People love to talk about legacy like it’s a gift.
But when you’re born into power, it’s not something you unwrap with excitement it’s something that wraps around your throat.
Growing up in this world didn’t feel like luxury.
It felt like a test I wasn’t allowed to fail.
My earliest memories weren’t of dolls or schoolyard games — they were of velvet rooms filled with cigar smoke, the faint metallic scent of guns, and voices lowered in warning. My bedtime stories were told in hushed tones about men who crossed my father and were never seen again. My lullabies were the clink of whiskey glasses and the sound of boots on marble.
Other kids had family dinners. I had strategy briefings over steak and silence.
Even as a child, I understood that I wasn’t just Lyra I was Douglas D’Angelo’s d
