Page 192 of Legacy
Not yet.
I stay still for a minute, just watching her breathe.
Memorizing the way her hair spills across my pillow, the tiny crease between her brows that only softens when she exhales.
Then my phone vibrates against the nightstand.
I grab it fast, making sure the buzz doesn’t wake her.
Nico.
‘I have your shit. Hope you appreciate me being your personal fucking butler. Don’t make me regret it.’
I smirk.
Sliding carefully out of bed, I tuck the blanket tighter around Adriana’s body and press my lips to her forehead before slipping into a pair of sweats.
By the time I crack the front door open, Nico’s standing there, bag of bagels in one hand, oat milk in the other, smirking like the asshole he is.
“Morning, lovebird,” he mutters, shoving the bag at me. “Didn’t know you were vegan now. Fancy oat milk.”
I roll my eyes, grabbing the bag and heading up the stairs. He follows, closing the door behind him.
“It’s for Adriana. You always this invested in everyone’s love life, or am I just special?” I mutter.
Nico grins, all teeth. “You’re special,” he says. “Special kind of fucked, too, if you’re asking me.”
I take the other bag, resisting the urge to slam his face into the wall.
“How she holding up?” he adds, quieter now. A rare note of actual concern threading through the smart-ass.
I glance over my shoulder—back at the bedroom door.
At where she is.
Then I turn to him, my eyes dark. “You care too much about my wife. Mind your business.”
Nico just watches me for a moment, his smirk fading before he shrugs. “Just asking,” he says, voice casual but edged. “You sure about this?”
I narrow my eyes. “About what?”
He lifts his chin toward the bedroom. “Marriage. You always said you’d never do it. Too much of a liability, remember? And now you’re here in marital bliss.”
I scoff, shaking my head as I fill the mugs. “Almost marital bliss.”
“Almost.” Nico huffs out a low chuckle, shaking his head once. Then his gaze sharpens. “You know, it’s hard for you to be selfless.”
My shoulders stiffen. I turn, mug in hand, eyes locked on him. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Itmeans,” he says, crossing his arms, “she’s your wife. She comes before anyone. Before anything. Including yourself.”
I set the mug down harder than I mean to, the sound sharp in the quiet kitchen.
“She comes before me,” I say, jaw tight. “But nothing comes before Cosa Nostra.”
Nico’s eyes flicker, but his voice stays calm, steady. “Maybe that’s why it’s slow going.”
I glare at him.
