Page 45 of Legacy
It wasn’t.
My father sits behind a desk so large it feels like a goddamn altar. And I’m the offering.
I exhale, trying to reel in my fury.
“I think it’s time. I’m ready.”
His eyebrows rise.“Ready?”
He ashes his cigar and sets his eyes on me.
Marcello Amato has been Don of Cosa Nostra for far too long. At seventy-two, the man should’ve stepped down years ago.
“My Angelo,” he begins.
Here we fucking go.
My jaw clenches, and his expression morphs into something serious.
“Ruling Cosa Nostra isn’t just about wanting it—it’s about surviving it. Can you survive in this world alone?”
I stiffen at his words.
I survived you.
I want to say it, but I swallow it down.
“I’ve been your right hand for fifteen years. I’ve seen and done things you don’t even know about.”
He smirks, leaning back in that old leather chair like he owns the world.
“That youthinkI don’t know about.”
There it is. That look.
The one he always gives me. Like I’m the fuck-up. The mistake he’s never been able to clean off his record.
“But you haven’t proved that you can lead.”
The fuck I haven’t.
I take another breath.
My outbursts are why he thinks I can’t lead.
Channel Santo.
Calm.
Decisive.
In control.
“I can get an alliance with the Bratva.”
Fuck.
No, I can’t.
