Page 47 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

MAKE HIM BLEED

A lessandro

The air inside the Gemini Tower boardroom is thick with tension, more so than usual. Cigarette smoke curls toward the vaulted ceiling, mingling with the stench of espresso and testosterone.

“Put that shit out, Jimmy,” Uncle Nico barks, and his righthand man snuffs out the cigarette in the ashtray, muttering curses.

The long mahogany table is surrounded by some of the most powerful Gemini men, hell, almost all of New York’s underworld.

The gleam of the polished wood catches my eye, reflecting the hard lines of every man seated around it, eyes sharp, tempers sharper.

My father sits at the head, Uncle Nico lounging in the shadows like a panther and Matteo seated beside me, silent for once, his jaw locked tight.

My knee bounces under the table.

I never fidget.

But today, my patience is stretched to a threadbare edge.

“You realize the shitstorm you’ve kicked off, don’t you?” my father growls, tossing a folder onto the table. Photos spill out, blurred surveillance stills, charred cars, crime scene snapshots. “Bodies are turning up all over fucking Manhattan.”

“La Spada Nera made a move on the Vault,” I reply, voice flat. “What was I supposed to do?” I don’t let them answer before I continue. “Then when we were shot at, I just assumed… You expected me to sit on my hands while they dared to hurt what’s mine?”

A few murmurs break out around the table. I don’t look away from my father.

“They shot at you and your girl?” Uncle Nico asks, taking a slow sip of his espresso. “So it’s official then. This Irish nurse is more than a quick fuck?”

I shoot him a glare. “Her name is Rory. And she’s not just some girl. She’s mine .”

The room stills.

Even Matteo doesn’t try to cut the tension with a joke.

Papà leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing. “And how exactly did your n—Rory end up with a death warrant hanging over her head? Dead or alive, a million-dollar bounty in four countries. You keep a walking target in your home, and you don’t think that’s something we should’ve been briefed on?”

A harsh chuckle rasps out. “Me? You’re the one that hired her, Papà . Or did you forget that tiny detail?”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten. And it was a damned good thing my lawyer discovered her forged papers, or we would still be sitting here in the dark like coglione .”

“She didn’t ask for any of this,” I snap. “Her name was Brigid O’Shea. Her father promised her to Conall Quinlan like she was cattle. She ran. Changed her name. Disappeared. Conall wants her back—or dead. And he’s not the type to let go.”

Nico whistles low under his breath. “Well, I’ll be fucked. Brigid O’Shea. The butcher’s runaway bride.”

Matteo finally speaks. “He’s already had men sniffing around in the Bronx. I found two watching the Velvet Vault last night. Irish, not Sicilian. No Spada markings.”

Papà exhales through his nose, slow and lethal. “So you go nuclear on La Spada Nera, kick up old alliances we’ve spent years trying to neutralize, and it wasn’t even them who pulled the trigger?”

“I thought it was,” I bite out. “Rory was with me. I had to make a call. You’d have done the same if it were Mā .”

A muscle twitches in my father’s jaw. Uncle Nico slides into a seat, leans forward, elbows on the table. “So what’s the plan now, capo ? You’ve claimed the girl, pissed off the Sicilians, and painted a big red bullseye on all our backs. What’s your move?”

My move?

I look around the table, at the men who’ve shaped my world, trained me to lead it, rule it.

But none of them know what it’s like to have something, no, someone, worth burning it all down for.

Fuck, that’s not true, my father and Nico know very well, and they would do the same damned thing for their wives.

Cazzo , when did I start thinking about Rory as someone I could spend the rest of my life with? Probably not long after she sashayed into my penthouse and leveled that fiery gaze on me.

“I protect her,” I finally answer. “At any cost. She stays under my roof. No one touches her. If the Irish want to come for her, they’ll have to come through me. Through all of us.”

“You want a war with the Quinlans?” Papà ’s voice is soft now, more dangerous than before.

“I want to finish what they started,” I bark. “If it’s a war they want, I won’t blink. But we need to know if this bounty is official or freelance. If the IRA’s involved. If Conall’s made deals with any of the cartels. We’re not walking in blind again.”

Matteo taps on his phone. “I’ll pull everything we have on known Irish associates in the tri-state area. See if any of them have been active recently.”

“And what about the girl?” Nico asks. “You trust her? After all the lies?”

“She didn’t lie to hurt me. She did what she had to. Just like we’ve all done.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, my father nods. “Alright, figlio . You brought her into this family. That makes her ours now. But if this goes south?—”

“I’ll take the hit,” I interrupt. “No one else. I’ll clean up the mess.”

“Damn right you will,” my uncle mutters.

Papà pushes back from the table, signaling the end of the meeting. “Matteo, dig deeper. Find out where Conall’s money is moving. If he’s paying bounty hunters, someone’s getting paid through a channel we can trace.”

“And if we find him?” I ask.

My father meets my gaze. “Then we remind him what happens to men who come for what belongs to the Geminis.”

The moment the boardroom doors click shut behind me, I exhale through my nose, shoulders still tight with the weight of everything that just went down. I’ve faced gunfire, knives, firebombs. I’ve crawled through the ashes of my own skin.

But nothing guts me like the thought of losing her.

The soft tap of boots on polished marble draws my gaze down the corridor. Rory. Leaning against the wall like she’s barely holding herself together, arms wrapped around her middle. Her face is pale beneath those scattered freckles.

Her eyes meet mine and something inside me lurches. She looks broken.

“Hey,” I say quietly, walking toward her.

Her arms drop to her sides, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Not until I’m standing right in front of her.

“I heard shouting,” she whispers. “Your dad. Your uncle. Matteo.”

I nod once. “They’re pissed. But it’s handled. For now.”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Because of me.”

“No.”

She laughs bitterly, hugging herself again. “Don’t lie to me, Ale. Not now. I know how these things play out. I know what Conall’s bounty means, what it could trigger. Every Irish thug in this city will come sniffing. And if anything happens to you…”

Her voice breaks. She turns her face away, like she doesn’t want me to see the tears she’s trying to blink back.

“Rory—”

“I’ll turn myself in.” The words tumble out of her like a gut-punch, wild and breathless. “I mean it. If it keeps you safe, keeps them from coming after your family, I’ll go. I’ll hand myself over to Conall. Maybe he’ll call off the hunt. Maybe?—”

“Stop.” My voice is sharp, unforgiving. Her words send a chill straight through me.

She flinches but keeps going anyway. “If he hurts you because of me, Ale… I’ll never survive it.

You don’t understand. He destroyed everything I ever was.

Everything I ever had. And somehow, you put me back together.

You made me believe I was still worth loving.

And now I’ve dragged you into the crosshairs of the worst monster I’ve ever known. ”

“I’m not in the crosshairs,” I say, stepping in, cupping her face with both hands. “I am the crosshairs.”

“Ale—”

“No.” My voice cracks, but I don’t care. I press my forehead to hers, the way I always do when the world’s about to fall apart. “You listen to me, Rory Delaney. You’re not going anywhere. You’re not handing yourself over to that sick bastard. Do you hear me?”

Her breath hitches. “But?—”

“I’d rather die than lose you.”

She jerks back just slightly, eyes wide and glistening.

“I mean it,” I rasp. “I survived a goddamn explosion. I can survive a war with the Quinlans. But not a world without you in it.”

Her lips tremble, and then she’s in my arms, burying her face in my chest like she’s trying to disappear into me. I hold her tighter than I probably should. My healing shoulder screams in protest, but I don’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my shirt. “I’m so, so sorry for all of it.”

“I know.” My voice is hoarse. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re mine. And no one, not Conall, not the Irish, not anyone, is going to take you from me.” And I know just how to ensure that.

She leans back just far enough to look up at me, and there it is again. That fierce fire in her eyes, the wild thing that first made me want her and eventually made me love her. “What are we going to do?”

I press a kiss to her forehead, slow and deliberate. “We’re going to make him bleed for every bruise he left behind on your perfect form. Then for the mistake of believing he could ever take you from me and walk away breathing.”

She exhales softly, her breath mingling with my own.

“I love you, Rory Delaney,” I whisper into her ear as I pull her flush against me. “Conall has no claim on you. Not anymore. You’re mine.” Forever.