Page 33 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

COMPLETELY PLASTERED

R ory

The silence in the penthouse feels too loud as I take another bite of the sandwich Mrs. Jenkins prepared before leaving this afternoon.

Every tick of the wall clock grates on my nerves.

I should be relieved that things have returned to some version of normal, but instead, dread coils low in my stomach like something’s coming. .. something I can't name.

The front door swings open, and raucous laughter booms across the marble floors, bouncing around the high ceilings. The familiar, deep timbre awakens something low in my belly.

“What the devil?” Dropping the half-eaten sandwich, I slide off the barstool in the kitchen and dart toward the entrance.

Johnny holds the door open as Matteo drags a stumbling Alessandro through the threshold. He’s limping, beads of perspiration slickening his brow and a pang of fear lances through me. It’s so violent, I lurch forward, my heart catapulting itself against my ribcage.

“Alessandro?” My voice isn’t my own, it’s laced in panic and something else I refuse to name. Wedging my shoulder under his armpit and wrapping my arm around his waist, I hold him steady against me. Narrowing my eyes at his cousin, I hiss, “What the feck happened to him?”

Alessandro dips his head, a shite-eating grin on his lips. “Relax, little leprechaun, I’m perfectly fine.” A wave of whiskey pummels into me, making my nose twitch.

“You’re completely plastered!” I shriek.

That grin only turns more devious as he leans into me like I’m the only thing tethering him to the earth. He’s nothing but dead weight, and if it weren’t for the wall to my side providing support, I doubt I’d be able to keep us both upright.

“It’s barely past three,” I grumble.

He cups my cheek, running a calloused thumb across my cheek. “Relax, pretty Rory. You don’t need to be so uptight all the time.” He hiccups, his whole body vibrating against me. “Just chill…” he slurs, dragging out the L for an endless minute.

He’s ridiculous right now. Plastered, clothes wrinkled and frumpy, too smug for his own good. And yet, with his arm around me and that crooked grin on his face, something tender lodges in my chest. Damn it .

“What is wrong with you, Matteo?” I bark, whirling on his cousin. “How could you let him get this rat-arsed in the middle of the day? You’re as thick as shite and only half as handy.”

“Is she speaking English?” Matteo glances back and forth between Alessandro and me.

“No idea, Matty.” He shrugs, his weight shifting, and my knees nearly give. “It’s cute though, right?”

Ignoring his ridiculous smile, I whirl on the other Rossi. “Well, don’t just stand there like an eejit. Help me get this steamin’ bastard onto the couch.”

“Right.” His cousin nods, moving to Alessandro’s opposite side, and we haul him into the great room. The television drones on in the background, some local news channel I’d turned on while he was gone. The huge penthouse felt too quiet and empty without him.

When we finally reach the couch, I try to unwind my arm from around his waist, but he drops like an anchor onto the sofa, taking me down with him in a tangle of limbs. His arm slung across my middle pins me to the plush leather, his leg trapping me to the spot.

Matteo’s chuckle only further irritates my nerves.

“Get out,” I hiss from under the big brute as I try and fail to lift my head. “And Alessandro is never allowed out with you again.”

“Okay, Mom.” Now the laugh vibrates just above me. “You are not the boss of me, Red.”

“That’s what you think.” I sear him with a glare as I try to wriggle free of his hold. He’s curled into my side, his head propped on his hand as he leans on his elbow. He shifts his weight so that half of his torso blankets me now, that massive leg across my lower half.

“And I think that is my cue to leave.” Matteo dips into a dramatic bow, saluting his cousin. “Not that I don’t love being berated by your spitfire nurse…”

“Rory’s right. Get out.” He says the words to his cousin but keeps his gaze locked on me. The smirk brightens his eyes, the opposing light and dark hues radiating mirth as he twists a lock of my hair around his finger. “You’ve done enough for one day.”

“That’s it, Ale. That’s the last time I try to do something nice for you.” Matteo shoots him a grin in return. “See you later, cuz.” Then that teasing gaze pivots to meet my glare. “Take good care of him, nurse Rory.”

“Oh, just go home already, you useless gobshite.”

His dark chuckle echoes down the hallway as he saunters out. At the moment, I’m not certain who is the more infuriating of the two Rossis.

Alessandro peers down at me, his hand barely holding up his heavy head. His eyes are hooded, a mischievous grin slashing across his lips.

“What are you smirking about, McFecker?”

“Nothing…”

He shifts beside me again, and this time, I feel it. The reason he’s smiling like the cat who ate the canary. The eejit’s cock is as stiff as a whiskey from old O’Connell’s Pub.

“Alessandro…” I growl.

“What?” He’s the picture of innocence, a smile gracing his lips that would have Sister Agnes on her knees.

He leans in closer, that musky amber scent mixing with the warm whiskey on his breath.

An unexpected rush of heat surges from the tips of my toes and settles in my core.

I squeeze my thighs together to banish the blossoming ache.

Get a hold of yourself, Rory .

His fingers still twist my hair, his gaze locked on the ruby strands. Then he sweeps the errant locks behind my ear and his hand lingers at my cheek for an impossibly long moment.

His eyes lock on mine, a storm of emotion reflected in the icy blue and turbulent midnight of his irises.

The air catches in my throat as the hand attached to the arm across my torso begins to draw lazy circles on the sliver of exposed flesh between my scrubs.

The ache between my legs intensifies, and my eyes chase to his lips.

They’re a perfect bow, untouched by the fire on the right side.

Heated memories of the kiss surge to the forefront of my mind.

The desperation.

The clash of tongues and teeth.

The power of all the things left unsaid.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, drawing my gaze back to his eyes.

“For what?” My words are nothing but a serrated whisper.

“For wanting what I don’t deserve.”

“Don’t say that…”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“That’s not why this can’t happen.” I barely breathe as I force the words out, and my hand climbs to the right side of his face.

He tenses, his entire body as taut as a bowstring.

Gently, I stroke the soft, raw, pink skin with the lightest touch of my thumb.

“Scars or not, Alessandro Rossi, you are without question one of the most breathtaking men I’ve ever seen, maybe even more so because of them. ”

His breath hitches, eyes flaring as if my words struck some raw, unprotected nerve deep beneath the surface. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The only sound between us is the quiet rhythm of our breathing, syncing like some primal beat neither of us dares admit.

“Then why?”

I don’t answer, all the words stuck at the back of my throat. How can I explain all the reasons I’m terrified to fall for him without unraveling the dark, twisted past I’ve fought so hard to keep buried?

Then his forehead drops to mine.

“I want you, Rory,” he murmurs, so low it’s barely a sound. More like a confession. “Not just like this. Not just for a night. I want all of it. But I don’t know how... not without ruining it.”

I swallow thickly, the heat between us spiraling. He’s shite-faced, I remind myself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Still, a thousand replies remain perched at the tip of my tongue, but I don’t dare utter a single, traitorous one.

His lips are a whisper from mine. One shift. One slip. That’s all it would take.

But instead of pressing forward, he pulls back just an inch, eyes searching mine, like he’s asking permission. My hand is still on his cheek, my body strung tight and every nerve on fire.

I shouldn’t. God help me, I shouldn’t. But his eyes are burning into mine, and all I can think is if I don’t kiss him right now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.

So I do the only reckless, right thing I can.

I close the space between us.

My lips brush his, and the kiss is slow this time.

Deep. Lingering. Less crazed collision and more earnest exploration.

A soft sweep of lips, a shared breath, a trembling question with no answers.

His hand curls behind my neck, pulling me closer until I’m tucked against the wall of his chest, heart to heart, breath to breath.

It’s everything. Too much. Not enough.

My body melts against him, all tension forgotten as his mouth coaxes mine open, his tongue brushing against my own in a rhythm that makes my toes curl and my thoughts scatter like ash in the wind.

But too soon, my thoughts begin to spiral and reality crashes back in. My past. My duty. The fine line I’ve already obliterated.

I pull away, chest heaving, forehead still resting against his. “We shouldn’t,” I whisper again, this time more to myself than to him.

His eyes are heavy with need, confusion, and most of all longing. But he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t pull me back. He just nods once. And the absence of protest says everything.

We can’t do this.

Despite how much I want to.

“… the body of Chip Armstrong…” The reporter’s voice cuts through the emotion-fueled haze, and I shove Alessandro to the side, jolting straight up. I reach for the remote and raise the volume, ice coursing through my veins as a monster’s familiar face fills the screen.

Brutal murder .

Hacked to pieces .

Remains found in the Hudson River .

I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until the room tilts sideways.

“Holy shite,” I hiss out.