Page 27 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

SHUT UP AND SWAY

A lessandro

Sitting in a VIP booth at the edge of the dancefloor, the slow rhythm creeps in like smoke.

It’s low, sultry, and dangerous. Rory sits beside me, her bare thigh nearly brushing my slacks.

The near touch is exhilarating, my entire body thrumming with excitement, waiting for the subtle shift which will press her flesh against mine.

Dio, you sound like a horny teenager . There goes that damned irritating inner voice again. Definitely Alessia this time.

Ignoring my twin’s inner monologue as well as that of the mayor on my opposite side, who hasn’t stopped talking since we sat down, I steal occasional glances at Rory from the corner of my eye.

She watches the dancefloor with an unbridled enthusiasm I’ve yet to see from the fiery leprechaun.

“So, what do you say, Rossi?” The mayor’s question draws me from my internal musings.

I stare at him for a long beat, trying to figure out what the hell he asked. He lifts an impatient wiry brow as I fumble, reaching for my drink to buy myself another minute.

“He wants to know if you’ll back his new initiative,” Rory whispers into my ear, leaning so close her warm breath sends goose bumps rippling down my arm. “A nightlife safety task force.”

I don’t need her to explain any further as I fill in the blanks.

Papà had mentioned the city commissioner had come to him at Gemini Corporation with the same proposal just last week.

It would be a partnership to clean up and regulate nightlife.

Gemini and the city “teaming up” to reduce overdoses, crime, and violence in clubs.

In reality, it’s just a way for the city to exert control over venues and skim off profits via compliance fees or shady inspections.

“Hmm,” I mumble, eyeing the mayor. “I’m still thinking on it.”

“Come on, Rossi, this could be a pivotal deal for both the city and Gemini Corporation.”

And the task force stinks of racketeering. The Velvet Vault has been under enough scrutiny lately, and I don’t need to add fuel to the fire.

“I said I’d think about it.” I drop my tone to lethal levels, and this time, he sits back in the plush velvet couch, pouting like a child. A pulse of anger still simmers in my veins. A couple months ago, the coglione never would have pushed me like that in public.

I’m still glaring at the mayor from the corner of my eye when the beat of the music shifts, the strobe lights dim, and the anger begins to wane.

Pivoting my gaze to a much more pleasant view, I find Rory staring off into the crowded dancefloor again. For the first time all night, the music starts to melt into something softer. More intimate.

“Come on.” Rory whirls around in her seat, hand clasping mine.

“Come on, what?”

“To the dancefloor of course.” She’s already tugging my hand.

“No,” I grunt, digging my heels in like a stubborn bastard. “Absolutely not.”

She drops her voice to a whisper. “So you’d rather sit here and argue with the pompous mayor?”

My jaw ticks as I cast a glance in his direction. His arms are crossed over his paunch, a scowl twisting his mustache.

Rory slants me a look that could slice through reinforced steel. “Don’t make me drag you, Rossi.”

“You already are,” I mutter, finally letting her pull me out from behind the table, then forcing me three more reluctant steps forward.

We hit the edge of the floor where masked couples sway in lazy circles, faces brushing, fingers grazing. And everything in me tightens. My scars feel exposed, even beneath the mask, like people can see through the smoke-painted steel and read the ruin beneath.

But she doesn’t let go.

She steps in close, closer than she should, and slips her hand around my neck. Her other hand slides into mine. She presses her body flush against my own, and a rush of heat surges below my belt.

I can’t fucking breathe.

“I hate this,” I rasp. Lie .

“I know,” she says, lifting her chin. “But I love it. So shut up and sway.”

And so, I do.

Even though I know very well how risky this is. In a second, neither of us will be able to ignore my quickly hardening cock. Or the very real feelings developing behind the physical attraction.

Our bodies fit together in a way that’s too easy, too dangerous. Her curves settle against me like they belong there, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. Her scent wraps around me, wild citrus and warmth, and I swear to Dio , I could completely lose myself in it.

My good hand settles on her waist, the silk of her dress slippery beneath my palm. Her skin’s warm under the fabric, pulsing with life. Her fingers trace lazy circles against the back of my neck, and every muscle in my body draws tighter.

The last time I was this close to anyone, I was a different man. Whole. Beautiful, maybe. Now? I’m stitched together with pain and pride, and I don’t know if I deserve the way she looks at me. But she does anyway. And I can’t seem to look away.

We continue to sway, the hypnotic beat spinning around us, cocooning us in a space all our own. The disco lights, the thrumming bass and everything else blur in the distance until there is only her and me and this moment.

My heart beats out a rapid staccato, the unfamiliar dance surprising. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so alive. So full of hope. For a second, I feel like me again, Alessandro Rossi, brutal heir to the Gemini throne and not the ghost I’ve become.

And it’s all because of her .

Because she dares to look at me like a man, not something weak or someone to be pitied.

Rory tilts her head, eyes locked on mine beneath that blazing fire mask. “See?” she murmurs. “Not so bad.”

My voice is rough when it escapes. “You’re dangerous, Red.” My hand lifts to her cheek, to sweep an errant lock behind her ear.

“So are you.”

Her gaze drops to my mouth.

And fuck, I want to kiss her.

I want to rip off this mask and kiss her like I’m drowning and she’s the only thing keeping me afloat.

I lean in, just a fraction and time stands still.

Her lips are only a heartbeat away, her breath mingling with my own.

The heady taste of champagne lingers between us and damn it, I need to know what she tastes like.

I inch closer, and her head tilts toward me. My breath hitches, her lips parting?—

“Boss!” a voice shouts from the edge of the floor.

My jaw tenses as we both freeze.

Vincent. Of course.

He looks sheepish, out of breath as he rushes over. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s something you need to see. Now.”

Rory steps back, and the loss of her heat is immediate, gutting.

I curse under my breath and nod once. “I’m coming.”

As I follow Vincent, I glance back.

She’s standing at the edge of the floor, unmoving, eyes still on me and completely unreadable.

Next time, I don’t care what happens, I need to know how Rory Delaney tastes.

I weave through the masked crowd, the look on Vincent’s face enough to erase all pleasant thoughts from that heated dance with my tiny tyrant. He’s leading me toward a more private bar in the back, the one teeming with the city’s most influential players.

There’s something in Vincent’s eyes, tense, unreadable. The kind of look that doesn’t come from a spilled drink or a celebrity tantrum. No, this is something darker. My pulse kicks up a notch.

Anxiety tightens my chest, but the approach of a familiar body instantly calms my nerves. I’m not even certain how I heard her through the chaos billowing around us. Rory’s intoxicating scent reaches my nose an instant before her shoulder bumps against mine.

“I thought you were staying on the dancefloor,” I murmur, my eyes fixed straight ahead.

“Nah, the only guy I wanted to dance with ditched me.” She shrugs, and I catch the hint of amusement in those bejeweled irises.

“What an asshole,” I mutter.

“Total arse.”

I can’t help the smile from curling my lips as she marches beside me, gorgeous as all hell with that fiery mask.

Vincent flicks the latch beneath the bar and the marble top opens just far enough so we can slip through beneath it.

Dozens of patrons wave cash at the bartenders, shouting their orders.

It’s just as crazy and chaotic as I remember it.

Some of my favorite moments at the Vault were spending the night working behind the main bar, concocting custom cocktails.

But all the fond memories quickly dissipate as Vincent cracks open the door. The scent hits first, sharp, coppery. Blood. Not just a drop either. He doesn’t move from his spot blocking the door. Doesn’t even speak. He just looks at me with that same haunted expression and nods once.

I already know this isn’t just about theft anymore. This is much worse.

Vincent’s dark eyes chase to Rory as if he hadn’t noticed her until now. “You sure you want her coming in, boss?” He remains in front of the small gap in the doorway of the storage room, nothing but darkness beyond his broad shoulders. “It’s not pretty,” he mutters.

Shit. What the hell is he hiding back there?

“Stay out here.” I tick my head at Rory, and her pretty pink lips screw into a pout.

“Like hell.”

“Rory, I’m not asking.”

Lance darts by, a glass in one hand and a martini shaker in the other. My hand snakes out, wrapping around his arm. “I need you to watch her for a minute. Do not let her out of your sight. And for fuck’s sake, do not touch her.”

Rory spears me with a piercing glare, her hands slamming onto her hips. “You can’t make me stay with him.”

I loom over her, narrowing my eyes, but she doesn’t flinch. “No, I can’t. But I can threaten to fire him if you so much as move an inch beyond this bar.”

“You’re such an arse .”

“I know, and more importantly, so do you.” I smirk before sliding past and slipping into the storage room behind her.

The moment I’m inside with the door closed tight behind me, Vincent flicks on the light. The harsh halogen bulbs illuminate the space, and I blink quickly to allow my pupils to focus after the dimly lit club. Once they’ve adjusted, I follow the trail of bloodstains until they land on the body.

And then my stomach drops.

Because I recognize the heels first. And I know exactly who they belong to.