Page 50 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Angelo

I knew telling my brother about the fire, and Maksim’s involvement, would piss him off.

I expected him to take a swing.

I expected Scythe to explode out of him like shrapnel, maybe even a gun drawn just to remind me who the monster really is.

What I didn’t expect—

Was silence.

The room is so quiet I can hear my pulse throbbing behind my eyes.

Santo’s jaw is clenched so tight I’m surprised I don’t hear bone splinter.

But it’s not him who speaks.

It’s Vasilisa.

Soft.

Small.

“You lied to me.”

Scarlet shifts beside me, her fingers flexing slightly against mine.

I meet Vasilisa’s eyes; blue, sharp, swimming with betrayal. They glisten, but the tears don’t fall. They just build.

“Tiny—” I start, my voice low.

The screech of her chair cuts me off like a blade, loud and sudden as she shoves it back and stands.

“No. ”

Santo moves for the first time, his hand reaching for her automatically, but she doesn’t look at him.

“You lied to me,” she says again, eyes locked on mine. “I asked point blank. And you still lied to me.”

I swallow hard. “Maksim was involved. I had to tell him first. I had to give him that respect—”

Santo scoffs. Vasilisa’s gaze narrows, and this time, the tears do fall.

“Respect?” she repeats, voice cracking.

Scarlet’s hand tightens in mine, grounding me. Just barely.

“What about my respect?” Vasilisa whispers, her voice trembling. “What about me? When I was getting attacked by two men in my own home?”

Scarlet goes still.

I feel it in her breath. The intake. Sharp. Controlled.

“You,” Vasilisa says, jabbing a finger at me, “you’re the one who taught me how to fight. You taught me how to shoot.”

“To protect you,” I say quickly.

“No.” Her voice is a whip crack. “To protect yourself. Because you knew. And you let it happen anyway.”

Santo hasn’t moved from beside her. But I can feel it—his rage, cold and heavy, seeping through the room like gas waiting for a spark.

I have to get her to breathe. Or he won’t.

“Vasilisa,” I start, voice low, “I did what I thought—”

“No.”

“Hey,” Scarlet says suddenly, her voice calm but steel-threaded. “Let him finish.”

Vasilisa’s head snaps toward her.

“I understand you were attacked,” Scarlet goes on. “It’s fucking horrible. This whole world we were born into is rotten for everyone, but especially for us.” Her voice doesn’t tremble. “So let him finish.”

Vasilisa’s expression shifts, frost cutting across her features in real time.

I’ve never seen her look like that .

And when she speaks, her words are a razor.

“You’re new,” she snaps, voice cutting. “You don’t get to tell me who to listen to. You don’t know what I’ve been through. Mind your business.”

Scarlet straightens. Lifts her chin.

My stomach drops.

She tilts her head, slow. Dangerous. And I know her eyes have gone dark.

Vasilisa falters.

Santo pushes back from the table, his chair groaning against the floor as he steps in front of his wife.

“Adriana,” I say quickly, squeezing her hand.

She doesn’t look at me. Not yet. Her jaw is locked, knuckles white where her fists press against the edge of the table.

“Scarlet,” I say again, firmer, letting her name cut through the static between us.

She blinks, slow, and turns her head, her dark eyes finding mine like a match finding gasoline.

“We have a plan,” I say, forcing calm into my voice even as my pulse hammers at my throat. “To end the Armenians. For good. But we need NovaRael. And we need the full force of the alliance.”

I look between them—my brother, his wife, my wife, this table I set like it could hold the weight of every sin I’ve ever committed.

“That’s why I laid it all out,” I continue, softer now. “Now you know everything. I’m sorry. To both of you.”

Vasilisa doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even blink.

She stands half-shadowed behind Santo, her glare sharp enough to slice glass, and it’s not for me; it’s for Scarlet.

Scarlet’s stare is locked on the table, her fingers tapping once, sharp, before curling into her palm like she’s holding back the urge to flip the whole fucking thing.

The silence stretches. Stretches until it frays .

And I realize none of this is going right.

“Together?” Santo says, his voice a low scoff. “What you told us tonight only confirms what I’ve always known.”

His eyes lift to mine, black with fury.

“You’re a selfish bastard.”

Each word is a hammer.

“You’re the reason our mother is dead. You’re the reason my wife was attacked. And now you’ve dragged your captive of a wife into your orbit, and what? She’s got a Scythe of her own?”

Scarlet flinches, but doesn’t look up.

Santo exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Did I get that all correct? Good.”

He grabs Vasilisa’s hand.

“We’re leaving,” he says coldly. “No more business meetings disguised as family dinners.”

The elevator doors close behind them, cutting off the tension like a blade.

My jaw flexes once. Twice. My hands curl into fists against the table before I force them to relax.

Scarlet exhales, slow, sharp, and reaches for her glass, downing the wine in one long pull. The glass clinks against the table, a sharp punctuation.

Silence stretches for a breath. Then another.

“That went… alright,” she mutters at last, eyes meeting mine over the rim, the corner of her mouth twitching with that dangerous humor only she can pull off.

I raise a brow. “Are you okay?”

Her brows knit. “I should be asking you that,” she scoffs, setting the glass down a little too hard.

“Me? You’re the one who looked ready to kill Tiny.”

She chuckles, low, dangerous, a little wild.

“She’s got bite. I’ll give her that.”

“You were ready,” I say quietly .

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just lifts the glass again, though it’s empty now.

“Yeah,” she admits. “But I stopped.”

I nod. “No one else could’ve.”

Her lips twitch. “That’s why I’m not anyone else.”

She sets the glass down.

That look again—sharp and calculating, a blade dulled by exhaustion. She shouldn’t have to carry this weight, but she does. She always fucking does, and it makes me want to kneel.

I reach for her hand and tug her toward the couch.

“Sit with me,” I murmur, already settling down.

She doesn’t hesitate. Straddles my lap like it’s instinct, the tight skirt of her dress sliding high up her thighs. My hands go there first, can’t help it. Fingertips brushing over bare skin, slow, steady. Dio, she’s soft.

Her perfume drifts up, that dark cherry warmth I can’t get enough of, mixing with the clean bite of wine still clinging to her skin.

She exhales, lips barely parted, hips shifting to settle deeper into my lap. Then her voice comes, low and firm, all business.

“What do we do now?” she asks, arms draped over my shoulders. “They’re not on board. Maksim’s gone. We need the full force.”

I lean in, press a kiss to the curve of her neck. Her pulse jumps beneath my lips.

“Maksim will be back in a couple weeks,” I say quietly, letting my hands drift over her hips. “For now, we keep going. I’ll have Luca get Santo on board with NovaRael.”

She opens her mouth, ready to argue, but I kiss her again, just below her jaw, slow enough that she forgets her point for a breath. My hand slides to the inside of her thigh, the heat there like a promise I can’t help but chase.

“You,” I murmur, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes, “need to keep that brilliant fucking mind focused on your bar prep. ”

She huffs a soft, almost defiant laugh, but her fingers curl tighter into the collar of my shirt.

“Is that your way of telling me to stay out of it?”

“No.” My thumb drags along her bottom lip. “It’s my way of saying I’ll handle the war, Scarlet. You handle the future. Our future.”

Her lips part, but whatever she was going to say is lost when I drag my mouth along the line of her collarbone, sucking lightly until her breath stutters.

“You’re distracting me,” she whispers, hips shifting against me, heat flaring between us.

I smile against her skin, biting back a groan at the way she moves for me. “I plan to.”

She hums, her nails scraping lightly along my collar as she leans in, her lips brushing my ear like she knows she’s already won.

“You know,” she says, soft and a little sly, “before I made her hate me, Vasilisa said she wanted to paint us… through descriptions.”

She tilts her head, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

“So, tell me, Sinner … how would you describe me?”

I smirk. But my next breath is slow, steady because fuck, she doesn’t know what she’s asking.

“Dio, Adriana Scarlet Castillo…” My hands tighten on her thighs, thumbs brushing slow circles into the soft skin. “You really want to wreck me with that question, don’t you?”

She grins like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Maybe she does. Either way, I’m already lost.

“I’d tell her you’re the kind of beauty that steals breath quietly,” I say, voice low, my hand cupping her face. “The kind that doesn’t hit you all at once, because the universe knows if it did, you’d be on your knees. Praying. Or begging.”

My thumb grazes her jaw as I let myself look at her— really look. “You’re the kind of beautiful that makes men ruin themselves, Tesoro. The kind that makes them believe in God, just so they have someone to blame for loving you.”

“Your eyes…” I pause, meeting them again. “They’re not just brown. They’re warm honey poured over dark chocolate. Sweet, rich, deep .”

My thumb drags across her cheek. “Soft, but sharp. Eyes that see everything, and still choose tenderness.”

I let that settle before I continue.

“I’d tell her to start there. To paint your eyes like they hold galaxies behind them—because they do.”

My hand trails lower, tracing the line of her jaw.

“Your face? Heart-shaped. Elegant. But it’s your mouth that ruins me. Lips that speak fire and surrender in the same breath. That smirk? It says you know something no one else does. And you do.”

I let my gaze linger on hers for another breath before my fingers slip into her hair.

“Your hair? The kind a man aches to touch. Soft, effortless, wild. Falls like a sigh, like dusk settling over the earth.”

I tuck a strand behind her ear. “It’s your crown. Innocence when it falls loose. Power when you tie it back.”

My fingers trail down the strand, slow and reverent.

“It’s not just brown. It catches light in hidden tones—shades of warmth you don’t notice until you’re close. And by then, Tesoro, it’s too late. You’re already lost.”

My hand slips to the back of her neck. “And the texture? Makes a man want to bury his hands in it. When you’re on your knees. Or asleep against his chest, breathing soft like you do when you dream.”

I pause, just long enough to make her heart beat louder.

“You still sure you want me to keep describing you? Or are you ready to admit you’re trying to destroy me?”

She doesn’t answer. Just watches me like I’m the only voice in the world .

“Your skin…” My gaze drifts down. “Sun-kissed divinity. Warm. Radiant. Alive. Like you’ve been touched by sunlight and loved by the earth itself.”

My fingers trace the slope of her shoulder. “Soft, smooth… but there’s strength underneath. I know. I’ve felt it wrapped around me.”

I look back up, softer now. “You’re not porcelain. You’re gold. Grounded. Forged through fire—and still gleaming.”

She blushes, and I groan under my breath. “When that happens? That blush? It’s like fire blooming under honeyed light. If she ever tried to paint that, it would ruin me all over again.”

My hands slip to her hips, grounding myself in her, in this.

“Your body?” I murmur, letting my gaze fall to her thighs, the curve of her waist under my palms. “I’d tell her to paint a goddess. All curves and warmth and grace—but make sure she sees the strength too. You’re not a passive beauty. You’re power wrapped in silk and fire.”

I press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, breathing her in.

“And if she can’t capture the way your voice sounds when you say my name…” My lips brush up to her ear, voice barely a breath, “then she hasn’t painted you right at all.”

I let the silence wrap around us.

“Should I write that down for her?” I murmur.

“Or whisper it again later… when you’re spread out and glowing beneath me?”

Her breath hitches like she’s trying to think of something smart to say, but for once, she’s got nothing.

Just wide eyes, a flushed chest, parted lips, like a question she can’t quite ask.

“Damn, Angelo…” she breathes, voice soft and a little shaky.

Her hands slide up my chest. “Just take me to bed already.”

I grin. “Gladly.”

Her laugh escapes before she can stop it—low, incredulous, like she’s not used to being the one flustered .

I shift beneath her, hands locking around her thighs as I stand, lifting her in one smooth motion. Her arms fly around my neck, laughter trailing behind us as I carry her down the hall.

Dio. That look on her face.

I drink it in, like the first taste of redemption after a brutal war.

And I already know—

I’ll never go back to starving.