just waits.

I grab my bag with fingers that won’t stop trembling and follow him out, locking the door behind me even though it feels like I’m leaving everything I ever knew on the other side.

The sun is too bright. The car is too black. Nico opens the passenger door without a word.

I slide in, smoothing my blouse, pretending it isn’t sticking to my back with sweat. Pretending the scar on his face isn’t still etched in my vision.

He gets in beside me.

The engine hums.

The silence screams for so long as we drive.

I can’t take it.

“So you work for Angelo?”

I swear a the corner of his lip lifts. “What gave it away?”

I open my mouth and close it.

Okay.

“Maybe the arrogance that seems to be your aura, but it could just be the cheap cologne. ”

Yup. Definitely a smirk, he glances at me. “I see it now.”

“You see what?” I ask even though I don’t want to know.

“Why he chose you.”

I inhale sharply. That’s not what I want to hear. I don’t want to know that.

“Well, I didn’t choose him,” I blurt out crossing my arms over my chest.

“I’m sure he’ll like to hear that,” Nico scoffs.

My spine stiffens. Fuck. I know better. Why would I say anything to someone that works for him!

“Don’t tell him that, I don’t want or need the—”

“I won’t.”

I freeze, “You won’t?”

The car comes to a stop and he kills the ignition. My heart stutters as he turns in his seat to meet my eyes.

“No. If you’re not in danger there’s nothing to tell. Your feelings are yours.”

What?

I don’t know whether to be relieved or just sit in my confusion, but he opens the car door. “Come on, planes waiting.”