Page 60 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Adriana Scarlet

Four Months Later

I passed the bar.

I knew I would. But seeing it in black and white?

Glorious.

I turn in front of the mirror, catching every angle. Hair, flawless. Makeup, dramatic. Dress—Scarlet. Just like my lips. Just like everything I’ve reclaimed.

Angelo’s going to devour me in this.

He promised wine, food, dancing... but all I really want is him. Stripped. Ready. Because these past four months have been hell.

The estate’s under renovation, and I’ve been locked down in the penthouse like a diamond behind glass.

The Sovereigns are in full force, tearing into Armenian territory. But they knew we were coming.

We have a mole.

And Angelo’s been on a rampage.

I slip on my heels and take one last glance at myself in the mirror when a soft knock breaks the moment.

“Come in.”

Enzo peeks his head in, scruff a little thicker, dark circles beneath his eyes. None of these men have slept in weeks .

“You ready to go, Mrs. Amato? Don Amato called. He’s ready for you.”

I roll my eyes. “Enzo, you can call me Adriana.”

He lets out a tired laugh. “No thank you, Mrs. Amato.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

I pull the door open all the way and he straightens, suddenly alert.

“Seriously, do you call Vasilisa Mrs. Amato too?”

His lips flatten into a line. “That’s different. Our relationship’s different.”

“How?”

He lifts a brow, careful now. “Not in any disrespectful way, Mrs. Amato. She’s just... more like a sister.”

“And I’m what?” I ask, annoyance bleeding into hurt.

He pauses. “A client.”

Something in me cracks.

A client.

I don’t know why it hits so hard, but it does. My stomach tightens.

“Am I not nice enough to you?”

His eyes widen. “No, nothing like that, Mrs.—I mean, Adriana. It’s just... Don—”

“Angelo?! He told you I’m just a client?”

Enzo exhales slowly, like he’s about to say something that costs him. “Don Amato requires that anyone on your service treat you with the highest level of respect. You’re the boss’s wife.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that you keep calling me Mrs. Amato and it’s pissing me off.”

He pales. “Please don’t Adriana, if you tell him that... he’ll kill me.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You can’t be serious. You can be warm and friendly with Scythe’s wife, but not with me because Angelo would kill you?”

Enzo’s voice drops. “Don Amato doesn’t do surveillance like Santo. He doesn’t watch. Doesn’t wait. He hears something, he reacts. No second chances. No context. ”

I stare at him.

“You’re making my husband sound like some monster without empathy.”

Enzo doesn’t blink.

Doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t deny it.

And that’s when my stomach drops. Hard.

The air thins. My skin prickles. Because he’s serious. Deadly serious.

Not joking. Not exaggerating. Just stating a fact I’ve been too in love to see.

“Enzo,” I whisper, voice suddenly hoarse, “tell me why you believe that. No—tell me how you know. ”

His eyes meet mine. Flat. Heavy.

“If you tell him I said this,” he says quietly, “it’ll be my death sentence.”

I nod, not giving him a definite yes or no, but he answers anyway.

“You had four guards watching over you in Florida. Vinny. Carlo. Rocco. Gus. Two months before Don Amato met with your brother, Vinny made a trip back home. Told the Don he was done babysitting a whore.”

The word stings. But what comes next hurts more.

“I was standing outside the office when the shot went off. I cleaned it up.”

My lips part. But no words come.

“That’s... awful,” I finally say. “But you calling me by my name isn’t the same as what Vinny said. I mean, I get it wasn’t okay, but... I was thinking maybe I could talk to the other three.”

“Maybe, show them I support all of you. Show Angelo I want to be part of the family. Not above it.”

Enzo shakes his head slowly.

“You can’t talk to them.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t flinch .

“They’re all dead.”

The room tilts.

“What?”

“Don Amato called each of them back, one by one. Asked the same question. ‘How do you feel about guarding Scarlet?’ ”

My blood runs cold.

“Carlo said he was okay with it, but wanted more. Don Amato told him he hopes he finds it in the next life. Shot him between the eyes.”

I gasp.

“Rocco hesitated. Gus said he didn’t mind. The assignment didn’t matter. Don Amato didn’t like any of the answers.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. My chest feels too tight to breathe.

“Santo is Scythe,” Enzo finishes quietly. “That side of him only comes out when it has to. When there’s no other choice.”

He pauses .

“But Don Amato?” His voice drops. “He is Sinner. All the time. There’s no switch to flip. No mask to take off.”

He meets my eyes.

“He doesn’t just kill when he has to. He kills when he thinks it’s right. When it fits the code. And with Sinner...”

Another breath.

“There’s no forgiveness. Only penance.”

***

The ride to the loft is thick with nervous tension.

Enzo keeps glancing at me like I might throw him to the wolves. When we pull up, Angelo’s already outside.

Handsome.

Button-down shirt, sleeves rolled, that unreadable look in his eyes. I inhale slowly.

He looks ready for me to undress.

Too bad I need to clear the air first. This whole Sinner killing our own men thing is rotting my brain.

Enzo stops the car, but doesn’t move.

“Don’t tell him,” he says quietly.

I give him a soft, almost apologetic smile. “He won’t kill you. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“I can,” I say, my voice calm. “Because I have the biggest bargaining chip in the world— myself .”

I step out, shut the door. Enzo drives off fast, like he doesn’t want to be in firing range when the bomb drops.

Angelo walks toward me, his eyes devouring me whole.

“Tesoro,” he murmurs, arms spreading, “you look like a dream.”

I walk into him. His arms wrap around me tight, firm, safe.

“I have a surprise inside. Come on.”

He starts to guide me toward the door.

But I stop.

He turns. “Everything okay? Did you forget something?”

I take a breath. My chest is too tight, but I speak anyway.

“The men who watched over me for the past five years... where are they? Have I met them?”

His hand slips from my back. Both go into his pockets. His jaw tightens as he meets my eyes.

“They’re dead.”

Good.

At least he didn’t lie.

“An accident?”

His jaw ticks. Eyes narrowing .

“I know you, Adriana. You don’t ask questions you don’t already know the answer to.”

I let out a bitter chuckle. “Your men are afraid of you.”

“Good. Enzo’s as good as dead for telling you things he shouldn’t have.”

“No.”

One brow lifts. Then the other.

“No?”

“Yes, no. Enzo lives. Everyone lives. You need to pack Sinner away when it comes to our own men.”

He blinks at me like I’ve grown a second head.

“You didn’t have a problem with my moniker.”

“I still don’t. But I run on justice, Angelo—not hearsay or kneejerk reactions. Those men saved me in Colombia. They got me out when I was under attack trying to smuggle those emeralds. And now I find out I can’t even thank them because you killed them for being tired of babysitting me?”

He frowns. Shakes his head.

“That’s not why they died. Vinny—”

“Called me a whore. Yeah. That’s fucking rude, but not a death sentence.”

“Wait. That’s what Enzo told you?”

“Yes. Called me a whore and you shot him.”

“No, Tesoro.” Angelo steps closer, brushing his knuckles over my cheek. “That may have been the story going around, but that’s not the truth.”

I freeze.

“They were planning to kill you.”

My breath stutters.

“Nico found out. Told me right before Vinny strutted in, demanding to be taken off the assignment. The plan was to ask me to pull him. And if I didn’t, they were going to do it—make it look like an accident.”

My stomach plummets .

“When it comes to you, Adriana,” he rasps, cupping my face in both hands, “I don’t wait. I don’t gamble. I kill. ”

I let out a shaky breath, heart pounding against my ribs.

“You need to explain that to your men,” I whisper. “They’re terrified of you. They treat me like I’m some client when all I want is to be part of the family.”

“You’re not a client,” he murmurs. “You’re my queen. Mia Regina. ”

“I don’t want to be above anyone, Angelo. I want to be equal. ”

He leans in, brushing his nose against mine. His eyes close.

My heart slows.

I want to argue. To tell him I’m not fragile. That I don’t want to be worshipped from a distance, but his hands are warm on my face, and for once, there’s no fire in his eyes.

Only love.

That endless, terrifying love that would level cities just for me.

And will keep leveling them until there’s nothing left but ash and us.

He kisses my forehead.

“I’ll talk to them,” he says softly. “I’ll tell them you’re family. That you’re not above them, you’re with them. They’ll know, Tesoro.”

He presses another kiss to my temple.

“Come inside,” he whispers. “Let’s celebrate us.”

He leads me to the loft door.

We step inside, and I hear it. Soft music playing low, like a secret.

As we climb the stairs, my breath catches.

The loft is covered in red roses and carnations.

Candlelight flickers across the walls like memory.

Two glasses and a chilled bottle of wine wait on the coffee table.

I step closer, stunned.

“Angelo… this is beautiful,” I breathe, awe blooming in my chest.

I turn to face him.

And gasp.

Angelo is kneeling, a velvet box open in his hand .

Inside is the blood ruby, now set into a gold band that glows in the candlelight. Fierce. Holy.

“What—”

His voice cuts in, low and reverent.

“Stay my wife, Adriana,” he murmurs. “But when this war ends, marry me. For real. In front of everyone. So the whole world knows you’re not just my queen.”

He looks up at me, voice thick with devotion.

“You’re mine. And I want the world to know you’re an Amato.”

The world slows.

Then everything hits me.

This is what I envisioned on every sleepless night I spent without him.

This moment. This man.

The candles. The roses. His voice saying my name like it means something sacred.

This is what I dreamed about when I let myself admit I still loved him, when I stopped pretending I could forget what it felt like to be his.

Every argument. Every tear. Every scar we carved into each other led me here.

Back to him.

I step forward, barely breathing.

“Yes,” I whisper, tears in my eyes. “Yes, Angelo. I’ll stay.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

Then he slips the ring onto my finger, slow and careful, like he’s placing something eternal there.

The ruby glows like a drop of blood between us, a promise sealed in fire and love.

He stands and pulls me in.

His mouth finds mine and I melt, heart full, soul weightless, like everything inside me finally knows peace.

We kiss surrounded by flowers and firelight, his arms around me, my fingers curled into his shirt.

I’m not just his queen.

Not just his wife.

I’m his home.

And he’s mine .