Page 51 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

ONE LAST brEATH

R ory

“I want to take you out on a real date.” Alessandro’s voice, low and oddly reverent, catches me off guard as I sip the caramel macchiato in a quiet corner of the café.

My eyes lift to meet his guarded ones as I fiddle with a lock of hair that’s fallen free from the messy bun atop my head. Secured by my trusty hairpin dagger of course. “Excuse me?” The café below his penthouse has been the farthest I’ve left the apartment in days.

“You heard me, Red.” He shifts in his seat, toying with something under the table. “Our relationship hasn’t exactly been conventional, and I want to fix that. You deserve a real date, the nice restaurant, fancy dress and whole nine yards.”

“Now? In the midst of all this shite with Conall?”

Alessandro heaves out a breath and sits back in his chair. “I don’t want that pezzo di merda to dictate our lives more than he already has,” he grits out.

“I don’t disagree with you, but…”

“But what?” He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his big one. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

I snort on a laugh, the unexpected turn of phrase catching me off guard. “Afraid of a date with you, McFecker? Please…”

“So, it’s a yes then?”

“Of course it is. Any reason to get out of the penthouse.”

He chuckles, the warm sound sending delightful tingles across my skin. “And don’t worry, it’ll be perfectly safe. I’ll arrange for a whole horde of guards and a private dining room?—”

I raise a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t have to sell me on the idea, Ale. A real date with you sounds perfect.”

“Good.” A soft smile spreads across his handsome face, and my heart flip flops at the sight. Jesus, Mary and Joseph… I’m so gone for this man.

I lift the macchiato back to my lips, letting the warmth coat the sudden nerves wiggling around in my gut.

My phone buzzes against the table. I cast a quick glance at the screen.

It’s an unfamiliar number, except for the country code. Northern Ireland.

The second I process the meaning, a cold sweat breaks out across my spine. The macchiato churns in my stomach. My fingers are already shaking before I reach for the phone.

Some unknown force makes me slide it off the wood with a nonchalance I don’t feel. “Gotta use the loo,” I mutter before rising to my feet, keeping my eyes down.

“I can go with you…”

“No,” I squeal, the sharp sound escaping without my control. I haven’t even seen the message but already a knot of dread has formed in my gut. “I don’t think we’re at that stage yet.” I do my best attempt at blasé despite the storm churning through my insides.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve already seen each other at our worst.” He smirks.

“Maybe I’ve seen you at yours, but you haven’t even come close to mine.” I force that cheeky grin again. “No worries, you’ll get your turn, I’m sure. Just not today.”

Alessandro doesn’t question it further, just nods, sipping his espresso like he hasn’t spent the last two weeks obsessively tracking every move I make. But he’s comfortable here. We both are.

I race to the back of the café, my heart lodged in my throat. The bathroom is small but clean. I lock the door, brace both hands on the counter, and unlock the message with trembling fingers.

Conall has Blaine. Says he’ll slit our brother’s throat if you don’t come back. Meet me, Brigid. Just meet me. Then you decide.

My knees buckle, and I stagger back into the sink for balance as bile scorches up my throat.

Bran.

No. No, no, no.

I grip the porcelain so hard my knuckles ache, forcing myself to breathe. Blaine. My baby brother. The cocky little shite who thinks he’s invincible, who once stayed up all night with me when I was too afraid to sleep, making jokes until I laughed through the tears.

Now, he’s in Conall’s hands. And I know what those hands can do.

That monster already ruined one life. Mine. I can’t let him take another.

Jesus, what do I do?

I drag in a ragged breath, staring at my reflection, at the girl who swore she’d never let Conall Quinlan have another piece of her.

I swore I’d never go back. The butterfly poised below my collarbone glitters beneath the dim light, reminding me of the man I love.

My fingers close around it, an anchor in the oncoming storm.

If I don’t go, Blaine dies.

I can’t tell Alessandro. He’d never let me go. Hell, he’d lock me up tighter than Fort Knox, pacing like a caged animal while I tore myself apart with guilt. And what would he think of me then?

Would he look at me with those soft, shattered eyes the same way, or would I see the disgust I’ve always feared?

Could I even leave him behind, knowing I might not come back? Worse… knowing he might tear the world apart to find me…

Ale. My heart squeezes painfully, images of him flooding my mind—his crooked grin, the way his hair falls into his eyes, the way he holds me like I’m the only thing tethering him to this world. The way he makes me feel like I belong, like maybe I could have a future that isn’t soaked in blood.

If I go, I could lose all of that.

But if I don’t, I lose Blaine.

Feckin’ hell.

My trembling fingers fly across the keys.

Me: How do I know it’s really you?

An image comes through. Blaine’s wild auburn hair, the hazel eyes that always spark mischief, the jaw that’s grown sharper, older. He looks like absolute shite, dark circles under his eyes, hollow cheeks. But it’s him.

Me: How did you find me?

Bran: Does it really matter right now?

Me: Yes.

Bran: One of our allies spotted you in a magazine with that fella from the Italian mafia.

Damned paparazzi.

I swallow, blinking back the burn in my eyes as I stare at my phone, indecision shredding me from the inside out. I can’t lose Blaine. I can’t lose Ale. I can’t?—

Bran: So are you coming, Brig? Conall only gave me twenty-four hours to find you.

I press an unsteady hand over my mouth, tears slipping free as my brother’s smiling eyes fill my vision. The brother who called me Shady O’Shea, who told me I was the strongest person he knew.

I think of Ale again, of what it would do to him if I left. If I never came back. Of the promises I’d made never to run again. Of the way his hands shake when he thinks I’m hurt. The way he said he’d keep me safe.

I want that. God, I want that more than I want to breathe.

But there’s only one choice. It’s Blaine…

I swipe my fingers across the screen.

Me : Meet me at Holy Cross Nursing home in the Lower East Side, Room 103. Half hour.

It’s risky, but it’s familiar. Neutral ground. If Bran is lying, if this is a setup, well, then I deserve whatever’s coming. But if he’s telling the truth…

I flush the toilet for show, splash cold water on my face, and step back into the café. Alessandro is still seated, scrolling through something on his phone.

I press a smile to my face then turn my gaze toward the long line at the counter. “Mind grabbing me a pastry?” I ask, casually enough.

He glances up, brow arching. “Sure. Same one as last time?”

It took him almost fifteen minutes when we came last Sunday morning. That should be enough time.

“Surprise me,” I reply, voice steady even as my heart threatens to break free from my chest, and tears begin to blur my vision. Shite, I don’t want to do this.

God, I’m so sorry, Ale .

As soon as he turns, his name spills from my lips. He whirls around, a soft smile playing across his lips.

I don’t say anything for a long minute, I just take him in. “I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you more.” His grin widens, and he moves to the back of the insanely long line.

As soon as his back is to me, I slip toward the door by the bathrooms without grabbing my coat, then duck into the alley behind the café.

I dart through the alley’s mouth just as I hear the café door creak open behind me.

I don’t look back. If it’s Ale… if he sees me now, I’ll never make it out.

The winter air slices through me, sharp and brutal, but it’s nothing compared to the guilt and pain slicing through my insides.

I hate this. Lying. Leaving him like this.

It’s like leaving behind a piece of my heart. But what else can I do?

If there’s even a chance to save Blaine, I have to try.

I’m sorry, Ale , I whisper again silently into the wind, blinking back the sting in my eyes as I disappear into the city. I’ll come back to you. I swear.

If I survive the next hour.

The taxi’s tires crunch over icy gravel as it pulls to a stop outside Holy Cross Nursing Home, a crooked little building tucked behind a church in the Lower East Side. The whole place smells like boiled cabbage and antiseptic, but it’s quiet. Off-grid. Safe… or at least it used to be.

I step out, hoodie drawn low over my face, breath fogging in the sharp winter air. My fingers twitch at my sides, nerves and adrenaline dueling it out beneath my skin.

Inside, warmth and forced cheer hum through the air. Cheap holiday decorations still dangle from the ceiling even though the new year has already come and gone.

I make my way down the linoleum corridor, heart rattling against my ribs. Room 103.

Paddy’s room.

He won’t be there. Not today. He’s gone for his monthly check up with Doc McNally. But the staff won’t realize I know that.

I slip inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The room’s dim, the curtains drawn, one bedside lamp casting golden light over the worn recliner beside the window.

And there he is.

Bran .

I draw in a breath, my past and present colliding in hyper speed. Only a few hours ago, I was ready to put all of it behind me. To start a new life with Alessandro. And here I am, dragged back into the past.

Bran leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. Same unruly auburn hair as mine, same stubborn jaw, though his is lined with exhaustion and something darker. Guilt maybe. Or worse, resignation.

I stiffen, every instinct screaming to run, but I don’t.

“Where is Da?” I ask, voice flat.

“Back home. Conall’s men took the piss out of him a few days ago. The old man is barely alive.”

I wait for the ache to come, to feel something for the man who raised me, but it never does. It surprises me, even after all the shite I went through because of him. “And Blaine?”

Bran exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “He’s alive. For now.”

“Don’t feck with me, Bran.” My voice cracks like a whip. “If Blaine’s already dead—” Like Maeve… I don’t dare speak her name out loud.

“He’s not.” My brother pushes off the wall, steps toward me slow and heavy. “He’s at a holding site near Cork. I’ve been getting messages through a burner. He’s bruised, but breathing. Conall wants a trade.”

My stomach churns.

“I’m not an object,” I spit. “I’m not something to be handed over like a damned prize.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Bran’s voice is low, rough. “You think I wanted any of this? But I’ve got no power left, Brig. They stripped us of it, me, Da, all of us the day you ran. The only reason I’m still walking is because I agreed to help bring you in.”

A beat of silence stretches like a blade between us.

“You are coming back with me, aren’t you?” he adds quietly.

I blink, and suddenly I’m not in this drab little room in the nursing home anymore.

I’m curled on the couch in Alessandro’s penthouse, his head in my lap, eyes closed, lashes brushing his scarred cheek. My fingers thread through his dark hair, and for once he looks… peaceful. Like the war inside him is sleeping. A rare lull between storms.

He murmurs something I barely catch. “Don’t go.” Then tightens his grip on my thigh like he already senses I’m slipping away.

That was two nights ago.

I told him I’d never leave him.

And now I’m about to prove myself a liar. Again.

I glance down, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “Conall will kill me.”

“He’ll kill Blaine if you don’t come back.”

And you think he won’t kill me after? I don’t say it. I can’t.

Is my life worth more than my brother’s? Not if I’m forced to spend whatever I have left of it with Conall.

“I don’t know yet,” I finally hiss. “I wanted to see your face before I made my choice.”

Bran’s throat bobs. “And?”

Alessandro’s face fills my vision, his deep voice, that familiar touch, and I nearly break. How can I do this to him? To us?

“You made a vow to Conall,” he starts.

“Feck that, Bran. I had no say in that marriage, and you know it. Da forced me to marry that bastard.”

“Either way, Blaine doesn’t deserve to die because you shirked your duty.”

Unbelievable. I want to scream. I want to stab at something repeatedly. I consider loosing my hairpin dagger but think better of it.

My family never gave two shites about me until the Butcher caught up with them.

And still, here I am, the first to run back at their call. I square my shoulders. I’ll find a way out of this somehow. “I’ll go back,” I spit.

My heart lodges in my throat as I say it. The words feel like knives. Like chains. But Blaine’s my baby brother. I held him when he cried the day Ma died. I taught him how to throw his first punch. I can’t let him die for me. Even if he failed me, I won’t do the same.

Bran blinks. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

He looks at me like he doesn’t believe it. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to.

“Does Rossi know where you are?”

“No,” I whisper. “And you’re not going to tell him. I don’t want Conall anywhere near him.”

Bran scoffs. “Do you think the Italian will just let you vanish?”

A wave of nausea rolls through me. “He’ll hate me, but he’ll live. I just hope he doesn’t come looking for me before I do what I have to.”

Footsteps echo in the hall beyond the door. Maybe one of the staff saw us come in.

I press my hand to Bran’s chest. “Just give me a minute alone.”

“Brig—”

“I mean it.” My voice shakes as I pull my phone out from my pocket. “Alessandro saved me. I won’t leave him without at least a text message…”

Bran studies me a second longer, then nods. “Okay. But if you’re not out in five, I’m coming in after you. Conall’s private jet is waiting at the airport?—”

“Of course it is.”

He huffs a short, bitter laugh then heads for the door.

My fingers fly across the keypad, my throat thick with emotion. Then pocketing my phone, I glance around the room one last time. One last breath. One last second.