Page 88 of Legacy
My breath hitches.
He was right.
Damn it.
A wave of fury washes over me.
Swallow it Adriana.
New plan.
I grab my phone.
The phone rings twice.
“What’s wrong?” Rafael’s voice comes out quick, urgent.
“That lawyer you know here, can I have her number?”
A pause.
“Are you okay? Do you need me?”
“No Rafe, I got it handled, just the number.”
“Texted.”
My phone buzzes.
“Thank you.”
“Be good, if you need me I’ll be on the next flight.”
“I know.”
I hang up the phone, a chilled resolve settles in me.
Angelo can’t know that I’m rattled. He apparently feeds off my fear, my uncertainty. It’s time to turn the tables.
I call the lawyer immediately, explaining the situation in the calmest voice I can muster.
“Meet me at Smash and Sugar in an hour,” she says.
I take a breath.
I can do this.
I won’t lose.
***
Smash and Sugar is a bakery. One straight out of a Pinterest board—exposed brick, pale pink walls, a glass counter full of croissants and pastel pastries, and the faint hum of indie guitar in the background.
But the second I step inside, it’s not the sugar that grabs my attention—it’s the six-foot-plus man flipping a knife between his fingers by the espresso bar. He’s all lean muscle and danger, dark hair cropped close, his white button down stretching across his back as he tosses the blade like a toy.
He catches it mid-air and smiles at me. Warm. Easy. A little too easy.
Unsettling.
