Page 172 of Legacy
A smirk tugs at his lips.
“It’s an interrogation,” he says slowly. “I’ve been looking for this guy for a while. It’s not—”
“I don’t care.”
He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down over his mouth. He studies me again, but this time it’s not tenderness. It’s deliberation.
“Fine,” he relents. “But you stay at the bar. You do not come into that room.”
I nod. “Of course.”
But I’ve already made up my mind.
I’m going to be there.
Because if I’m the moon like he says, then it’s time he learn I know how to survive in the shadows that orbit him.
I change quickly—jeans, a soft knit shirt in a pale color that feels like armor in disguise.
Because Ialmostkissed him.
I almost let him too close.
And I promised my heart I wouldn’t let it break again.
It’s still daylight. There won’t be patrons at Opulent, not this early, but I still feel like I’m stepping into something… charged.
The ride is quiet at first. The hum of the engine. The occasional click of his turn signal. Angelo drives like he does everything else, controlled,steady, dangerous under the surface. Like the road bends for him and not the other way around.
I glance over at him. His profile is carved from shadow and sunlight. The tension in his jaw hasn’t eased since we left.
“So,” I say, voice light. “This guy we’re going to see. Is it Arsen Sarkisian?”
Angelo’s eyes flick toward me. Surprise flashes across his face before he schools it into something more neutral, but I saw it.
He exhales through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You listen.”
I shrug, eyes on the windshield. “Everyone knows there’s a war. If I was going to be married into it, I figured I should come prepared.”
Silence, then a chuckle low in his throat—warm and unexpected. I glance back and see it: a rare, real smile.
Something akin to pride settles in his expression. “It’s not him. Sarkisian’s too smart to get caught that easy.”
“Then who?”
He turns the wheel smoothly, eyes scanning the street. “Low man on the totem pole. Name’s Levon. He’s not important—not yet. But he’s weak. Looks like he might break under the right pressure.”
“And if he does?”
“Then maybe we get something. Plans. Next steps. A name. Anything.”
I nod, chewing the inside of my cheek. “And if he doesn’t?”
Angelo doesn’t answer for a second. His fingers tap once on the steering wheel.
“Then we try harder.”
The words settle in my chest like a stone.
