Page 21 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

I fucked up yesterday.

I know it.

And I’ll fix it.

She locked herself in the guest room, and I don’t blame her. I was an ass.

But I also know—if she’d just stop fighting me for one fucking second, if she let me in, let me touch her, she’d remember. Remember how good it felt to have me inside her. How I made her come apart on my cock, begging for more. She’d remember what we were. What we could still be.

The clause was necessary.

It’ll heal us. Fix what’s broken.

No woman wants to be told they have to, especially not Adriana, but I can win her over. Charm her. Remind her why she fell for me in the first place.

I button my shirt, spray cologne, and head for her room.

Two knocks.

Wait.

No answer.

I check my watch. Nine-thirty. She could still be asleep.

I try the knob .

Not locked.

I open it slowly, gently.

Empty.

I move through the penthouse, my pace quickening.

Kitchen—empty.

Living room—empty.

The silence in the penthouse hits like a scream.

Her coffee mug still sits on the counter. A chair slightly askew. Ghosts of a morning routine she didn’t finish.

I call Nico. It rings twice.

“Boss?”

“You have my wife?”

A beat.

“No. You want me to start a search?”

“Not yet. I’ll call you back.”

A tightness coils in my throat.

I call Adriana.

It rings.

Voicemail.

The elevator chimes. The hum, the soft glide of doors opening to— Gio.

He strolls in like this isn’t life or death.

“Where’s my wife?” I ask, cold.

“She’s not back yet,” he says casually, brushing past me.

I grab his collar and slam him into the wall hard enough to shake the frames.

Gio grunts.

“The fuck do you mean she’s not back yet?”

His eyes lock on mine, wide, panicked.

“She left an hour ago. Said she’d be back.”

“She left? Where? ”

“I don’t know,” he stammers, shaking his head.

I punch the wall next to his face. He flinches. A sharp breath escapes him.

“You didn’t ask where she was going? Who took her?”

“A-A rideshare.”

My body goes still.

Stone still.

My wife.

The Don’s wife.

In a fucking rideshare.

He braces for the hit.

I wait for his eyes to meet mine and I punch him.

His body crumples as I release his collar, slumping to the ground.

“Fucking useless,” I snarl, chest heaving.

She’s out there.

Unprotected. Alone.

My wife.

My fucking wife.

My fingers itch. My pulse pounds.

I pull my gun.

Gio blinks up at me, swelling already blooming beneath his eye.

“Do you have any idea what I should do to you for this?” My voice is low. Deadly

My phone beeps.

“Fuck!”

Fury rises in my throat.

A chime from the elevator.

I holster the gun. Accept the elevator call and step toward the door.

The doors slide open—

There she is.

I exhale like I’ve been drowning .

Adriana.

Her eyes meet mine cold and sharp then flick to Gio slumped on the floor behind me.

She doesn’t say a word.

She brushes by me.

I follow her, “Get the fuck out Gio.”

He scrambles but I hear the elevator doors close behind me as I continue tracing my wife’s steps. She grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Adriana,” I begin.

She looks so good. Too good. Dressed in tailored slacks and a black satin blouse tucked in, her heels clicking across my marble like war drums. Her hair is up again, sleek and deliberate, makeup flawless. Unbothered. Beautiful.

Deadly.

She opens the bottle. Drinks. Doesn’t look at me.

“Where were you?” I press.

“Out.”

She finally meets my eyes, lips parted, the water bottle dangling from her fingers like she might throw it at me.

“Doing what?”

Her smile is razor sharp.

“Handling my affairs. Saw my lawyer. Since clearly I have to prepare for legal battle inside my own marriage. ”

Fuck.

She steps past me, deliberately slow, and I watch her walk toward the living room like she owns the place. Maybe she does.

“You left without a guard,” I say, following her. “You left unprotected.”

She stops. Turns. Her eyes burn into mine.

“I left because I needed to breathe, Angelo. And Gio let me, because unlike you , he didn’t try to pin me down like I’m some fucking possession.”

“You are mine.” The words tear from me, low and raw. The truth .

Her jaw tightens.

“Read the room. I’d rather be nobody’s than be yours like this.”

Molten heat coils between us. Each word strikes like a match.

“So what’s the move? You lawyering up? Gonna take me on?”

She tilts her head, eyes glittering. Smile soft as a blade sliding between ribs.

“Page sixteen. Section four. Paragraph two. I know it now. And I know what you didn’t do. You breached first. You think you had me?”

Goddamn it.

“You’ve got claws,” I mutter, can’t help it—almost admiring.

She shrugs, effortless. Deadly.

“You wanted a storm. You married one.”

I stare. I want to fight. No.

I want to taste her.

Feel her back against the wall, her breath against my mouth as I remind her who the fuck I am.

But this version? This steel-spine, courtroom-cold queen?

She’s not mine.

Not yet.

“So what now, wife ?” My voice drops, cool as ice, hands buried in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “You want me to beg?”

She steps in. Close enough I can feel her heat.

“No.”

A pause. A beat that feels like a gun cocking.

“Now we renegotiate .”

Her voice is satin-wrapped steel.

I exhale a quiet laugh through my nose, but it dies when I glance down.

Her hand. Bandaged. My chest tightens. My fault. I pissed her off so much she smashed that glass.

I reach out without thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the gauze. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move .

“You’re hurt,” I say, quiet now. And fuck if that doesn’t mean more than just her hand.

She looks up, and for a second— just a second —her eyes soften. The storm eases. The edge dulls.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs. But she doesn’t pull away.

Not yet.

I take her wrist, gentle, my thumb sliding over the skin above the bandage. I shouldn’t touch her like this. Not after the lies. Not after I made a battlefield of our first day.

But she’s letting me.

For now.

Her breath catches, barely, but I feel it. I feel the thrum of her pulse under my fingers. Steady. Fierce.

Just like her.

“You shouldn’t fight me like this,” I say, and damn, I mean it. More than I should. “ Not with me.”

Her lips part. Her eyes search mine; like she’s looking for the crack in my armor, or maybe the man she once loved.

And then— gone.

She pulls her hand back fast, the cold slamming back between us.

“I’ll draft the new terms,” she says. Clipped. Sharp. Like a blade sliding back into its sheath.

“You’ll have a copy in the morning. Send it to your lawyer if you want.”

She turns. Walks.

“Adriana.”

She stops at her door. Doesn’t look back.

“I meant what I said,” I tell her, voice low. Barely holding. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Silence. A beat too long.

Then, soft. Deadlier than any shout.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started it. ”

She steps inside. The door clicks shut.

***

Two days of silence.

Adriana scheduled an appointment with me today to talk about the amendment.

My wife fucking scheduled an appointment.

She leaves every morning without a glance. Textbook in hand. Guard in tow. Gone. And when she comes back? Straight to her room like I don’t exist.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Silence.

Fucking silence grates at me. Everyone is ignoring me at this point.

My wife.

My brother.

My consigliere—who hasn’t picked up the phone since before Vasilisa’s attack.

Vasilisa.

My only ally left, probably because Santo hasn’t told her about what he thinks I did. When he does… we’ll see how far her kindness really goes.

My phone buzzes.

Speak of the tiny angel.

A text:

‘Let me up, please.’

Another buzz. The elevator asks for access. I grant it.

A moment later the doors slide open and there she is—my cognata. All blonde waves and big blue eyes, in a baby blue coat that that clings to her petite frame. She looks like a porcelain doll who’s stepped out of a snow globe, too gentle for this world .

But I know better.

That girl is a fighter.

“I ran away from Luca,” she blurts out, eyes wide, breathless.

“You what?”

“Luca. I ran away from him. So I have maybe five minutes until he realizes I’m not in the café bathroom, and another five when he realizes I’m here.”

She brushes past me like she owns the place.

“We need to talk.”

She plops onto the couch, looking up at me with the eyes she gives Santo when she wants leniency.

I exhale, dragging a hand down my face.

I shoot a text to Luca and put my phone down.

“Okay, Tiny. About what?”

“About what?” Her voice rises an octave as she stares at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Are you serious? Santo won’t tell me what’s going on, and every time you two are in a room together it’s like a fucking freezer. What happened after the Armenian attack?”

She should really talk to Santo about this.

I don’t say it out loud. Not yet. I sit beside her instead, trying to prepare for the storm.

She shifts closer, concern etched all over her face. The soft scent of cashmere and amber clings to her like always. She’s such a contrast to the rest of us. Light where we are shadow.

“The last thing he told me was that he was afraid you were hiding something,” she says softly, placing a hand on my arm. Her brows pull together. “Are you?”

I swallow hard.

The weight of her question digs into the cracks already spidering through my conscience.

Yes.

I’m hiding everything .

Everything that could break this family apart.

But I look at the sweet girl and lie.

“No.” I shake my head and hate myself when I watch the relief in her face.

She exhales. “So Santo just needs that reassurance, you can give that to him.”

She smiles and all I can do is nod.

She squeezes my arm then stands up abruptly. “But… I actually do have to use the restroom, do you mind?”

“Of course Tiny, my home is yours.”

The heels of her boots click as she heads down the hall to my wife’s bathroom.

I stand, stretching the tension from my body and slip into my office.

Behind me, I hear the bathroom door shut. Good. That gives me a few minutes to breathe. I sink into my seat.

I should call Luca. See if Vasilisa made it to me without a whole search party on her tail. I reach for my phone, but it’s not here.

I frown.

I left it on the entry table in the foyer.

I make a move to get up but the sound of heels hitting marble stops me

Faster. Sharper.

I look up just as Adriana storms in—my phone gripped in her bandaged hand, eyes blazing. She’s fury incarnate; like she dragged a thunderstorm into this tomb of marble and silence.

“Who the fuck is Piccola?”

She tosses the phone onto the desk, hard enough to make it slide across the surface.

I blink.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Her voice shakes, not with weakness, but fury. Fury like a lit match shoved down my throat .

“Adriana—”

“I saw the text.” Her jaw is tight, arms crossed like she’s holding herself back from lunging at me.

“And I heard you on the phone the day I got here. You told her you wanted it all or whatever. What’s that mean, huh? You working things out with your side bitch yet brought my ass here for what? Saying we need to consummate like you want me, but you have her? ”

My heart stutters.

She’s jealous.

She thinks Piccola is—

Oh.

Oh, fuck yes.

My mouth curves slowly. I shouldn’t be smiling. But I am.

Because this? This means she still feels something. That the girl who used to curl up against me, whispering all the ways I made her feel safe, may still be in there.

“That bitch still here?” she snaps, taking a step closer. “You want to fuck me and her, is that the setup? Or what? You keep me for show and sneak her in when you want a warm body?”

My smile fades.

“Don’t call her that.”

“Don’t call her that? You fucking kidding?”

“Adriana, she’s important and I care about her.”

“Oh, now you care?” she spits. “That’s rich. If you care so much, why didn’t you marry her? Why the fuck am I here?”

The words are venom. Honest. Raw. Wounded.

And I open my mouth to say something— anything —when the hallway echoes with the soft click of boots.

“Oh!”

Vasilisa steps into the room, her eyes wide and glowing. Completely oblivious.

She looks between us, then beams .

“You must be Angelo’s wife!” she says, like she’s announcing I just won the goddamn lottery. “You’re so beautiful!”

Adriana goes still.

Vasilisa takes another step forward, holding out a dainty hand, all joy and warmth. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Adriana doesn’t take her hand. Her fingers curl in tighter at her sides like she’s holding herself together with bone and willpower. Her jaw clenches so hard I see it in the tension of her neck.

Her eyes flick between us, between the storm and the sun—and the look she gives me next?

It could burn this entire penthouse down.

“ This is Piccola?“ Adriana says all venom and smoke.

Vasilisa’s brows furrow.

Then the elevator chimes.

Great. More visitors.