Page 22 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Adriana

I didn’t mean to look at his phone, but it was there. Sitting there tempting me as soon as I walked in so I picked it up. The Don of one of the biggest syndicates in the world is an idiot for not having a lock on his phone.

I swipe through his call log.

Nico.

Me.

Gio.

Enzo.

Piccola.

That name again.

I check texts and there are dozens between them, but this last one.

Recent.

Asking to be let up…

No.

No fucking way is Angelo Amato going to be cheating on me when I don’t even want to be here!

Storming in to his office, I throw his phone a little too hard, but I don’t care. This fucker is not about to have me look like the biggest idiot. Trying to force consummation while he fucks some whore on the side.

I don’t even care what I say. I just know the words come out like bullets.

Accusations. Fury .

And he has the nerve to smile at me like this is amusing.

That pisses me off, but what I didn’t expect was the wood nymph that walked in to the room beaming with sunshine and starlight in her big stupid eyes.

With her soft little boots and soft little scarf and soft little everything. All sugar and syrup as she sticks out a hand toward me, glowing like we’re best friends meeting over brunch. I almost slap it away.

She is Piccola.

Of course she is. Short. Gorgeous. Sweet-looking enough to rot teeth. She looks like she floats, and suddenly I feel like a goddamn wrecking ball in heels. He didn’t just cheat. He cheated with her?

Why the hell did he call for me to be here, arrange a fucking marriage if he wanted to sleep with Polly pocket?

“ This is Piccola?” I ask disgust and anger slipping through.

Then the elevator chimes.

A voice booms down the hall.

“Vasilisa!”

And I freeze.

Vasilisa?

Wait—what?

“She’s fucking what? Married?”

“Yes, my husband Santo is here and he's angry,” she whispers.

This is insane.

I can’t be in this.

And suddenly it clicks.

The name. The voice. The man.

I take one look at the tall figure filling the doorway—dark suit, colder eyes—and I feel like the floor tilts.

Santo.

Angelo’s brother.

I met him once. Years ago. Cold. Angry. Terrifying.

Shit .

The sweeter than sugar blonde in front of me is his wife.

I called her a bitch.

Oops.

“You told Luca you were going to the restroom,” Santo says, his voice sharp but oddly controlled as he steps inside. “And yet I find you here.”

She looks up at him eyes soft.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I just… you two weren’t talking and I wanted—”

“It’s my fault I—” Angelo begins.

“Most things are your fault,” Santo interrupts, his eyes flicking to Angelo like he’s already got the death sentence drafted and notarized.

I might almost agree with him.

She moves into Santo’s arms.. His jaw flexes, but when he looks down at her, his whole expression melts.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But don’t disappear like that. I can’t take it.”

Something tightens in my chest. Watching them.

Angelo fucking got me good.

“I’m an idiot,” I mutter to myself.

“Excuse me?” Santo’s head lifts, eyes sharp again at me.

Vasilisa gives me a sheepish little smile. “Santo, don’t look at her too long, she’s like… some Amazonian goddess or something.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Dea, I only have eyes for you.”

My eyes meet Angelo’s and he shrugs.

That bastard shrugs. He let me spiral. Let me think she was some other woman. Let me burn.

I glare at him.

And he just sits and leans back in his chair like it’s the best moment of his week.

** *

Dinner should be easy. We’ll eat, then renegotiate terms. I swallow the embarrassment from this afternoon.

I wasn’t jealous.

I was angry. Right?

The injustice of the possibility of being cheated on when I don’t even want this marriage made me furious.

That’s normal.

It has to be.

I leave my room for the kitchen, but he’s on the couch, a box of pizza on the coffee table. He looks up as I enter.

“Ready?” he asks his eyes softer than usual.

A chill creeps up my spine.

I don’t like this.

The couch looks soft, the light too warm. Like a lion’s den made for lulling prey.

All of this screams trap.

I swallow, trying to maintain my composure as I slowly walk towards the opposite couch. “Pizza?”

“Why not?”

His eyes follow me as I sit across from him.

I grab a plate and a slice.

“Alright, pizza and negotiations.”

He leans back against the couch, watching me like I’m both the opponent and the prize.

I clear my throat.

“I drafted an amendment,” I begin, pulling out a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of my jeans and setting it on the table between us.

Angelo doesn’t move. Just raises a brow. “You brought paperwork to pizza night?”

“This isn’t pizza night. This was suppose to be dinner and a contract conversation.”

I take a bite of the slice to silence myself from saying more .

He doesn’t open it. Just looks at me before taking a breath.

“And what exactly are we negotiating?”

“Three things,” I say. I lift a finger. “One: no sex unless I initiate it. I want that in writing.”

His jaw ticks. “Adriana.”

“I’m serious. You made a whole clause about consummation—fine. But you don’t get to have it how you want it.”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. “And if you never initiate it?”

“Then you never get it.” I shrug. “It’s called mutual consent. Look it up.”

A beat.

He exhales through his nose, amused, but not denying me.

I hold up a second finger. “Two: my business remains mine, untouched. No interference, no absorption, no surveillance.”

“You’re in my house,” he replies smoothly. “Everything gets watched. That’s for protection.”

“You want peace, you give me freedom. Otherwise, I’ll blow this marriage up faster than your temper.”

He cocks his head, intrigued now. “And the third?”

I hold his gaze. “A timeline. I want a clause that states when this marriage ends. I’m not living in limbo.”

Silence stretches.

Angelo finally reaches for the paper, unfolding it slowly, eyes scanning every line.

“You came prepared,” he murmurs.

“I’m set to be a lawyer,” I say, biting into my crust. “This is my foreplay.”

He smirks.

“Funny, I remember you liked a different kind of foreplay.”

I accidentally inhale my pizza causing a rough cough. My face heats.

This mother fucker .

I take a drink of a bottle of water from the table and clear my throat.

When I gather myself, he’s leaning back on the couch, that permanent smug smile on his face.

“My turn?”

My face drops.

“ Your turn?”

“Yeah,” he looks surprised. “You didn’t think I’d come unprepared did you?”

He grabs a folder laying on the side table and slips it in front of us.

My heart pounds in my chest.

“You wanted your own room. You got it. You want freedom, fine, you can come and go as you please, but we still have enemies and you need a guard. I appreciate you taking Enzo with you when you leave.”

I open and close my mouth. He has more, I know it, there’s always more.

“I get that you want control over this because you had none in the first place, but this, ” he gestures between the two of us, “has already happened, we’re married, you’re my wife there is no time limit to when this ends. As for consummation, I’ll drop it.”

“You’ll—”

“Let me finish.”

I swallow hard and take a breath.

“I’ll drop it. You said you want to be the one who initiates then you will and I promise you will .”

I scoff.

He doesn’t blink.

“I’ll have you again Adriana,” he says, voice smooth. “You’ll see me for who I am—” He leans forward, slow and deliberate, until we’re eye-level. “—the man still obsessed with you. I let you go once. Never again. ”

My stomach drops.

No.

My heart .

It leaps.

Damn it.

“I will never initiate it,” I blurt.

He leans back on the couch, smug. But then—he shifts.

Casual. Slow. His hips angle toward me. His arm drapes over the back of the couch.

One hand rests near his thigh, veins prominent, fingers flexing like he’s imagining them on my skin.

His lips part, tongue swiping over the bottom one like he’s savoring something.

I feel it.

The heat creeping up my neck.

The flush I can’t stop.

His gaze drops, just briefly, to where my legs cross, like he knows.

“I told you,” he says quietly, “you’ll initiate it. You’ll want to.”

I swallow hard.

“You can’t be in a room with me for longer than ten minutes without getting angry. That feeling isn’t anger, Adriana. It’s frustration. And I can help you relieve it.”

The audacity.

I snap.

“I’d rather fuck anyone else before I ever come to you.”

It’s low. Mean.

And the second it leaves my mouth, I regret it.

Because his smile fades.

His eyes don’t burn with rage—they hollow. Like I took the last bit of light he had and snuffed it out.

He stands. Slow. Controlled. Like a man holding himself together by threads.

“I give you three weeks,” he says, voice quiet. “Three weeks, Adriana. You’ll give in. And when you do, you’ll wish you hadn’t said that. There is no end to this marriage. There is no end to us .”

My breath hitches.

Then I laugh bitterly .

“No end? what are you going to do? You can’t just lock me away. I have family, I have friends, I can’t just disappear Angelo. If I choose to leave you I will.”

He smirks and tilts his head.

“You won’t want to, but if you leave I’ll call in every favor I’ve ever been owed to make sure no firm in the country touches your name, not unless you’re wearing mine.”

Bastard.

My jaw locks. My chest rises.

This isn’t a negotiation anymore. This isn’t even a war. This is an ambush.

“You’re really going to force me to stay?!”

“It’s not forcing just because you act like you don’t want me Adriana. We both know that’s not true.”

I want to hurl. And then hurl something towards his head.

He has no fucking clue what I want anymore.

I take another bite of crust, chew slowly, deliberately. I swallow down the heat in my throat.

Then I stand.

His jaw ticks once.

“Fine,” I say, my voice steel.

His eyes lock on mine.

“You want a wife? I’ll be the worst fucking wife you ever had.”

His entire body stills for a fraction and then he moves closer, carefully. Like a predator that’s just cornered something wild and isn’t sure if it’ll pounce or break.

“The worst? ” he mimics.

“Yes.”

As soon as I say it, the look on his face makes me want to swallow them back.

Angelo holds my gaze, that tongue dragging across his bottom lip again .

The air between us is thick enough to choke on.

He smirks.

“Good. I know just how to make you my obedient girl again, Tesoro.”

All the air leaves my lungs.

Without another word, he walks out, silent. No storming. No slammed doors.

And I’m left there—burning, breathless, heart racing, fury still thrumming in my veins, but under it all… confusion. I hear his footsteps echo down the hall. His bedroom door closes.

I pace. I seethe. But the silence in the penthouse grows heavier. The fight drained out of the space like blood from a wound.

My gaze drifts toward that hall.

I don’t plan it. I don’t think it through.

But my feet move anyway.

He has to know.

He won’t have me, not easy. Not like that.

The door to his room isn’t shut tight, it’s cracked open. Like he didn’t care enough to close it all the way. Like he wanted me to look.

So I do.

I step inside.

I can hear the water running in the master bathroom.

It’s like stepping into another world.

Dark. Sleek. Immaculate. The room smells like him—clean, sharp, expensive. My eyes adjust to the dim light, and that’s when I see it.

The headboard.

Rows of notches. Like tallies of sins. Like proof of the conquests after me. That I was a trophy on a shelf he’s long since filled.

My breath stutters.

Disgusting.

He had me for a second. For one moment my body betrayed what I’ve always known.

Never again will he have me .

The notches stay burned behind my eyes as I shut his door behind me. A reminder of who he is. And of the fool I almost was for believing anything else.

Fuck Angelo Amato.