Page 1 of Legacy
Chapter 1
Angelo
Twelve Years Ago
We killed them.
The scent of burning flesh clings to me, stubborn as sin.
Even after scrubbing my skin raw, it lingers—acrid, bitter and suffocating.
Every creak of the house feels like a countdown. I sit on the edge of my bed, fingers gripping the mattress, my pulse hammering in my ears. From down the hall, I hear Santo’s low hum, the faint clink of tools as he tinkers away at whatever project has his attention tonight. He’s always building something, robots, gadgets, machines that do nothing but impress. Genius.
Not like me.
He’sgood.
And he doesn’t know.
The thought pounds in my skull like a drum. My brother doesn’t know what I’ve done. He doesn’t know and he never will.
The scent of smoke clings to me as though it’s soaked into my skin. Surrounding my room, in my lungs, in my head.
It won’t leave.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. The sharp vibration jolts me like a shock, and I snatch it up. The name on the screen makes my stomach drop: Maksim.
“What?” I answer, my voice lower than I intended, thick with unease.
“Relax, Amato,” Maksim says, his tone gruff, casual, like he doesn’t have the weight of the world on him too. “I’ve got news. The grapevine says our little firework show wasn’t as thorough as we thought.”
I blink, the room tilting slightly. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Maksim drawls, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “Arsen Sarkisian’s not dead. He’s alive. Critical condition, but alive.”
The room spins faster now. I stand up, pacing to the window, staring out at the dark street below. “No fucking way,” I mutter, gripping the phone so tight it creaks. “He can’t be alive. You saw him, Maksim. He was—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Maksim cuts me off, his voice sharp now. “I saw him. He was crispy, but he wasn’t dead. And before you start losing your shit, it’s not a big deal. Odds are, he won’t remember a damn thing. Hell, odds are he won’t even make it.”
“And if he does?” I snap, my voice rising despite myself. “If hedoesremember?”
“Then we deal with it,” Maksim says, his tone steady, almost bored. “He’s in no shape to come for us. Relax, Angelo. You’re acting like a little bitch. I’ll call back if I hear more.”
Maksim ends the call and I press my forehead to the cool glass of the window, trying to steady my breathing. The scent of burning flesh is still there, like a curse I can’t outrun.
The phone call with Maksim leaves me wrecked. I drop my phone onto the bed and sit on the edge, leaning forward, elbows digging into my thighs, trying to steady my breathing.
We didn’t know he was there.
The thought hammers into me, over and over, no mercy. My head is a mess, flashes of the fire burning behind my eyes. The heat, the roaring flames swallowing everything. The stench is still here. Not just smoke…something deeper. Flesh and sin.
Flesh.
Maksim’s voice plays on a loop in my mind.
Crispy.
Goddamn Maksim. Always so casual.
