Page 14 of The Disputed Legacy
“Are you suggesting that Dominic will attack us again?” Maxim asked. “And try to end us?”
Father shot him a serious look. “Yes. I am. Because I’ve never been able to dismiss the hunch that he had tried it before. With Beatrice. When you boys were taken.” He shook his head as he turned to cross back over the room again. “I couldn’t shake the idea then that Anton and Dominic were behind you boys being captured. That they knew how Beatrice would sleep around. I’ve always wondered if her affair was nothing more than my enemy using her as a pawn. Because if they’d succeeded in killing most of my heirs, that would’ve been the beginning of the end.”
It seemed impossible to think of the Ivanov bloodline being ended. Now we had another generation to look forward to. We had a legacy to build on.
But if I played the what-if game like Father was, I could picture another reality, another version of what life could look like. If it had only been me surviving and carrying on the family name. If all the stakes and bets had to rest on me, not my brothers alongside me.
The Romanos were clearly playing a long battle against us, but I was getting exhausted from the wait at this point.
I stood, straightening my jacket as the meeting wrapped up.
“I’ll get back with you,” I told Hugo before I headed out. He would remain my loyal right-hand man through this, andbetween the two of us, we’d formulate a final operation to hit back at Dominic.
Without waiting to catch up with my brothers or talk about this matter any further, I headed out. All these thoughts about legacy were getting to me. Ihadno legacy, no future, no heir.
No family of my own to count on for the future.
Now more than ever, it pricked my nerves.
Staying to talk with my brothers would drive in more jealousy as I coveted the families they’d dared to find and start.
“Saul, wait up,” Nik called out as I strode down the hallway after I exited the office.
I held up my hand, not turning back to face him. “I’m just stepping out for a minute.”
I needed space. To breathe. To think. To give myself a break from wanting something I’d never considered before—a chance to start building on this family legacy,myfamily legacy.
7
WILLOW
When the last construction equipment was loaded up and pulled away from the street corner near Tiny’s diner, we saw a drop in customers. It made sense at the same time that it didn’t. Without the barrels and barricades seemingly detouring foot traffic and keeping pedestrians away from our front door, it would’ve implied that we were more accessible. No obstacles blocked anyone from seeing the signs and coming in for a quick meal.
Instead of an uptick in business, we were met with the usual flow of customers that existed before the upheaval of the construction project. It turned out that those burly construction workers had really made up for a big part of our clientele for a while.
And we’d miss them.
Irene leaned over the counter, resting her forearms on the polished surface, and sighed.
“I haven’t had a table since my shift started,” Rosie complained quietly from my right.
Irene slanted over at my left, giving her a sassy smirk. “Get used to it.”
Rosie pouted and lowered her head.
“Hey, come on. Cheer up,” I told them, lifting my hand to gesture at the front windows. “Do you think anyone’s really going to be walking through that to get here?”
Steady rain poured from the skies, painting a dismally gray scene out there. They'd forecast storms for the rest of the week. It didn’t help us, but there was also nothing we could do about it. If it was going to rain, it damn well would rain and keep any foot traffic away.
“Today’s the kind of day where people will call in for something to be delivered to their offices.” I shook my head and turned to rest the small of my back against the counter. It beat staring at the door and waiting for another customer to enter.
Margo was idle as well, and as she and I talked a little more about my apartment issues, I tuned out Rosie and Irene, who took to bickering about petty things behind me. So long as I stood between them, I felt like a mediating mother, keeping them in line.
“Did the neighbors get their things replaced? And their walls fixed?” Margo asked, annoyed that I was still dealing with my cheap landlord about some things that were damaged in the flood.
“Yes. And no,” I replied, thinking back to how the husband had teamed up with his wife to repair the things the low-quality contractors rushed through.
My walls hadn’t been patched properly either, but I didn’t have a spouse or partner to help me do it right. Oscar wasn’t a small boy, but while he was probably tall enough to help me, he had no skills for a home repair job like that.
