Page 339 of Legacy
We don’t need to.
I reach my hand out across the desk to shake. Santo takes it. But when I try to pull away, he holds tighter. His grip solid. His eyes locked on mine.
“Angelo—” he says quietly.
“I know, little brother,” I whisper. My throat’s tight. “I know.”
We let go.
I leave the room.
Vasilisa is in the hall speaking low in rapid Russian into her phone. The second she sees me moving, she ends the call and rushes forward, those wide, starlit eyes tracking every step I take.
“Angelo—” she calls, voice cracking just enough to tell me she knows.
I stop.
Turn.
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry.
I give her a small smile.
“Take care of him, Tiny.”
Her breath catches.
“You saved his soul. Keep it intact.”
Her lips tremble. Her eyes blur, but she squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and nods.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I will.”
Santo steps out and stands beside her.
I give them both one last look.
Then I walk out the door.
It shuts behind me.
And if this is the end, then at least I said goodbye the way it mattered.
***
The river stinks of salt and diesel.
Fog rolls in thick around the abandoned shipping yard, wrapping the crates and rusted containers in ghost light as I pull up. Cold air cuts through my clothes, but it doesn’t reach the heat burning in my veins.
Nico checks his rifle, posted behind a stack of rotting pallets near the perimeter, hidden but with a clear line of sight.
“If they raise a gun to her—”
“I take the shot,” he finishes, voice flat. His eyes flick to mine. “I know, boss.”
I walk alone toward the yawning mouth of the warehouse, boots crunching on gravel. Above, the crane cables sway, creaking in the wind, metal whispering like a promise.
Steel groans as I push the door open.
