Page 25 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

S he’s angry.

She has every right to be, but she can’t toss my things around. I gather up my photos of her.

My mementos, but one slips out.

Her eyes narrow the second she spots the photo. It’s subtle—just her collarbone, a faint mark barely visible. But the moment she registers it, her gaze locks onto mine.

“Why do you have a photo of that?” Her voice is calm, but I know better. Adriana never asks questions she doesn’t already have an answer to.

I lean back against the desk, watching her reaction carefully.

“That was about a week after you got back to Florida. My men sent me their usual report, and I noticed it. All the marks I left on you were gone.” I swallow, the memory twisting something deep in my chest. “I didn’t know who put that one there.”

Her brows lift, challenging. “You run a full background check because of that?”

“Of course I did,” I admit without hesitation. “I had to know who it was. You weren’t dating anyone, so it didn’t make sense. ”

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, wipes at her tears, folds her arms and shrugs, playing it down like she always does when she knows she has the upper hand.

Putting her armor back on.

“That was from Rafael.”

That one hits.

My jaw tenses, but I force myself to nod. “Great.”

“Are you upset by that?”

She chuckles bitterly. “Because look around, I have more to be upset about.”

Maybe I am upset because the thought of Rafael— him —touching her, even casually, grates under my skin like sandpaper. I can feel it pulling at that line between reason and jealousy.

“Rafael said you two were never together,” I say, even though I know her response will make it worse.

“We weren’t. We were more like friends with benefits. Relax.”

Relax.

There she is.

Back in her element. Proud. Strong.

Cruel.

I swallow the words threatening to spill out, the ones that’ll do nothing but push her further away.

“Any others I should know about?” I ask instead, keeping my voice even.

She tilts her head, eyes narrowing again. “I think your collection of information on me already tells you the rest.”

I still need to know.

“Four then?”

I knew about three, so Rafael is an unwelcomed surprised.

Four months after me was Maxwell Harbor, a student in the same class as her .

Then Zephyr Blackwell, a friend of her brothers, owner of Obsidian a BDSM club here in my city. He flew to her on and off.

Then Russell Marino. Lawyer. The bastard who almost proposed.

Adriana lets out a frustrated sigh and rolls her eyes. “Yes, Angelo. Four men. Do you have a problem with my number over the last five years?”

I shake my head, shrugging casually even though everything about this conversation is tearing at me. “No. I don’t.”

She studies me for a second too long, like she’s peeling back layers, trying to figure out what I’m not saying.

“Should I even ask about your number?” she says, crossing her arms tighter.

“If you want to know, I’ll give you the number.” I hold her gaze, unflinching. “But I wouldn’t be able to give you names.”

Her face twists, that familiar mix of disgust and disbelief flashing in her eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. I’m sure you slept with anything you could over the last five years.”

I don’t respond right away. She’s not wrong. But not in the way she thinks.

“Do you need my clean bill of health?” she presses. “Should be somewhere in your pile of things.”

She’s right. I have a copy of her last clean results filed away like everything else about her. But I’m not about to tell her that.

Instead, I lean forward, leveling her with a stare. “I’ll lay everything on the table, Adriana. Do you want the number or not?”

She shakes her head, that sharp edge softening for just a breath. “I got a picture of how many from the notches on your headboard.”

My lips twitch, and I rub the back of my neck, trying not to laugh. “That’s not what you think it is.”

She doesn’t believe me, but that’s fine. If this is what it takes to keep her here, arguing, pushing at me… I’ll take it.

Her anger means she still cares .

It somehow feels normal.

“It was two weeks though,” she says as she begins to pace.

“What?”

She stops and points to the photo.

“That was two weeks after I went back home.”

Two weeks. One week. What difference does it make? Either way she fucked someone else a lot faster than I did.

“I remember because I hadn’t eaten for two weeks and Rafael kept bringing me water.”

I still.

Her eyes stay locked on the photo.

“I got home, went to my room, tucked myself under the covers and I cried—I cried until passed out.”

I swallow, my chest aching. I can see her. Those bright gorgeous eyes, red rimmed and broken, tucked away in her bed.

“I kept the door locked so long Luciano broke into my room,” her eyes narrow a bit like she’s reliving the moment. “He touched my shoulder…”

She huffs out a chuckle.

Cold.

Devoid of light.

“I just started sobbing, freaked him out so much he called Rafael.”

My jaw tightens.

Her eyes meet mine.

Hazy.

Her eyes narrow.

“Could you imagine that?” she chuckles. “I sobbed because the last person to touch that shoulder was you .”

I stop breathing.

Her gaze flicks down and trails back to the photo.

“After another ten days of no food and only water Rafael decided it was enough. He carried me screaming and crying in to the bathroom. I beat at his back so hard. Kicked him. ”

She pauses tucking her lips between her teeth to take a breath before she speaks.

“He stripped me and held me in the tub. Didn’t even care that his clothes got wet…”

Her brows furrow softly. Her mouth sad.

“Being held—”

She hesitates.

“Being held by someone else felt like sin. Like a curse.”

Her eyes well up and I just about die, like the floor could open up and take me straight to hell where I belong.

She looks at me, the tears escaping.

“Do you know what it feels like when your skin remembers and it wants— it yearns —so much that any other touch feels like an open wound?”

She wipes her tears, her gorgeous brown eyes sear in to mine before she kills me.

“I asked him to erase you from my body.”

My breath gets caught.

My throat closes and the room narrows to just her form.

“ I did. My choice. You don’t get to tell me you’re mad or sad about how I pieced myself back together.”

She sniffles, taking a breath as she reels herself back in. She looks around the room, her gaze sweeping every bit of her I’ve saved. Everything I asked my men to bring me. Every piece of her I stole.

Her eyes sweeping the room like that causes a deep shadow of shame to cascade over me.

She exhales, her posture strong, tall as she gathers herself. She nods at me.

Simple.

Calm.

“Keep your shrine. I already burned mine down.”

She leaves taking everything I needed with her.