Page 39 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

FEAST OF THE SEVEN FISHES

A lessandro

Christmas lights twinkle from every corner, garland hanging from the lamp posts along Fifth Avenue, and I can’t quite believe it’s already Christmas Eve.

After that depressing Thanksgiving, I’d been dreading the holiday, the big family dinner at my uncle’s house, all the plastic smiles and fake compliments.

But now? After only a few incredible nights with my little leprechaun, dinner with the family doesn’t seem quite so daunting. The fact that I’ll be walking in, not in a wheelchair, and with her by my side makes me feel almost normal. For the first time in months.

I haven’t officially asked her to come to the Feast of the Seven Fishes, not as my nurse, but as mine. Every time I try, the words get lodged somewhere between my throat and my heart.

I want her there tonight not as my nurse but as my… as my what? Girlfriend just sounds childish, and it doesn’t feel like it encompasses the full range of what she’s come to mean to me in only a month.

Which is why I’m wandering the streets of Fifth Avenue like a coglione trying to figure out what the hell to buy her for Christmas.

“There you are!” The chorus of cheery voices sends my gaze lifting to meet three women bounding in my direction.

And also, why I called for backup.

I texted Isabella. Not Serena. Definitely not my twin. Yet here they all are.

“What are you all doing here?” I shoot Bella a quick glare, and her only response is a quick shrug and mouthed apology.

“I just flew in from Milano this morning,” Serena explains. “And when Bella told me she was helping you buy a gift for Rory, I decided jet lag could wait.”

“You really didn’t have to…”

Serena slaps me on the shoulder, the good one, and throws me a grin. “Like I would ever miss out on this.”

“And I’m hurt, honestly, Ale.” Alessia pushes out her bottom lip as she stares up at me with big puppy dog eyes. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you shop?”

Because my sister doesn’t have a sympathetic, caring bone in her body, and I didn’t feel like getting endlessly harassed about my crush.

Which obviously it wasn’t. It was so much more than that.

“I know how busy you are, Alessia. I didn’t want to put you out.”

“I’m never too busy for my brother.” She curls her arm around my waist and blows me an air kiss.

“So what are we thinking, Ale?” Serena cuts in. “Tiffany’s? Or should we go all out and go straight to Harry Winston?” A devious grin parts her lips.

“Sere…” I growl.

“What? That woman is perfect for you, and I knew it the moment I met her.” She jabs her elbow into Bella’s side. “Didn’t I say it?”

Bella nods, throwing me an apologetic smile. “You did.”

“Mark my words, Alessandro will be down on one knee before the summer.”

“No one’s getting down on one knee…” Although hadn’t I just been on my knees for her last night and the one before? And the one before that?

Dio , I couldn’t get enough of her.

“I just want to get her a nice gift. For everything she’s done for me.”

“Oh, please,” Serena interjects, waving a dismissive hand. “Matty already told us you’re head over heels for her.”

“ Cazzo , is nothing sacred in this family?” I mutter. I never should have told my big mouth of a cousin that I’d crossed that line with Rory. But I couldn’t help myself when he’d come over for our weekly chess match. The idiot said I was glowing.

“Nope, nothing,” the three females reply in perfect unison.

“Wonderful…” I can only imagine what dinner will be like now. I better warn Rory before she walks into the chaos. My family can be a bit much…

Bella wraps her hand around mine and totes me toward Tiffany’s. “I think we’ll find something perfect here. Nothing over the top, just something elegant and classic.”

I can’t help the smirk from tugging at my lip as I imagine Rory’s smart-ass response to being called elegant and classic. As the girls tug me into the store, I let my mind wander to heated memories of this morning, to waking up with the little she-devil naked in my arms.

Three nights in a row of sleeping with the same woman is a record for me. And I can’t wait to break it again and again.

The elevator doors slide open to a rush of noise and warmth, laughter, shouting, music, and the unmistakable scent of garlic, lemon, and branzino. Luca’s penthouse is already packed, the gilded hallway overflowing with Valentino and Rossi chaos.

And I’m already sweating.

Not because of the heat, though Aunt Stella has apparently decided her oven must double as a furnace, but because Christmas Eve in this family is like stepping into a battlefield. One where wine glasses are weapons and passive-aggressive remarks fly faster than bullets.

But this year, I’m not walking into the warzone alone. No, this won’t be anything like Thanksgiving.

Rory slips her hand into mine as we step out of the elevator, her fingers squeezing just enough to ground me. I glance over at her, and my chest tightens.

She looks… breathtaking. Not in the way people toss that word around.

In the real, raw, I-can’t-breathe kind of way.

She’s effortlessly, stupidly stunning in a ruby red wrap dress that brings out the wicked glint in her eyes and matches the fire in her hair.

It’s festive. Elegant. Completely her. And she’s wearing it for me.

Dio , help me.

“Breathe, Ale,” she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth, a smirk twitching at her lips. “It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” I mutter. “It’s Luca Valentino hosting Christmas Eve with all of our fucked up family in one room, which is basically the same thing as being dropped into a lion’s den wrapped in prosciutto.”

“I love prosciutto.”

“Not helping.”

Her soft laugh settles low in my gut, dissolving some of the tension there. I lean in and press a kiss to her temple, careful not to linger too long. Not yet. Not in front of the rest of the family.

Sure, now Serena, Matteo, Alessia, Isabella, and their significant others know, but it’s still not everyone. My parents, uncles, aunts and younger cousins all still think she’s just the nurse. The woman who patched me up and stuck around a little longer than expected.

If only they knew the way she undid me. Every. Damn. Day.

If I wasn’t such a coglione , I would tell them. But how can I tell my parents when I haven’t even gathered the nerve to tell Rory how I feel?

We round the corner into the sprawling living room, where multiple generations of Valentinos and Rossis are arguing over cannoli and prosecco.

No little ones yet, but if I squint, I can almost see them.

It won’t be long for Serena and Antonio or Bella and Raffaele.

Soon there will be another generation of Valentinos and Rossis darting around underfoot.

Uncle Dante is yelling in dialect, and Luca, dressed in a pressed suit with a candy cane pinned to the lapel, is already pouring wine like it’s a competitive sport.

“Alessandro!” he bellows, lifting a glass in greeting. “And the lovely Nurse Rory. Buon Natale !” A Merry Christmas it is.

“ Buon Natale .” I nod, plastering on the grin I’ve perfected for nights like this.

Papà ’s sharp gaze finds us next, tugging Mā along behind him.

“Rory, tesoro , come here.” Papà pulls her into a double cheek kiss before I can even process what’s happening. Clearly, someone’s gotten into the eggnog early this year. “You look like a Christmas miracle. Tell me, are you still putting up with my son’s moody brooding and growling?”

Rory flashes him a megawatt smile. “It’s part of his charm, isn’t it?”

He throws back his head and laughs, and my mother, who’s already nursing an Aperol spritz, smirks over the rim of her glass.

“We’re very thankful for you, Rory,” Mā whispers. “The changes we’ve seen in our son in the past month are truly miraculous.”

“I wish I could take all the credit, but Alessandro here has been working his arse off.”

Both of my parents chuckle, and I have to smother the overwhelming urge to kiss her in front of everyone.

The three of them fall into an easy conversation, and I’m surprised by how effortlessly she’s won Mā over.

They’ve only met a handful of times, and my mother is not an easy person to get along with.

And yet, she seems so at ease with the fiery Irish girl.

Serena sidles up next to us, winks at Rory as she chatters away with my family and bumps my shoulder.“She’s already winning over the entire room,” she whispers. “You’re officially screwed.”

“I’ve been screwed,” I mutter. “In every sense.”

Matteo saunters over next, holding up his wine glass. “To nurse Rory, for bringing our Alessandro back to life.”

Rory lifts her glass, beaming.

“Oh, fuck off, Matty,” I growl.

“Now, if you could only do something about his temper…”

“I try every day.” She shrugs, a sparkle in her eyes. “I’m an Irish nurse not a magician.”

Matteo curls his arm around her shoulders, and it’s all I can do not to rip it off. “Did I ever tell you about my Irish girl, Rory? It was a beautiful summer in Sicily?—”

“Dinner is served!” Aunt Stella announces over the chaos, walking into the dining room with an enormous platter of linguini with a lobster perched atop the mountain of pasta.

Pulling Rory free of Matteo, I usher her toward the dining room.

The massive table groans under the weight of all seven fishes, calamari, baccalà , octopus salad, stuffed clams, and more dishes I can’t name but will definitely eat.

I pull out a chair for her beside mine, ignoring the subtle lift of my father’s brows from across the table.

Let them guess. Let them speculate. I don’t care anymore. She’s here. She’s mine .

I hazard a peek from the corner of my eye, the deep flush to her cheeks, the spark in those bejeweled irises.

Dio , she’s breathtaking. Cazzo , I’m in love with her.

Only a month since this woman fell into my life, hell, saved my life, and I’m completely fucking in love with her.

I’ve never fallen for anyone so quickly or so wholly.

Now, how do I tell her?

As the wine flows and the seafood disappears, the din crescendos around us. There are heated debates over the soccer match, old stories retold for the hundredth time, and the never-ending clink of wine glasses and champagne flutes. For once, the chaos doesn’t feel suffocating.

It’s still noisy. Overwhelming. Maddening at times.

But it’s different now. Somehow, Rory always knows when the room gets too loud for me. Because her hand finds mine under the table, fingers lacing through my own without a word. She keeps me steady. Calms the storm I’ve carried inside me since the explosion. Since long before that, if I’m honest.

Matteo catches my eye from across the roast branzino and lifts his wine glass. Then mouths, “ Whipped .” I flip him off behind Rory’s back. He just grins wider.

But he’s right.

I glance sideways again, watching as Rory laughs at something Alessia says, her eyes lit up in the glow of the chandelier.

She’s not just my nurse.

She’s not just the woman who stitched me back together.

She’s the only reason I still know how to breathe in a room like this.

And tonight, surrounded by the commotion and history and people who wear scars like heirlooms, I don’t feel broken.

Not even close. I feel like I’ve finally found my place.

Right here. With her.