Like blood doesn’t spill the same once you put a ring on someone’s finger and call it legacy.
I let the silence sit for a second longer than it should.
Long enough for the weight of it to settle over the table. Long enough for it to be clear I’m done entertaining this conversation.
Then I push my chair back. It scrapes just slightly against the floor.
“Congratulations, Amato,” I say, voice even.
Angelo watches me, unreadable. I don’t give him anything else.
My gaze shifts, brief.
“Kisa.”
Vasilisa finally looks at me then.
I nod once, then glance at Adriana. “You look beautiful.”
She dips her chin slightly in acknowledgment, still quiet from a moment ago.
Good.
Let it sit with them.
My hand tugs Ayla’s, already pulling her up with me before anyone can say anything else.
“Come on,” I murmur low enough for only her to hear.
She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t hesitate.
Just rises with me like she already knew this was coming.
I don’t look back as we step away from the table, guiding her through the crowd with my hand in hers.
Music. Laughter. Glasses clinking. All of it feels distant. Irrelevant.
Children.
Fucking insanity.
My grip tightens slightly as we move toward the exit.
I don’t say anything else. I don’t need to.
I’m already thinking ten steps ahead.
And none of them include bringing something soft into a world that eats it alive.
Chapter 49
Ayla
Maksim is literally radiating heat. The drive from the reception to Exile was silent torture.
He throws himself into the leather chair behind the desk, papers scattering under his palm as he drags a hand through his hair. Red strands fall forward, messy, untamed. He looks dangerous like this; unbuttoned collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie long gone. The man who just walked out of a wedding without a backward glance.
I lean against his desk, arms folded. “You good?”
