Page 70 of Legacy (The Sovereigns #2)

Adriana Scarlet

H is hands are gentle on my skin.

I want to cry.

I want to scream.

I want words.

But all I feel is numb.

But under the numb, something hot flickers. Anger.

At them . For caging me. Hitting me, Threatening me.

At him. For asking me to shoot him.

At myself for shaking.

Everything Luciano trained me for—everything I knew would happen if I stood in a life like this—is crashing down around me.

And still, I can’t feel more than nothing.

There’s relief.

But it’s buried under the choking weight of dread.

My eyes meet his.

He’s talking to me as the water cascades around us.

I want to hear him. I do.

But my body is in survival mode and it won’t let me out.

His thumbs brush my cheeks.

His palms are warm.

His voice echoes in broken pieces, until suddenly, one lands .

“—if you want to leave, you can. Back to Florida, where you were safe. Or… we’ve got safe houses in Alaska, if you need to be alone.”

He takes a breath.

Grabs the loofah.

Lathers it.

Takes my hand gently in his and starts to wash my arm. The steam curls around us, fogging the glass, the smell of soap sharp in the warm air.

“I know you don’t feel safe right now. I know that’s my fault.”

He pauses, his voice tighter now.

“I dragged you into this war… into my fucked-up life. I put you right in harm’s way.”

I watch him.

I listen to his apologies.

To the guilt breaking out of him like he thinks it’ll make me feel better.

A sob rips from my chest. Sudden. Sharp.

I barely register it as my own.

His head snaps toward me.

He drops the loofah.

His hands fly to my waist and he follows me down to the ground.

Slips me onto his lap.

Holds me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to earth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair, over and over.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Adriana.”

But I can’t speak.

Not yet.

Because the anger is ebbing and all I feel now is relief.

I’m relieved.

Because I can cry.

I can scream.

And I love him.

The worst part of the entire ordeal wasn’t the pain .

Wasn’t the threat.

Wasn’t the gun in my hand.

It was the thought of pointing it at him.

His knuckles are still bruised, one split open, the scab half-washed away by the water. I stare at it while the words crawl up my throat.

“I love you,” I choke out.

He stills beneath me.

His hands rise to cup my face, tilting it up to meet his eyes.

“Ti amo così tanto, Adriana,” he breathes, pressing kiss after kiss to my lips.

I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back, despite the pain from the split on my lip.

We part just slightly, noses brushing, his breath warm against mine.

“I never wanted to shoot you, don’t ever ask me to do that again,” I whisper. “I could never.”

“I know,” he says instantly. No hesitation. No doubt. “But Adriana… I would die for you. A million times over.”

I shake my head.

But he holds my face still, gently, like the truth needs to be placed directly into my bones.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Me for you. It will always be me for you. ”

His thumb brushes my cheek. His voice doesn’t break, but it bends around the weight of it.

“You are the single most important thing in my life. Nothing comes before you, Adriana.”

Another kiss. Slow. Fierce.

“You’re my peace. My redemption. My life. ”

He holds me for a while.

Not speaking.

Not moving.

Just water and heat and his hands pressed against my back like he’s trying to keep me from slipping through the cracks.

When I finally start to shiver, he shifts.

Stands with me, wrapping a towel around my body with care.

Another towel runs through my hair—clumsy and tender—and he kisses my temple when I flinch from the cold.

He dries me off in silence.

Then slips one of his shirts over my head.

It smells like him. Feels like safety.

I don’t even realize he’s put on sweats until we’re under the covers, until he’s holding me close, his chest warm against my back, his arms wrapped around my middle like he’ll never let go again.

He presses soft kisses to my face—cheeks, temple, jaw.

Over and over and over.

Until a laugh escapes me, breathless and unexpected.

His whole body stills.

I turn my head, and his eyes are on me, shining, wrecked and full of wonder.

Like that laugh just stitched something back together in him.

He brushes my damp hair from my face and presses one last kiss to my brow.

“I’m taking a step back for a few weeks,” he says softly. “Santo’s going to handle the day-to-day.”

I blink, confused. “Why? For the finalization of the ceremony plans? The ceremony isn't for months.”

He stills.

“…Ceremony plans?”

I frown. “For our wedding. You said you wanted a ceremony… or did I make that up in my head?”

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

He leans in, his nose brushing mine .

“No, you didn’t make it up. I do want one. I just didn’t realize you were planning it.”

“I told my mother,” I murmur. “She’s been planning.”

His brows lift, amused. “So we’re having a Florida wedding?”

I shake my head immediately. “Oh, no. The whole brood is coming here.”

He smirks. “Were you going to tell me when the ceremony was happening?”

I smile against his mouth. “Yeah… at some point.”

He exhales a soft laugh, pulling me tighter, like he already knows he’s lost whatever say he thought he had—and doesn’t mind at all.