Page 251 of Legacy
Her body stills just slightly, the shift so subtle it’s almost imperceptible, but I feel it. That ripple beneath her skin. That ache she doesn’t name.
“Five years,” I whisper, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
“I dreamt of this. Of feeding you. Of hearing you laugh with your mouth full and your legs brushing mine. Of you being… mine, again. In every way.”
Her lashes lower. That smile of hers falters, softens, and for a second, she looks at me like I’ve handed her something fragile and beautiful.
Then she picks up a tomato from the plate. Holds it up to my mouth with steady fingers.
“Then eat,” she murmurs. “Before I make you cook another round.”
I bite it from her fingertips, the juice bursting warm and sweet, dripping onto her fingers. I catch it with my tongue
And the sound she makes—
Sin incarnate.
She hums, low and breathy. “I should call Vasilisa before I forget everything and tell you to take me to bed.”
“Bed?” I smirk, grabbing another piece of steak, holding it near but not quite touching her lips. “Tesoro, I’ll fuck you right here.”
Her eyes go wide. Heat rushes to her cheeks, and she nearly chokes mid-bite, hand flying to cover her mouth.
“Angelo Amato,”she hisses between chews, scandal coloring her voice even more than her face.
I grin, pleased with myself, watching her try to compose her flustered expression, and fail miserably. While she chews and glares at me like I’ve lost my mind, I reach casually for my phone on the counter, scroll for a second, and hold it out to her.
“Here,” I say, smug. “Before you forget again.”
She squints. “Did you already pull up her number?”
“Obviously. I multitask.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
She sighs. But the flush remains, spreading warm and slow. She takes the phone from me, still perched on my counter like a fucking goddess pretending to be casual. One leg brushes my hip as she leans back against the cupboards, screen glowing against her cheek.
Two rings. That’s all it takes before Santo picks up.
His voice snaps through the speaker, sharp as ever. “What do you want? Don’t call my wife.”
I freeze, my jaw ticking.
He thinks it’s me.
I reach to grab the phone because clearly he doesn’t deserve her voice in his ear, but she twists just out of reach, fingers tightening around the phone like it belongs to her now. And when she speaks, her tone is quiet, calm, and soft enough to disarm even the harshest bastard.
“It’s Adriana. Is that how you greet every family member, or do we have a problem?”
The silence on the other end is beautiful.
Dead, stuttering, shell shocked silence.
I smirk.
Santo, flustered, is rare. But watching her do it with just a change in the tone of her voice?
