Page 256 of Legacy
“Everything’s ready,” she says, her eyes flicking between me and Angelo as she steps back. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Thank you, Clara,” I say gently.
Angelo nods. “You outdid yourself.”
She beams, just slightly, before grabbing her coat from the hook and walking toward the elevator.
I cross the space between us, brushing lint from his lapel and adjusting his tie. His eyes are already on me, lazy and possessive, like I’ve just walked into a room I forgot I owned.
My fingers smooth over the knot. Slow. Deliberate.
Behind him, Clara’s figure disappears as the elevator doors close, and something about the image makes my stomach tighten. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care. But I’m still staring at the elevator long after it’s shut.
Angelo tilts his head slightly. “Why were you looking at Clara like that?”
I blink, then shake my head. “No reason.”
He raises a brow.
I step back.
Something sharp coils low in my stomach, and I hate it. I hate that I care, but I do.
“Did you ever sleep with her?”
His brow arches higher. “Clara?”
“Yes.”
He snorts,actuallysnorts, like I just asked if he’s ever tried to marry a goat.
“No,” he says, eyes narrowing in amusement. “Never.”
He pauses, then adds, softer now, “She’s a survivor. Found six years ago in a rundown building, chained to a radiator. There were a few other women.”
My chest aches.
“She was three months pregnant from the ordeal. She kept the baby. He’s a good kid. I make sure she’s paid well and always home in time for him.”
He meets my eyes. “Why?”
I shake my head again. “No reason.”
He doesn’t push. And I’m grateful for that. Because I’m not about to tell him Gio put that thought in my head, casually dropping it as he blocked me in the kitchen like he wasn’t detonating a small grenade in my chest.
My hands drift to my hips, smoothing the soft burgundy silk of my dress. The neckline dips just enough to feel dangerous. The slit up the thigh—absolutely intentional. I glance up at Angelo, feigning lightness.
“How do I look?”
He chuckles low and lets his gaze roam. Slow. Possessive. Unapologetic.
“Like a problem,” he murmurs, stepping close, brushing his knuckles along the side of my thigh where the slit parts. “Kind of wish Santo and Vasilisa weren’t coming over…”
His eyes darken, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
“So I could enjoy that dress… on the floor instead.”
My lips part, heat sparking low, but the elevator pings before I can answer.
