Page 8 of Precious Legacy
Regret coats my skin in a thin sheen of sweat, my breath slowly steadying. His chest presses against mine, but he makes no attempt to push the moment further. That’s the thing about Roman; he can read me like a book. And right now I feel like a children’s book with pretty pictures and simple words, but there’s so much more beneath the surface that I’m battling. As if he knows what I’m thinking, he runs his nose along mine before pulling away and rolling to the edge of the bed.
“Don’t feel so guilty, Presh.” He rests my gun on the bedside table, looking over his shoulder at me and pinning me with his soul-shattering blue eyes. The gentle glow of the moon through the window behind me cascades over him, bathing him in ethereal light. It juxtaposes everything about the man standing before me because the guy is a prick, not one bone in the asshole’s body is good, and the sooner my own body gets the message, the better off I’ll be. But I don’t know how long that will take—five years doesn’t seem like enough— and with Roman’s constant intrusion in my life, he’s not making it easy. He never does. He always finds a way to reassert his ownership over my body. It’s not like I need the reminder, but everymoment spent beneath his touch sends me spiraling into darker madness. Just when I think I’m finally over him, he reappears, locking his deviant blue eyes with mine and reminding me ofeverything.
“Why did you come here?” My voice falls as a whisper. I push up onto my hands, clutching the covers against my chest like that will somehow protect me.It’s a little too late for that, Alanis.
“Call it unfinished business,” he mumbles, standing up from the bed.
“When are you leaving?” I find myself asking, even though I can already tell I won’t like the answer.
Silence follows him as he heads towards the bedroom door. His retreating footsteps only make the weight of my own guilt sit heavier on my chest. Just when I don’t think I’m going to get another word out of him, he freezes in the doorway, resting his hand on the frame as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Never.”
The smugness is back, coaxing out my temporarily retreating hatred.
“I don’t want you here.”
Shaking his head, he locks eyes with me. “When are you going to stop lying to yourself?”
“The day you leave this earth,” I retort. “This can’t happen again.”
He spins around, chuckling to himself. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking at the ridiculousness of my words. Even I hear the way the repetitive lies sound. “Now where have I heard that before?”
Before I can even answer, he’s walking away from me, taking my breath with him.
Asshole.
FOUR
The red leather wheezes as I sink my fists into it with each punch. Sweat trickles down my temple, but it only spurs me on, allowing me to release the rage I’ve been harboring since last night.
Left jab, right hook. Duck. Uppercut.
I practice the moves like a dance, a choreography of war, switching my stance and evening my weight when I feel uneasy. That’s what this sport is all about; agility, technique. Fighting has become my church, a religion I’m devoted to. It’s how I relieve stress, refocus my energy, and reinforce discipline. It takes bravery to get in a ring, but it takes real dedication to learn the sport and not let it rule you.
I’ve been fighting for years—since I was old enough to fit my hands in gloves. Only now, I prefer to go without because there’s nothing like feeling the real pain beneath your punches to hone in your skill, and that’s really what it comes down to. You don’t need to be strong when it comes to fighting, you just have to be better than your opponent.
That rule applies to more than the boxing ring, though. There’s always going to be someone who wants more;morepower, more money. One of the things I was taught growing up is to protect. Protect what’s yours; family, friends, love, business. It all falls under the same umbrella.
My father was the one who introduced me to boxing, telling me it wasn’t just a sport, but a way of life, and he was right. There’s nowhere else I feel more like myself than when I’m here in the gym.
Actually, that’s a lie. The only person who makes me feel like I don’t need to be anyone else is Alanis Bonanno. She’s my fucking kryptonite, the poison I want to drown in. It’s like my soul is entwined with hers, tethered together by an invisible steel band. It’s not like either of us has a troubled past. We never had traumatic childhoods, we’re just built the same, cut from the same dark cloth. As much as she tries to take the moral high ground and deny who she really is, our personalities mirror each other’s. The the darkness of mine speaks to her own. We’re yin and yang. We push and pull at one another, battling the attraction until she ends up beneath me, and, well…we all know what happens next.
Memories of Alanis falling apart from her gun have me reaching for my aching cock, giving it a rough squeeze. She still tastes like my darkest thoughts, smothered in resentment and rage. I’ve missed her defiance, the way she fights me—or tries to. The other night wasn’t exactly planned, but the beauty that comes from such a dangerous and intimate act was too good to pass up. Especially when that very same gun was pressed to my head, a threat I knew Alanis would never be able to follow through on. If there’s one thing we’ve all been taught, it’s that you never pull the gun on someone you don’t intend to harm. Though, now that I come to think of it, she didn’t exactly hold back, which means her hate for me is deeper than I thought.
The thing is, I live by The Five’s motto.You never say ‘no’ to The Five. I’m making it my life’s mission to embed myself in herlife as much as possible. She can lie to herself all she wants, but we’re not done. We never were, despite the way I left five years ago. I had a job to do, a responsibility to my family. I left her once out of obligation and I won’t make the same mistake again. Now that I’m back for good, she’s going to realize that.
“Hey!” Alvaro calls out from across the gym, swinging his gym bag onto a nearby bench with a thud. “I thought I’d find you here.”
I grab my towel and wipe at the buildup of sweat across my forehead. “Needed to sweat out some pent-up frustration,” I reply, catching my breath at the same time.
Alvaro raises a brow at me. “Sure,” he chuckles with a shake of his head, “and it has nothing to do with my twin?”
I don’t answer my best friend’s jibe. He knows exactly where I was the other night. I don’t need to come up with an excuse as to why I didn’t take the same cab as him back to his place. He’d see through my bullshit even if I did have the courage to lie. We’re too close to keep secrets from one another, which is why I’m a little pissed off after my visit to see his sister.
“I’m assuming from your mood that it didn’t go well?” Alvaro asks from the bench where he’s wrapping his knuckles with tape. He doesn’t look at me, but I sense that’s more out of self-preservation than anything else.
Snatching my water bottle from the floor, I bring it to my lips, taking heavy gulps. My mind travels back to that night, when I was leaving. I didn’t plan on snooping around, but the letter on the kitchen island caught my eye. Alanis doesn’t know it yet, but her acceptance letter to the NYPD Training Program is currently sitting in my bag. I read it word for word last night and this morning, trying to wrap my head around the fact Alanis wants to join the police academy. I’d be happy for her if it weren’t for the fact they’re the enemy. Separating herself fromthe mafia is one thing, but joining the other side just doesn’t make any fucking sense.
Sure, Aunt Lexie was in the NYPD for a long time, but she gave up that career, opting for an easier life where she wasn’t scrutinized over her loyalty to The Five. In all honesty, she wasn’t that loyal to the families. I’ve heard stories of Uncle Trigger getting arrested several times. Aunt Lexie never used her position once to help him out, which is kind of funny when you think about it. That’s their relationship to a T, though.
