Page 18 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

I’M FREE

R ory

My heart thunders against my ribs, drowning out the sounds of the bustling city.

The buildings pass by in a blur, and I’m vaguely aware there’s something familiar about the area.

Lifting my gaze to read the sign across the squat brick structure, I recognize the name.

Holy Cross Nursing Home. It’s where my first patient, Paddy Flaherty resides.

It’s been months since I’ve visited him.

I vow to return the first chance I get if I survive the next few days with Alessandro.

Holding my tote bag tight against my body, I quicken my strides before I turn another corner and find myself in a quieter, uninhabited part of the Lower East Side. I can’t stop glancing over my shoulder as I turn down the deserted alleyway.

Just breathe, Rory .

Maeve never would have given me this guy’s name if he wasn’t trustworthy. My best friend in the world had slipped Ryan Flanagan’s contact information into my hand hours before I was supposed to marry her brother.

Only for emergencies .

He’d been the one to arrange for my arrival in New York, but I’d never met the man in person. And he had no idea who I really was and hopefully no one ever would. Brigid O’Shea died the day of her wedding, and may she rest in peace for all eternity.

Now here I am about to walk into the lion’s den to procure some false documents to hand over to Alessandro’s lawyer. I pause at the rusted metal door at the end of the alley, my hands curling into tight fists at my sides.

Why am I doing this again?

Why couldn’t I simply get a normal job at a hospital or private clinic?

They’d never know the difference between real and forged documents…

No. Instead, I’m about to tie myself to a man who I am ninety-nine percent certain is the heir to one of the biggest Italian crime syndicates in Manhattan. Because I’ve clearly lost my mind.

Because somewhere between the growls and the glares, Alessandro got under my skin. And if I’m not careful, he’ll claw his way into the parts of me I’ve tried to keep locked away.

But I lie to myself like an eejit and swear it’s the cushy job. The posh penthouse, the fancy parties, the limos. Not the broody, scarred mob boss. Or the pain I see in his eyes, a mirror of my own. No, it has nothing to do with his lingering looks and Roman god-like body.

Feckin’ hell, Rory, what are you doing ?

I’m about to spin around and march all the way home to tell Alessandro I can’t do this when the sharp keening sound of the door wrenching open has my heart leaping up my throat.

A beefy guard with Gatorade orange hair and more freckles than me tips his long nose down in my direction. “You must be Rory.”

“That’s me.”

“Right this way. Mr. Flanagan’s waiting for ya.”

Steeling my nerves, I follow the big guy into the dark warehouse.

An icy blast of air raises the tiny hairs on my arms as I trail behind the guard down a corridor lit by a single flickering bulb.

Every step echoes, bouncing off cement walls stained with time and possibly blood.

The smell of old tobacco and rust thickens the air with every breath.

Hugging my arms more tightly around my jacket does nothing to chase away the chill.

Flashes from the past rush to the surface and threaten to pull me under.

Covert meetings with Da’s associates at the pub, running errands for my brothers, the pungent metallic scent of blood and carcasses from the butcher shop…

Blinking quickly, I try to chase back the grisly images threatening to surface. I’m never going back there. This is just a one-time thing. I’ll get the forged docs I need from Ryan and never set foot in this place again.

My escort stops in front of a reinforced metal door and knocks twice. An excruciatingly long moment later, it whips open, and another man stalks out. Dark, beady eyes latch onto mine and hold.

A chill races up my spine at that look, like death’s fingers dancing on a grave.

“Mullen, always a pleasure,” the guy holding the door mutters, urging him through the threshold.

With a dip of his head, I’m finally free of that penetrating gaze. Who in all the blazes was that? And why did he look at me like?—

Before I can think on it too much, the guard ushers me into the room, a small office with only one window. Bars crisscross the double-paned glass, a thick curtain hanging from either side.

Seated at the mahogany desk is a middle-aged man, streaks of silver running through the deep auburn. His eyes meet mine for only a second, a deep, haunting blue before they drop to the stack of files on his desk.

“Rory Delaney, I assume,” he mumbles as he sorts through the tower of paperwork.

“Aye.”

“Ryan Flanagan, a pleasure to finally put a face with a name.” He motions at the chair in front of the massive desk. “Have a seat, lass.”

The big burly guy who accompanied me in moves to stand beside the wall.

“If it’s all the same to you I’d rather remain standing. I’m kind of in a hurry.”

His eyes narrow on me for a moment before they return to the task at hand. “Suit yourself.”

As Flanagan rifles through the files, the first guy taps the desk with his meaty palm. “You’ve got the payment?”

I swallow hard before fishing out the envelope from my bag.

It took me months to save up these two-thousand dollars.

Now if everything goes to hell with Alessandro, I won’t just lose the job, I’ll lose the one shot I have at building a life beyond Brigid O’Shea.

And if anyone finds out, I won’t just be out of a job. I’ll be dead.

Releasing a resigned breath, I unclench my fingers from around the envelope and place it on the desk. “It’s all right here.”

Flanagan ticks his head at the guy then the wad of cash. “Make sure it’s exact, Eoghan.”

“Sure, boss.” Eoghan grabs the knife-shaped letter opener from the desk and slices through the envelope. Okay, maybe it’s an actual knife. Thank goodness I have my own hair-pin dagger firmly tangled in my hair.

I watch as he counts out the crisp hundred-dollar bills, a trickle of sweat dribbling down my spine. Once he’s done, he tips his head at the boss.

“All set?” The words come out in a breathy rush.

Flanagan nods and slides a manilla envelope across the desk. “It’s all in there: the nursing license and board certification from the state of New York, work authorization, and background check.”

“Great,” I whisper on a sharp exhale, tucking the envelope into my bag. “So we’re all good, yeah?”

He nods, sharp eyes scrutinizing. “You never did say how you got my information, lass. Ya mind sharing?”

“A friend from Belfast who’d rather remain anonymous,” I mutter quickly before turning toward the door. The last thing I need is for him to make the connection between me and Maeve, then Conall would surely come next.

My escape from the great Butcher of Belfast had been a big deal in our tight-knit community.

“Good luck,” he calls as I rush out the door.

The mad dash through the dark corridors is nothing but a blur. I barrel through the metal door at the end and stagger into the alleyway. The moment the cool air hits my face I draw in a breath of relief.

It’s over.

With my new job, I can finally move beyond my dark past. No more Conall, no more Brigid, no more strangling fear.

I’m free.

As the elevator zips up to the top floor, I inhale a calming breath, holding the flowers I picked up to my chest. Fire lilies.

They seemed appropriate. I clutched them in my fists the day of my wedding when I ran, and here I am, a year later, finally free.

Leaning against the cool metal, my pulse relaxes to its normal rhythm.

It feels so good to be home. Bollocks, when did I start thinking of Alessandro’s penthouse as home?

The thought bursts the happy little bubble as the elevator doors glide open.

Johnny stands by the entrance, thick arms crossed over his crisp white shirt and black suit. He offers a smile but thankfully doesn’t announce my arrival as he opens the door. Not that I wasn’t allowed to leave, but I had snuck out before Alessandro woke up.

The familiar smell of Mrs. Jenkin’s homemade carrot-bran muffins fills the penthouse as I tiptoe past the guard.

“Where have you been?” That deep timber resonates deep inside me, all the way to my bones. Alessandro appears around the corner, walking surprisingly well today. He’s been adamant about getting out of that wheelchair for good, and I’m damned proud of the progress he’s made.

“Went out to get a manicure. Is that okay with you, nosey?” I flash him a sneer along with my stubby, polish-free nails.

“You were gone when I woke up and I was just?—”

“I went to get the papers you requested for your lawyer to draft my contract.” I pull out the manilla envelope from my tote bag and hand it over.

“Oh.” A reluctant smile kicks up the corners of his lips, and it shouldn’t affect me as much as it does. “Good.”

“Good,” I echo.

“And those flowers?”

I give a noncommittal shrug. “I thought they would bring some life to the place. They’re fire lilies.”

“ Fire lilies?” His lips twist.

“Yes, because even fire gives birth to beauty.”

His eyes soften, mouth curving and the sight has my heartbeat accelerating once again.

We remain like that standing in the middle of the foyer, eyes locked, for an endless moment.

He’s searching my eyes for an answer I can’t quite provide.

I’m happy that this has worked out, but I’m also terrified.

Because as much as I’ve tried to run from my past, I’m scared that fate has led me right back into the very darkness I swore I’d never face again.