Page 56 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

DROWNING

R ory

The dress is too heavy.

Not just in fabric, though there’s enough lace and satin draped over my body to drown a small village girl. No, it’s the weight of what it means. Of what I’m about to do.

A sacrificial lamb wrapped in couture.

The winter air bites at my exposed skin as I step onto the manicured lawn behind the Quinlan estate.

The grass is crisp with frost, and the sky overhead is the color of ash.

Rows of white chairs are lined up on either side of a makeshift aisle, filled with faces I grew up seeing across smoke-filled pubs and backroom meetings.

The Irish mob families, men with blood under their fingernails and their wives in pearls pretending they’re not just as dirty.

How the hell had Conall managed to assemble everyone so quickly?

The O'Shea clan sits up front. My father. Bran. Even Blaine, with his arm in a sling, eyes bloodshot and fixed to the ground. I can’t bring myself to look at him too long. The betrayal still feels like a knife lodged in my gut.

There’s a violinist playing some haunting melody I don’t recognize. It sounds like a funeral hymn. Very fitting.

And then there’s Conall.

Standing at the altar like the king of the damned, his suit perfectly pressed and his smile cold as the grave. He watches me with the same gaze he always has. It’s possessive, cruel, and certain that I’ll bend. That I’ll break.

But he’s wrong.

Because I’m not doing this for them anymore. Not for Blaine. Not for Da. Not for anyone but myself now. And the moment I see a sliver of a chance, I’m gone. Let them all rot in hell.

My fists clench beneath the veil. I’d rip the whole bloody dress apart if it would make a difference. I’d run barefoot through a patch of thorns if it meant I didn’t have to say those two words. I do . I won’t. I can’t.

Someone shoves me from behind, and I take a shaky step forward, teetering down the aisle on sky-high heels. Another constraint to keep me from running.

Every step is pure torture. And it isn’t only because my heels sink into the dewy grass. On the contrary, I wish the lawn would swallow me whole.

My eyes lift to find Conall’s, and I instantly regret looking up when I meet that icy gaze. Instead, I blink quickly and imagine a pair of blazing irises, one the most beautiful blue of a summer’s day and the other as dark as midnight. Alessandro .

“Smile, Brigid,” Conall murmurs when I finally reach the altar, tearing me from the lovely daydream. His voice is venomous beneath the polite hush of the crowd, nothing like Alessandro’s warm timbre. “This is the happiest day of your life.”

I glare up at him, my lips numb with fury. “You really think I won’t kill you someday?” Maybe even today. I skewered my hairpin dagger through the high bun after the attendant left. It’s well hidden now beneath my trailing veil.

He leans in, brushing my cheek with his lips like a lover, but his whisper chills me to the bone.

“Try anything, and Blaine gets a second hole in his gut. Or maybe your father loses an eye. I haven’t decided yet.

And if by some miracle you do escape again…

” He smiles like a snake. “I’ll carve up your Italian mafioso until there’s nothing left but bones. ”

I keep the frosty mask in place despite the fear ravaging my insides.

“And when I’m done with him,” he adds, voice like acid, “I’ll send what’s left to your doorstep in a velvet box. Right next to your mam’s rosary.”

My blood turns to ice. My chest squeezes.

Alessandro.

I have no idea where he is. But at least he’s alive. God, please, let him have stayed away.

Please, let him come for me .

The priest clears his throat. I didn’t even hear the beginning of the ceremony. My head is a screaming storm. Conall takes my hand. His fingers are ice and iron, manacles to keep me prisoner.

“I now ask the bride?—”

A low rumble shakes the ground.

My head jerks toward the estate. The guests stir, confused.

Another second, then boom !

A wall of heat punches through the air, knocking some of the front-row guests off their feet. The ground bucks under me like a living thing. My ears ring, and smoke coils around my ankles like it’s come to drag me under.

The explosion tears through the east wing of the house, a wall of fire and smoke billowing into the sky then tearing toward the gardens. Screams erupt. Chaos. Gunshots crack in the distance.

I don’t even blink.

Because I know that sound. I know that fury. And I know him .

Alessandro.

He came for me.

Screams pierce the winter air like broken glass, jagged and slicing through the silence. The gathered crowd erupts into anarchy as chairs are overturned, skirts are tangled, and men yell as they reach for weapons. Smoke chokes the garden, thick and fast, curling like a ghost around the altar.

Conall shoves me behind him, barking orders to his men as if he’s still in control. Still the king. But he isn’t. Not anymore.

Because he ’s here.

The brutal heir. The reluctant king to the Gemini throne.

While Conall’s distracted yelling orders, I tear at the bottom of my dress, shredding tulle and silk until I can move.

Then I rip my shoes off, the glittering heels tossed amidst the chaos.

My legs are stiff, my lungs heaving, but I run, dodging Conall’s long arms. I don’t wait for permission.

I sprint toward the smoke, toward the madness. Toward him .

“Stop her!” Conall’s shout pierces through the uproar.

Two of Conall’s guards lunge for me and my fingers are already freeing my dagger, but before they get close, a shot cracks through the air. One drops. Then another.

Gunfire explodes like a symphony of salvation.

“Rory!” His voice. Alessandro.

I skid to a stop, breath ragged, eyes searching through the smoke. “Where are you?” I shout back, a tremor lacing my tone.

And then I see him.

Black tactical gear. Grim jaw. Fury in his eyes like a storm. He’s not the polished heir right now. He’s war, fury and hellfire.

And he’s beautiful.

Behind him, Matteo flanks the east side, followed by Serena and Isabella, dressed to kill in every sense of the word. The Gemini and Ferrara men pour in like a damn cavalry, cutting through Conall’s soldiers like they’ve trained for this moment their whole lives.

“Go, go, go!” Matteo yells, dragging one of our men behind a toppled statue for cover.

Alessandro reaches me just as another Quinlan thug barrels in from the side. I scream, but Alessandro’s already moving. His fist connects with the guy’s jaw in a sickening crack, then spins to fire a shot into another’s shoulder.

He grabs me, pulling me behind a marble column along the terrace.

“You came,” I gasp, gripping the lapels of his jacket like a lifeline. “I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks. “You shouldn’t have… Oh thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you did.”

“I told you I would.” His voice is hoarse, wild. “And I told you I’d burn this place down if I had to.”

I clutch onto him, fisting his shirt. For a moment we just breathe , our foreheads pressed together, our hearts beating like war drums in unison. My lips find his, desperate to breathe him in. The fiery kiss is deep and messy and real. Like I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment.

He kisses me back like a man who just clawed his way out of hell. His hand cups the back of my neck, anchoring me, steadying me even as the earth quakes beneath us.

Gunfire erupts again, and we break apart.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he growls, eyes locked on mine. “And I’m never letting go this time.”

“Fine by me,” I whisper.

He grabs my hand and pulls me through the madness. The estate is a blur of shouts and blood and crumbling stone as the Gemini and Ferrara crews lay waste to what’s left of Conall’s empire.

A voice roars behind us. “Brigid!” Conall.

I freeze, just for a second. My old name is like a whip across my back.

But Alessandro squeezes my hand tighter. “You’re not his anymore,” he snarls. “You’re mine.”

We tear down the back path toward the escape vehicle. The Quinlans are trying to regroup, but they caught them off guard, outnumbered and outgunned. Still, they’ll keep coming. Until Conall’s dead or I am.

We reach the SUV just as Matteo rounds the corner. “Let’s move!”

A flash of motion at the manor’s edge catches my eye. Conall.

Bloodied. Snarling. Gun in hand.

He raises it and aims at Alessandro.

No . No. No . I will not lose him.

I don’t think. I move. I shove Alessandro just as the shot rings out.

Fire rips through my chest like a hot poker. I hit the ground hard, tasting blood in the back of my throat. The lace clings to me, soaked in crimson, and for a terrifying second, I can’t breathe.

“Rory!” Alessandro’s hands are on me in seconds, lifting me, eyes wild with terror.

“I’m fine,” I grit out through the pain. “Just a graze, I’m sure.” But I can already see the spot of deep crimson blossoming across the white lace growing larger.

Alessandro spins, gun already aimed, but with me in his arms, Matteo’s faster. He fires once, and Conall crumples to the dirt like the piece of shite he is. Then Alessandro shoots off a dozen more rounds until my ex-fiancé goes still.

Silence. Just for a second.

“Let’s go!” Matteo shouts.

Alessandro lifts me into the SUV like I weigh nothing, cradling me against him as the engine roars to life. I’m cold. So cold. I press my face into his chest, breathing him in, still not sure this isn’t some dream. His arms tighten around me, one hand shaking as it brushes my hair back.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, voice cracking.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but there’s too little oxygen. I’m fading.

Shite. The bullet must have grazed a lung. I’m suffocating.

“Please, Rory, please stay with me,” Ale whispers, throat raw. “I’ve got you…”

And I believe him. Even as the scene around me blurs and black edges into the corners of my vision.

I’m slipping, drowning in the dark…

Will I ever get the chance to tell Alessandro I love him again?