Page 135 of Legacy

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The elevator chimes.

My eyes flick up instinctively, and there he is—Angelo.

Blood on his shirt.

His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and there’s crimson along his forearm covering his tattoos, dried at the edges, like he’s been wiping at it but not enough to care.

I jolt up.

My first thought: Is he hurt?

My second:Why hasn’t he looked at me?

He doesn’t glance my way.

Just walks straight past.

Right into the kitchen.

He’s in there for a while then comes out.

Clara follows him.

I watch her wipe her hands on her jeans and trail him down the hall.

Her footsteps fade…

Then the soft creak of his bedroom door.

And the click shut.

I stop breathing.

My stomach flips.

I blink hard.

Once.

Twice.

Don’t.

Don’t go there.

Don’t be that girl.

Don’t be stupid.

But the nausea’s rising anyway.

He didn’t even look at me.

And Clara—Clara who cooks for him, whoknowshim, is now walking into his bedroom like that’s normal?

Like that’s routine?

Maybe it is.

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