Page 294 of Legacy
Ayla tilts her head just slightly. “And if he’s sleeping with the staff, I feel bad for you.”
Vasilisa’s eyebrows lift so high I barely catch them before they hit the ceiling.
I place the gun down on a nearby table and prepare for impact.
“Oh and Maksim’s any better?” Vasilisa snaps, “Pakhan of the Bratva. Psychopath.Juggernaut—he’s not looking for love, sweetheart. He’s looking for a hole to fuck.”
I clap my hands once, sharply.
“Okay,” I cut in, voice brisk. “Vasi, go get a snack and calm down. Ayla—sit.”
They both turn to look at me.
I hold Vasi’s glare and Ayla’s wide eyes, making it clear I’m not asking,I’m telling.
I know that look in Vasi’s eyes. It isn’t just anger. It’s fear, the kind that doesn’t let you think clearly when you’ve nearly lost everything before.
Vasilisa’s still seething, but she doesn’t argue. She huffs, spins on her heel, and storms toward the kitchen with a muttered, “Fine.”
Ayla doesn’t say anything either. She just lowers herself onto the edge of the couch, movements stiff, almost mechanical.
I wait until the kitchen door swings shut behind Vasi, then sit down next to Ayla.
“I swear she’s usually sweeter,” I say gently.
Ayla stares at the floor.
“But you held your own,” I add.
That earns me a tiny glance.
And I can already tell, this girl may look like cracked glass, but there’s steel beneath the surface.
***
The front doors swing open, and I rise from the edge of the couch, breath catching before I even see him.
Santo steps in first, then Angelo follows, and just like that, my heart starts beating again.
It’s like the room exhales when I do.
He doesn’t look bad. His knuckles are bloodied, shirt dirty, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him like a reminder of who he is, what he’s willing to walk through for us. But his body is whole. Safe.Alive.
Santo’s gaze flicks to the sitting room, scanning for her, and the second Vasilisa spots him, she runs.
Straight into his arms.
She clings to him like the world was about to end without him in it, and for a moment, the wild, feral look in Santo’s eyes disappears. Just…gone. Like she reached into the storm and switched off the thunder.
And then Angelo’s eyes find mine.
It’s not soft, not at first. It’s dark. Intense. A claim wrapped in a single look, dragging me under before I can take a breath.
My own storm calms as he looks at me, but my pulse pounds harder, heat sweeping across my skin. Because that look,God, that look,is the reminder that no matter what blood he spilled today, no matter what war waits for him tomorrow, he comes home to me.
“Is that girl gone?” he asks, voice low, already guessing.
I nod. “An hour ago. Ivan picked her up.”
