Page 156 of Legacy
There he is.
The real Angelo.
The one who throws verbal knives sharper than his jaw.
The one who doesn’t beg. Doesn’t break.
The one who leaves destruction in his wake and calls it strategy.
His chest rises. Falls.
He doesn’t speak.
Just watches me; like I’m made of glass and rage all at once.
“You’ve drenched your world in red.” I gesture around us, wild now. “The penthouse. The loft. Every fucking curtain and throw pillow.”
My voice rises.
“Whatisthat? Some fucked-up homage to what we had? A shrine to the girl you called a liar and left to rot?”
His breathing is sharp, uneven.
Come on, Angelo.
Fight me.
I need you to fight me.
Be Cruel.
Be Dismissive.
Be Arrogant.
Give my heart the out.
He stares at me.
Pupils blown.
Tension rolling off of him in silent, pulsing waves.
And yet, he says nothing.
“Speak!” I snap.
His eyes flick to mine.
Hard.
He didn’t like that.
He inhales deep.
Shuts his eyes for just a beat.
And when they open again, the storm is there.
