Page 41 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

T he second she says “just my brother,” something in me locks up.

She says it too fast.

Doesn’t even look at me.

Doesn’t even flinch when she hits decline.

And I know the way she deflects when she’s lying to herself. Or me.

I don’t say anything—yet. Just file the note away like a blade behind my teeth.

Then my phone rings in my pocket.

I check the screen.

Luciano Castillo.

I answer with a clipped, “Yeah.”

His voice is smooth. Controlled. Just like always.

“Where’s my sister?”

That’s how we’re starting this? No hello, no acknowledgment?

I glance at her. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek like she’s bracing for something. Like she knows exactly what this is about.

I don’t like that.

I keep my voice even. “My wife is right here.”

A beat.

“Put her on.”

“No. ”

Silence stretches thin across the line, until he lets out a low chuckle, one that isn’t amused in the slightest.

“I need my sister to do me a favor.”

My jaw ticks. “What is it?”

“I’d rather talk to my sister,” he says, then ends the call.

Typical fucking Castillo.

Her phone rings again. Instantly.

She pulls it out, rolls her eyes, about to decline— again.

Not this time.

I snatch the phone from her hand before she can blink.

“What the fuck—Angelo,” she snaps, but I’m already answering.

“Whatever you need to ask my wife goes through me now.”

Luciano laughs again. This one sharper. Meaner. “Possessive today, aren’t we, Sinner?”

“Say what you want,” I murmur, my voice like a warning under velvet.

He sighs like I’m wasting his time. “I need her to go to Obsidian to sign papers. It’s a property deal I’m finalizing with Zephyr Blackwell. I won’t be stateside until next month.”

Zephyr.

The name drops like poison in my gut.

Dom. Prick. And Adriana’s ex.

I drag my eyes down her body. She feels it. Her spine straightens, her chin lifts, her eyes meet mine.

All fire. All fury.

She’s pissed.

Good. So am I.

I could tell her no. Could start a war in this room before she even makes it to that fucking club.

Or, I weigh the options.

I’m the goddamn Don.

I don’t answer to Castillo. And she doesn’t sign anything unless I say she does .

So I give Luciano the answer I know will cut deepest.

“I’ll sign as proxy,” I say coldly. “She’s mine.”

Silence.

A pause just long enough for his pride to bleed.

Then he exhales.

“Do what you want,” he says. “Just get the paperwork signed. I don’t give a fuck who signs it.”

The call ends.

I lower the phone slowly, watching Adriana.

Her eyes are filled with fire.

But I’m not sorry.

Not for claiming her. Not for protecting her. Not for reminding everyone— including her —who the fuck I am.

“When were you planning to sneak off and see him?” My voice drops. Cold. Accusing.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Blackwell.”

“Is that what Luciano wanted?”

“Don’t insult me, Adriana. Not right now.”

Her brow furrows, her eyes flashing.

“I’m not. I don’t answer his calls because the last time I did he handed me over to you.”

No heat. Just hurt. Just the echo of a wound I carved open.

I exhale slowly, jaw flexing. “You make it sound like I didn’t bleed for this too.”

She laughs, bitter and breathless. “Did you? Because from where I’m standing, you traded for me. You bartered ports and power and walked away with a wife.”

I flinch.

Because she’s not wrong .

I orchestrated it. Wanted her so badly I would have burned kingdoms to ash. Northeastern access, the ruby she’s been chasing—willing to give her everything she cared about except the one thing that mattered.

Her choice.

I told myself it was for love.

But now, watching the way her eyes shine, not with tears, but rage—I wonder if it was just desperation wearing devotion like a disguise.

“You think I gave up that territory like it meant nothing?” I grit out. “I gave Luciano a piece of my empire because I thought you’d come willingly.”

She scoffs. “I didn’t. I said no.”

Those three words gut me.

“And now?” I ask, not sure if I even want the answer.

She rolls those gorgeous eyes.

“I chose the loft and starting over and you Angelo,” she says shaking her head. “What I did not choose, is pointless accusations. Ask me, don’t accuse me.”

“You’re right,” I admit, the words scraping raw from my throat.. “But I won’t have my wife with other men.”

She looks at me like I’ve just said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

“ Okay, Don Amato.”

“I’m serious Adriana,” I say closing the distance between us. She doesn’t back away, but her arms fold across her chest.

My hands fist at my sides. Instead of touching her. “I can’t and I won’t lose you again.”

Her eyes trail down my body, and it sends a shiver up my spine.

“Your jealousy… I like it, but only in the way you get that possessive look in your eye.”

“But, the accusations don’t work with me. That can’t happen again, or you will lose me.”

I smirk. “You like me possessing you, cara mia? ”

She shakes her head, her cheeks turning her namesake shade .

“I didn’t say that.”

I shrug, “Close enough.”

I step forward one last time. Slow. Careful. My voice quiet.

“So I can kill for you, but I can’t accuse you… can I let out all my possessive jealousy on any man I even think catches your eye?”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me with eyes that flash with excitement.

I lean down, my breath hot on the shell of her ear.

“Tie them up in this basement, make them watch as I make you come before I put a bullet between their eyes” I whisper.

She swallows hard, her breath hitching.

“Angelo—”

“Choosing me means exactly that, Tesoro. You get all of me, every twisted part. The Don and his queen.”

My gaze holds hers. “Are you mia regina ?”

Her eyes lock on mine.

She exhales, heavy, bone-deep—and her shoulders straighten like she’s adjusting her crown.

Then she steps forward.

Those hands, soft, sure, hers —slide up my chest. Redemption, offered in the middle of this ruin. In a basement that reeks of sin and blood and every awful thing I’ve ever done, she leans in and kisses me.

And fuck, it’s not just a kiss.

It’s breath.

It’s mercy.

It’s life poured into the cracks I forgot were even there.

I pull her in hard, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other at the back of her neck. My mouth claims hers deeper—hungrier. The kind of kiss that’s too raw to be performative. The kind that doesn’t belong in a place like this.

Because this basement is where things end.

And she feels like a beginning .

We break apart slowly, foreheads pressed together. Breathing the same air, tasting the same ache.

“Yes,” she whispers.

And I’m undone.

My hands cup her face, fingers splaying across her jaw, her cheek, like I’m trying to memorize her expression.

“Tesoro,” I murmur. “You are a gift.”

I brush my thumbs along her cheekbones, her skin warm, flushed, perfect.

“I have to tell you everything. All of it.”

She takes a deep breath.

“You already explained the past,” she says. “And yeah, it hurt. But I understand it—what happened. Why you didn’t come for me sooner.”

I shake my head, gaze locked on hers; those deep, soulful brown eyes that see too much.

“Not that past, Scarlet ,” I say softly. “All of it. Before you. After you. Now. You need to know who I am. What I’ve done.”

Her brows furrow slightly.

But she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “Then tell me.”

She perfect.

No drama. No demands.

Just a woman willing to look at me and see everything.

That’s all I need right now.

Not forgiveness.

Not even love.

Just this.

The chance to redeem myself.

To truly have her by my side.

Because when the Don has his Queen, nothing else matters.

** *

The drive to Obsidian is filled with undisclosed tension.

She’s vibrating in the passenger seat, fingers twitching, eyes fixed on the road like she’s trying not to look at me.

And I’m gripping the steering wheel too hard.

Knuckles tight. Jaw tighter.

I promised I’d be collected.

That I’d behave.

Try to remember that if the roles were reversed, I’d lose my mind watching her meet an ex of mine.

But this is different.

This isn’t some old college boyfriend or forgotten kiss in a stairwell.

This is Zephyr Blackwell.

A Dom.

Possibly her Dom.

The thought sits heavy in my throat like ash.

I’m the Don.

She’s my wife.

Said yes to being by my side.

She’s mine.

I glance at her.

She hasn’t said a word since we left.

Our fling five years ago was quiet. No one, but the men I had follow her knew about it.

No pressure. No audience.

Just us.

But now?

Now she’s supposed to wear my ring.

Walk into places like this with my name on her.

But it’s not truly public .

Not yet.

There was no wedding. No ceremony.

No show of power.

All things I need to correct.

Santo and Vasilisa? That was different. The world knows she belongs to him. It’s written in the deals made. The power traded. Our alliance.

Displayed.

Celebrated.

Damn it.

I should have moved her out here sooner, gave her the proper introduction as my wife.

Her voice breaks through my thoughts—quiet, cautious.

“Are you going to be okay?”

My jaw works.

I don’t look at her yet.

Because no, I’m not.

Not even close.

The words blurt out before I can think.

“Was he your Dom?”

A snort and then laughter spills from her lips.

“More jealousy brewing Don Amato ?” she teases through her chuckles.

Fire licks at my throat. “Don’t mock me Adriana.”

“Scarlet,” she corrects her laughter dying down.

“ Scarlet , just answer me.”

“No, I don’t live that lifestyle, that’s Luciano’s thing. Zephyr—”

“ Don’t say his name,“ I snap instantly regretting it.

She takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly, a smirk still on her lips.

My torturous little queen loves me riled up about this…

“He was a fling that flew in every other weekend for like six months before we ended things.”

She pauses and I mull it over. I have more questions .

“No collar, no commands, or whatever else is going through your head—no special toys, or straps or ties, okay ?”

I swallow hard. No, it’s not okay. Not by a long shot. He touched her. He knows her.

The way I do.

And there’s no one to blame, but myself.

“I don’t want you in there with me when I sign.”

“Angelo—”

“Please.”

Her jaw tightens. Her fingers clench in her lap.

But then she nods.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll wait in the car.”

The air leaves my lungs.

Not in relief. Not exactly.

More like… restraint. Like she just handed me something merciful, and I don’t know what to do with it yet.

I don’t thank her.

I just nod once, and park the car.

“I’ll make it quick,” I say stepping out and glancing at her before shutting the car door.

She doesn’t look at me. Just nods, eyes downcast.

I open the door to Obsidian and the scent hits me the second I step into the club.

Leather. Clean linen. Expensive citrus.

It’s not grimy. Not overdone.

Just... designed.

This place doesn’t scream power—it whispers it. Quiet. Confident. The kind of control people choose to hand over.

I don’t like it.

It’s too calm.

Too curated.

And I don’t trust anything that doesn’t bleed when it’s cut .

I scan the room automatically.

No guards. No tension.

Just one man.

Leaning against a sleek table, dressed in a gray shirt and dark jeans, sleeves pushed up to reveal tattoos; colorful, sprawling, vibrant.

Artistic.

Not strategic.

Definitely no visible weapons. Nothing hidden at the ankle. No tension in the stance.

If Maksim were the predator in a nightmare, this guy is the daydream version— Twilight Zone Maksim.

Same cocky posture. Same dark blond hair. Piercings in his face.

But where Maksim looks like he’s calculating how fast he can break your spine, this one smiles like he already knows the punchline to the joke.

“Don Amato,” he says, standing straight as I approach. “Wasn’t sure you’d come in person or send someone.”

His voice is smooth. Relaxed. Not casual enough to be disrespectful. But it’s not deferential either.

“Luciano said it was urgent,” I reply.

He nods and hands me a folder. “Should be quick. Everything’s prepped—club expansion, licensing, transfer forms. Just sign the tabs.”

I take it. Flip it open.

He’s not lying.

Everything’s clean. Precise. Flagged with neon tabs like he’s in a fucking startup instead of a club that probably sees more leather and rope than a cavalry unit.

He’s trying to make this painless.

And I should be grateful.

But I’m not.

Because even though he hasn’t said a word about her, even though his posture is non-threatening and his tone is almost friendly—

I know.

I look up at him again.

At the tattoos. The easy stance.

He’s not armed.

Doesn’t need to be.

And that makes something primal in me bristle.

“You know she’s mine now,” I say.

The words are clipped. Sharper than I mean them to be.

He doesn’t flinch.

Just shrugs. Calm. Like I told him the weather.

“Yeah,” he says. “Figured that out when Luciano said you’d be handling it instead of her.”

He means it as acknowledgment.

I hear it as dismissal.

And that unsettles me more than it should.

He doesn’t look angry.

Doesn’t look like he gives a fuck either way.

Was she forgettable?

My wife is not forgettable.

But I prefer he doesn’t remember her.

And I don’t know what pisses me off more.

He closes the folder once I finish signing.

“Thanks for coming down. Appreciate it.”

Then, as if sensing something in my silence, he adds, quiet, with no edge:

“It was a long time ago. She and I… it wasn’t serious. Whatever it was, it ended clean.”

A pause.

Then he continues

“She didn’t want me and she’s not someone you cling to if she doesn’t want you.”

I don’t respond .

Because I don’t know whether to respect him for that...

Or hate him for ever getting close in the first place.

I nod once.

Then turn on my heel and walk out, pulse thundering in my ears.

I promised her I’d be collected.