Page 2 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

TO PRETENDING

A lessandro

New York City – Present Time

The happy, bubbling sounds of laughter ricochet across the grand dining room of my parents’ penthouse as we all gather around the table.

My twin sister, Alessia, sits beside me, arguing with our cousin Serena about CityZen’s latest fashion line.

Apparently, Sere is underwhelmed by my mom’s company’s marketing efforts.

My mother, the formidable Jia Guo Rossi, watches the exchange, a grin teasing at the corners of her lips.

Though she seems to be engrossed in their conversation, I still feel the occasional glimpse in my direction. She barely left my bedside for months…

Serena lifts her crystal flute in a toast, spewing some bullshit about family and then the soft melody of clinking glasses sails across the dining room. It’s amazing how they all act like nothing’s changed. Like I didn’t come back from Milano wrapped in gauze and stinking of burned flesh.

Tightly wrapping my fingers around the delicate stem until I’m afraid it might shatter, I lift my glass in a mock toast. To pretending. To pity disguised as affection. To the ghost at the end of the table.

The kitchen door swings open, and the mouth-watering scents of roasted turkey, savory vegetables and…

marinara sauce fill the air because it wouldn’t be a holiday without pasta in this household.

The cook, with the help of another server, a cute blonde, carries out the enormous, basted bird and an array of silver platters teeming with more food than we could ever eat despite our large numbers.

Two generations of Rossis and Valentinos gathered on Thanksgiving Day, pretending all is right in the world.

But no one pretends harder than me.

I offer a tight smile on occasional intervals, nod when addressed and even reply when necessary. It’s a well-practiced act that I’ve forced upon myself to keep my family from smothering me.

Are you okay, Ale?

Is there anything I can get you?

The scars look much better today.

You’ll be back at the Velvet Vault before long .

All their concerned questions and wary glances are absolutely unbearable. So instead, I force a smile and pretend the last three months since the jet explosion haven’t been hell.

Everyone's laughing, smiling, reaching across dishes like we’re some warm, functional family. Like I’m still one of them. But I’m not. I’m not Alessandro Rossi, heir to the Gemini empire. I’m a fucking shadow of him, burnt, broken, and half-stitched together.

The blonde server moves between my mother and me, her light eyes dropping to the wheelchair I sit in before offering a smile.

It’s one I hate, one I’ve been the recipient of for too many months.

Despite the warm grin, all I see is the pity in her gaze.

In everyone’s gazes. “Dark or light meat, Mr. Rossi?” she finally asks.

“Dark is fine.” The darker the better. In fact, I wish I could disappear into the shadows and never see the light of day again. I tug at the hospital scrubs I wear on most days, the most comfortable clothing over the compression bandages that still cover the majority of my body.

“Let me get that for you, ā Lěi .” My mother, wearing one of her own designs, a ruby red dress with gilded dragons that reflect her Chinese heritage, reaches over the platter to serve me like I’m a child.

“ Mā ,” I bark, sharper than intended. “I can get my own food.”

“I was only trying to help…”

“I know, but I didn’t break my arm.” It’s only covered in gruesome, painful scars from the explosion on that runway in Milano.

“I know that,” she snaps right back, the blood of the dragon that runs through her veins making an unexpected appearance. “Not everything is about that, ā Lěi . Can’t a mother who has barely seen her son the past month, spoil him a little?”

Barely is a complete exaggeration. She finds reasons to stop by my apartment to check on me almost daily since I moved out. But compared to the two months when I was forced to live with my parents during my recovery, it’s a vast improvement.

“ Mā ,” I grind out.

“Fine, whatever. Serve your own damned turkey.” She drops the serving utensils with a clatter and the entire left side of the table spins in our direction.

My uncle Nico and his wife, Maisie, and their boatload of kids all stare.

Only Matteo, my cousin and arguably one of my closest friends, has the decency to keep his eyes down on his plate.

He’s used to my outbursts by now. Luckily, the other half of the table, the Valentino section along with the new addition of the Ferrara brothers, misses it, continuing on with their boisterous conversations.

“Everything okay, spitfire?” Papà leans over his plate to glance between my mother and me.

Mā dips her head, and a sharp pang of guilt streaks across my ruined chest. It isn’t her fault. But that’s the thing about pain, when you’re drowning in it, you’ll claw at anyone who gets close enough to care.

“Yes, everything’s fine,” I grit out before slipping on that practiced mask. My father hasn’t exactly been patient during my convalescence. He’s eager for me to return to work so he can continue grooming his heir.

Even before this happened, I had zero interest in taking the reins at Gemini Corp.

Forced into a suffocating suit, sitting behind a massive desk or leading the discussion in a boardroom full of stuffy white-haired men, doesn’t sound even remotely appealing.

The Velvet Vault is my one true love. Taking a sip of my tiny allotment of wine, I heave out a breath and stare at the mound of meat, pasta and vegetables.

Food I’ll likely never finish. Besides all the muscle tone I’ve lost since being confined to a bed, I’ve also lost my appetite.

Though I’m finally able to walk around mostly unassisted, it’s tiring as fuck.

Which is why I’m sitting in this damned wheelchair today.

After firing my last live-in nurse a few days ago, I’ve been getting along just fine. In only a handful of days dragging myself around my penthouse apartment in this wheelchair, my arms feel stronger, the ache from the first couple days already subsiding.

The cute server moves on to my sister, and I can’t help but watch the mesmerizing sway of her hips in that tight black skirt. If this had been a few months ago, I would’ve already had the girl down on her knees in the butler’s pantry.

But now… Pushing down the surge of heat, I suck in a deep breath and shove a forkful of turkey into my mouth. Despite the delicious flavor unfolding on my tongue, it tastes like sand. Just like everything else I try to eat.

“Hey, Ale!” Serena shouts from across the table where she sits beside her fiancé, Antonio Ferrara. “You up for a night out at The Velvet Vault?”

I barely restrain the scowl, forcing my lips to maintain neutral. “Nah, I don’t think so, Sere.” The idea of going to my club like this sounds worse than getting blown up all over again.

The Vault. My kingdom. My escape.

Now it’s just another place I’ve been exiled from, another reminder that I don’t belong anywhere. Not in this family, not in my body, not in this fucking chair.

“Aw, come on,” Bella whines from a few seats down, her bodyguard-turned-boyfriend, Raffaele Ferrara, looming over her protectively.

She and Serena are cousins on the Valentino side, but they’re more like sisters.

Sere is an only child while Bella has one brother, a few years younger than us, Vinny.

The girls have been best friends since birth.

Luca and Dante, their fathers, respectively, are Papà ’s half-brothers.

Together they make up the leadership of the most notorious crime syndicate in Manhattan, the Kings.

My father and Uncle Nico would disagree, claiming the Geminis with their tie to Mā’s organization, the Four Seas, holds that title.

Either way, the Valentinos and Rossis have found their peace and us cousins are thicker than thieves.

The cousin crew, the silly little name Isabella came up with when we were young, holds strong despite the tumultuous relationship of our parents. And before everything went to hell, most weekends were spent in the decadent VIP lounge of my club.

I haven’t been back since the explosion.

As if Serena has read where my dark thoughts have gone, her lips screw into a pout. “Come on, Ale, please?” She still blames herself for what happened. Sure, I’d gone to Milano to save her from a kidnapping, but it wasn’t her fault.

I should have seen that luggage transportation car coming… I should have realized it didn’t belong there. I should have moved quicker.

I relive that morning every fucking night. And every time it ends with the same result. Me, thrown across the tarmac, my entire body lit up in flames. I squeeze my eyes closed to chase away the grisly images, the choking odor of smoke and burning flesh.

“Hey, you still with us?” Alessia snaps her fingers an inch from my nose. Somehow, my twin always knows when I’ve gone to that dark place.

I blink quickly and meet my sister’s wary gaze.

The fact that she’s worried for me should worry me.

Alessia cares for little more in this life than herself.

I’m the little more. Though I’m technically the older brother, by about twenty minutes, since the accident she’s taken on a motherly role I’m fairly certain is completely foreign to her.

Still, she tries…

“We should go,” she whispers. “You can leave your wheels at home. I’ll be with you.”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you got laid?” A mischievous glimmer darkens her pitch orbs.

I grunt on a frustrated exhale. “I am not discussing this with you.”

“I’ll take it that means it’s been a while, and it’s noticeable. You’ve been more intolerable than normal.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure it’s the not-getting-laid thing that’s the problem.”

“Well, it’s definitely not helping.”

“Come on, Ale!” Serena and Bella whine from across the table.

“Yeah, come on, it’ll be like old times,” Matteo chimes in.

Right, like old times. Only this time, the women will be running away from me instead of toward me once they see the right side of my face, no, my whole damned body, littered with scars.

Fuck, I hate this.

“I’ll think about it,” I grumble before pushing away from the table. “Excuse me.” The wheelchair easily rolls back, and I’m thankful for a quick escape.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Alessia offers.

“No, I don’t need you holding my dick to piss,” I grind out. Definitely harsher than I meant to.

Her dark brows furrow beneath the platinum blonde bangs, and a twinge of guilt batters my insides. I’ve always been an ass, but I’m fully aware I’ve taken it to new levels in the last month.

“Sorry,” I grumble. “I’ve got this.”

She nods quickly before turning her attention back to the conversation of our big night out. The one there’s no way in hell I’m going to. Carefully, I wheel myself around the bustling table, narrowly avoiding my youngest cousin, Rex, who can’t seem to keep all four legs of his chair on the floor.

Wheeling across the long corridor, the cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses finally falls away, and I heave in a relieved breath. Allowing my smile to wane, I’m free to just be my miserable, angry self. I turn the corner and nearly run into a familiar form.

The hot, blonde server freezes in front of me, as I roll the wheelchair to a stop only inches from her feet.

“Shit, sorry,” I mutter, my hands curling around the push rims, jaw clenched with the movement.

“Oh, no, it was my fault.” She offers that smile again, the pitying one, and my fingers tighten around the rubber rings mounted to the wheels.

A swirl of anger bubbles to the surface at her soft smile and the sadness in her eyes.

She seems around my age with long, blonde hair pulled into a neat ponytail.

Beneath the crisp white oxford shirt, I can just make out the swell of her breasts.

With every lingering glance, the fury grows more uncontrollable.

A few months ago, she never would’ve looked at me like that.

No woman would. I was the Gemini heir, rich, powerful, attractive and most of all feared.

“Can I help you get into the bathroom?” She ticks her head over her shoulder to the open door.

Something snaps inside me. “No, there’s nothing you can do to help me, sweetheart,” I growl, “except go in there and get on your fucking knees for me.”

Her eyes widen, and I’m not sure who’s more surprised by the outburst. But as my harsh words echo in the growing silence between us, a whisper of the man I used to be surges to the surface.

“Did you hear me?” I snarl, the savage timbre steadier now. “Get in that bathroom, down on your knees.”

She pales, but a hint of excitement sparks in her wide eyes. Her head dips, and in a hushed, breathy murmur, she replies, “Yes, Mr. Rossi, whatever you say.”