Page 23 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

I ’m an idiot.

Antagonizing her was not the way to go, but that look on her face…

I couldn’t help myself.

She was flushed, heated, angry, but aroused.

Still, I’m doing this all wrong. I have no fucking clue what I’m suppose to do. I want her.

I want her to want me.

I fucking love her.

I still love her.

I never stopped.

I need—

I need my brother.

But that door is sealed shut just like the one with Adriana.

I take a breath.

The liquor bottle sits half-empty on the corner of my desk, my ice filled glass sweating under the dim light. Papers scattered—contracts, threats, everything blurring together in this mausoleum I call an office.

How the hell did I makes this big of a mess? I exhale sharply.

Because I’m the fuck up.

Always have been.

I can’t fix shit with Adriana, but I might be able to fix things with Santo.

I pick up my cell and dial. The phone rings three times before he answers.

“What?” His voice sharp. I hear a muffled voice in the back. More than likely Piccola.

“Santo, I want to talk.”

“Then speak.”

“In person, can you come over?”

“No.”

His response is immediately. Cold.

But I hear the whispers, I hear her working on him. Probably telling him to give me a chance.

He exhales low.

“Fine, I’ll be there in fifteen.”

He ends the call and I throw back my drink. What I’m about to tell him, show him… this could fix it all or end it all.

I open my drawer and take out the memory card. I place it on my desk and pour myself another drink. My hands cold.

I can’t remember the last time I was nervous about Santo.

The elevator chimes.

I don’t move.

The sound of his shoes— sharp, deliberate —cuts through the silence of the penthouse. That slow, purposeful gait.

It’s not Scythe. Not yet. No fury charging toward me.

Just Santo.

But still.

It’s him.

The door swings open without a knock.

He’s in a three-piece suit as usual. The vest buttoned, tie knotted like he hasn’t taken a single breath out of rhythm today. Not one fucking thing about him looks out of place, and yet his eyes…

They find me. And they don’t flinch .

“What do you want?” he asks, stepping inside.

The weight of him fills the room like gravity just shifted.

I motion to the chair across from me.

He stays standing.

“I said I wanted to talk. This isn’t me being the Don. This is me being your brother.”

His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t respond.

Not yet.

I lift the flash drive in my hand.

“This… has footage of what happened to your wife, but I need to explain myself first”

“You have footage? ” he asks his voice deadly, hints of Scythe peeking through, but I don’t flinch.

“When you were suspicious of me spending time with her I had a camera installed. It never streamed live footage just recorded. I haven’t watched it, but I thought you might want to.”

His jaw ticks. His breaths come in fast.

“I had the cameras removed after the attack, while you were renovating.”

“My house. Mine. ”

“I know, it was a precaution—”

“For yourself.”

“And for her!”

His eyebrows raise.

“My wife doesn’t need precautions from you . She’s safe with me.”

“I didn’t know that before, I didn’t know how Scythe operates with her. If you can control it or not. You don’t tell me shit.”

“Because you never ask!”

I take a breath.

“I don’t want to fight. I didn’t install the cameras to spy on you or to undermine you. It was to protect her in case you thought I was doing more than helping her learn how to survive in our world. ”

He takes a breath and finally sits.

“So you have footage of my wife’s attack, is that your big secret? What you’ve been hiding?”

I swallow hard.

“No. I also knew she might possibly be a target and I didn’t tell you because then I would have to betray Maksim.”

He laughs bitterly and shakes his head, “Always fucking Korsakov.”

I offer the memory card to him. “Here, take it. Watch it, I know not knowing what happened eats at you. I wanted to help in anyway I could.”

He stares at the drive for a long moment then shakes his head.

“No you wanted to absolve yourself from your sin in this.”

He leans forward. “My wife cries in her sleep. She was terrified of elevators for months. The blood she has on her hands she should have never had. So no I won’t take it.

I can’t watch it, I’m always around her and you don’t deserve the peace.

You say you care about her? Watch it now. See what you caused.”

He sits back and gestures toward my computer.

My pulse thrums so hard in my ears I can’t think. I know what happened to Piccola was terrible. I saw her in Santos arms after, covered in blood trembling. I watched her pass out I know my part in this.

I plug the memory card in and pull up that day. I fast forward to the night of the attack and press play.

The screen flickers as the elevator doors open,

Vasilisa steps out gun in hand.

The gun I gave her, trained her with.

Two men approach her, she shoots the first.

Head shot.

Clean.

Pride takes over until I watch the other tackle her she drops her gun, his knife skids across the floor, my heart stops, I glance at Santo, his jaw tight .

She fights, gets him good with her elbow and she slips free, but he’s faster, grabbing her, he takes her to the ground.

No.

The bastard is touching her.

Fucking violating her.

No.

Fuck no.

If she was—

The fury that explodes in my chest nearly blacks me out. If that were Adriana…

I would burn down the fucking world.

My brother hasn’t moved.

But I feel it.

I feel what this is doing to him. Like I’m watching him die beside me, piece by piece, second by fucking second.

She’s so still, like she’s given up, but then.

Yes!

She hits his nose, but he doesn’t get off her instead he wraps his hand around her throat.

My mouth goes dry.

Santo doesn’t speak. He doesn’t flinch. But the air in the room dies.

I can feel the rage in him, low and thrumming like a beast caged too long. Controlled. Just barely.

I hear it in the crack of leather beneath his grip as his hand tightens on the armrest. I see it in the tension rippling up his neck, in the vein that ticks once at his temple.

But it’s his eyes that undo me.

Fixed on the screen. Drowning in it.

And I know— I know —he’s not just seeing her.

He’s seeing every second he wasn’t there. Every scream she swallowed. Every nightmare she’s had.

And I—Fuck, I’m watching him break .

If that were Adriana, I would’ve torn the world in half. I would’ve set fire to every man who ever touched her wrong.

He’s holding it in. For now.

Barely.

She’s still fighting. Her legs kick. Her nails dig into the floor. Her hands scrape against the ground, desperate for anything and she gets it, the knife he dropped.

She swipes it up and slits his throat.

Then blood.

So much blood.

She scrambles out from under him, gasping for air. She grabs her gun and shoots him again before running into the elevator.

I turn off the footage.

Santo stands abruptly and I think he’s going to bolt, but he looks at me, his face calm, unreadable.

“You did this to her.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You and your lies and your secrets. You did this.”

I stand now.

“No, her father—”

“Was a bastard and he’s dead now, but you knew. You said you had a feeling. You did this.”

He’s so calm. Like we both didn’t just watch the worst thing imaginable and yet he’s passing blame to me. But I know him. He’s so pissed off and remains calm, because Santo is perfect.

The smart one.

The better one.

Fuck.

Here it goes.

I walk around my desk challenging him. He steps back.

“You had everything,” I snap, my voice breaking with frustration.

His brows raise. “What? ”

“You got to go to college, for fucks sake! You didn’t have to deal with Dad breathing down your neck every damn day, pushing, expecting—no, demanding that I be perfect.

You didn’t have to stay and pick up the pieces after mom died.

You got all of her attention while I was stuck proving myself to him ! ”

Santo doesn’t say a word, and it makes me want to hit something or someone .

“And Stanford,” I continue, my voice rising. “You didn’t even have to come back! You were free! You had a whole life ahead of you, a chance to walk away from this shit and never look back. But you chose to come back. Why? Why the hell would you do that?”

His eyes meet mine. They’re cold now, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscles twitching. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if he’s going to let me keep tearing into him without a fight. But then, he steps forward, and the calm cracks.

“You think I had everything?“ he says, his voice low but sharp, each word like a dagger aimed straight at my chest. “You think I had it easier than you? That I just got handed some golden fucking life?”

His laugh is bitter, almost cruel. “I didn’t get everything, Angelo. I didn’t even get a brother .”

His words hit me harder than a fist ever could, but he doesn’t stop.

“All I ever wanted was for you to be my brother. Just once . To look at me and see someone you were proud of. But no. I was just a problem to you. Someone to push aside, someone to delegate tasks to, someone to get rid of.”

My throat tightens, but I can’t find the words to cut in. Santo steps closer, his eyes blazing.

“You want to talk about clawing and fighting for everything? I had to fight for every scrap of approval, for every ounce of respect, not just from dad but from you . And you know what? You were never kind to me, Angelo. Not once. You treated Maksim as a brother, and I got the scraps. ”

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels like it’s caving in, but I can’t look away from him. For the first time, I see it—the pain he’s been carrying, the resentment, the cracks in the armor I thought were impenetrable.

“I hate you,” Santo says coldly, his eyes locked on mine.

There’s no hesitation in his voice, just ice.

“I hate that you knew ,” he continues, the words sharp enough to cut. “You knew she was in danger, and you let me leave her. You—” He stops abruptly, his jaw tightening as if the rest physically hurts to say.

I don’t respond. I can’t.

Because he’s right.

Everything he’s saying is true, and no matter how much I want to rewrite that day, I can’t. I carry that failure with me like lead in my chest.

“I would’ve never done that to you,” Santo says, his voice quieter but somehow heavier. “I saw the way you look at Adriana. I’d never allow her be in danger because I can already tell it’d kill you. But you… you let that happen to me.”

His words land like a blow.

“I have to look my wife in the eyes every day,” he continues, “knowing I chose—”

“You didn’t choose anything,” I cut in, the weight of my guilt cracking through.

“I failed you, Santo. I knew. I knew she could be a target, and I stayed quiet. I chose Maksim, loyalty to him, over loyalty to my brother.”

“And you still are, why won’t you tell me what you’re hiding?” he demands.

“Because I can’t!”

“Because of him .”

“No, because I fucked up!”

That’s the first time I’ve ever said those words out loud and they are both cathartic and terrifying .

“I hate myself for what I did, what he and I did. I destroyed everything okay? Santo, I fucked up. I fucked up and I can’t take it back.”

“And you can’t take this back either.”

Santo doesn’t flinch as he says it. He stands there, stoic as ever, but I see it. That flicker in his eyes.

For a second, we aren’t men anymore. We’re boys again, and I’m the one telling him that Mom’s missing. He looks the same— haunted, hollow in a way that’s too familiar.

How did I not see it before?

Losing Vasilisa could’ve broken him. Driven him so deep inside himself that all I’d have left was Scythe . And I didn’t stop it.

Vasilisa saved him.

And I’m lucky she’s still alive.

“I hate you,” he repeats, and it hurts just as much as the first time.

His voice shifts. “But I have to thank you too.”

The words knock the breath out of me. Of all the things I expected… this wasn’t it.

My brow furrows. “Thank me?”

Santo’s gaze doesn’t waver. “I know Dad didn’t arrange the marriage. That was you.”

I freeze, every muscle locking into place.

“It may have been to get the position,” he says, eyes narrowing slightly, “but you still gave me her. And she’s…” He pauses, his voice softening, like the weight of admitting it aloud costs him something. “She’s the reason I have a soul.”

I exhale.

“I’m at fault too,” he continues. “I chose Cosa Nostra and my duty to this family over her that day.”

His gaze is sharp. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

Santo steps toward the door. “I’m going home to beg that angel of a woman for forgiveness.”

And with that, he leaves .

I stand there for a long moment after, staring at the empty space he left behind.

One day, he might forgive me.

One day, I’ll tell him everything.

But not today.

Today, I just watch him walk away and know:

I’m the reason he almost lost it all.