Page 165 of Legacy
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Instead—
“What do you do?” I ask, voice soft.
She looks over at me, surprised. Her lips curve slightly.
“You asked me that five years ago.”
I nod.
“And now I’m asking again.”
“I finished law school,” she says, proud but quiet. “And I’m studying for the bar exam.”
My chest swells.
I knew she did.
I know everything about her.
She always finishes what she starts.
“Oh, and I’m the daughter of Ricardo Castillo, former head of the cartel, now run by my idiot brother Luciano,” she adds with a smirk, rolling her eyes.
A low laugh rumbles in my chest, easing some of the weight in the room.
“What about you?” she asks, her voice light, but her eyes are searching, careful.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t lie.
I don’t soften it.
I don’t dodge.
“I’m the Don of Cosa Nostra.”
Her eyebrows lift in faux surprise, but she doesn’t speak.
So I go on.
“We own a few businesses. La Serenata, a restaurant mostly run by my brother, Santo.”
A pause.
“Opulent, a strip club. But not what you think.” I let the words hang for a moment, softer now. “Most of the women there are survivors of trafficking. We give them shelter, safety, choices.”
She blinks, and her eyes flicker, warm, open, as she shifts slightly closer.
“They can stay, dance, go to school, work somewhere else, or find their families. We just make sure they have a say.”
I let the quiet stretch between us.
Her face doesn’t give me much, but I can tell she’s listening.
“We’re also on the board of a hospital. We have floors reserved for our people. No names. No insurance. Just care.”
