Page 273 of Legacy
It’s her.
All of her.
“This is just a formality. You’re already mine.”
Her eyes flick to me, and for a second, I see it. The fear, yes, but layered over something sharper. Something steadier. Something she’s built for herself over years of surviving.
She doesn’t reply as I park the car out front. Her hand finds mine when I help her out of the car.
The soldier at the door nods, letting us in.
The halls are cold, heavy with old power and older grudges. The smell of cigar smoke curls around us before we even reach the office, like the past refusing to let go.
My father sits behind his desk, looking smaller than I remember, but somehow more dangerous for it.
He grins when he sees her, cigar resting between two fingers. “About damn time you brought her to me.”
He says it like a joke, but there’s weight behind it. He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to flinch. I don’t.
Adriana steps forward before I can say anything, shoulders back, chin lifted. Fuck, she’s beautiful like this. Brave. Bold. Mine.
“You remember me, then?” she asks, voice calm, clear.
“Of course. The Castillo girl, no?”
She nods once. “Yes, sir. Adriana.”
He waves a hand, smoke trailing from the cigar. “Full names here. Names have power.”
She pauses, then lifts her chin a fraction higher.
“Adriana Scarlet Castillo.”
I see it the moment it hits her—how the name doesn’t feel like a chain around her neck anymore, but a weapon in her hand. A name she’s claimed for herself.
But my father shakes his head, smirking. “No, no.Amato,now.”
She laughs softly, glancing at me, and my chest tightens in a way I don’t let show.
“Adriana Scarlet Amato.”
My hand slides to the small of her back, a silent claim, a promise I’ve made a thousand times over in the dark, in whispers, in the way I touch her when the world isn’t watching.
Mine.
Marcello grins. “Strong name.”
He leans forward, ashes falling onto the desk as he pushes himself up to stand.
He’s slower than he used to be, but not weak, and he holds himself like a man who knows the room will always bend around him.
Adriana straightens, shoulders back, head high as he approaches. I can see the quick rise of her chest, the small hitch in her breath, she’s bracing herself, but she doesn’t flinch.
My wife never flinches.
His eyes sweep over her, appraising but not lecherous, before he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek, the gesture surprisingly gentle for the man I know.
“My daughter-in-law,” he says, and there’s pride in it, a weight that settles between us.
