Page 59 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

SOMETHING SACRED

R ory

The snow taps against the glass of Alessandro’s bedroom like it’s trying to sneak inside. Feckin’ hell, it’s cold. I shift against the pillows, just enough to remind myself why I shouldn’t. Pain blossoms beneath my ribs like something blooming the wrong way.

A hiss escapes my clenched teeth.

“Don’t move.” Ale’s voice echoes from the doorway. Deep. Rough. Possessive as sin.

He steps into the bedroom, sleeves pushed up, a bundle of gauze and antiseptic in one hand, his jaw tight like it’s wired in steel.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

He doesn’t answer. Just sets everything on the nightstand and kneels beside the bed, eyes scanning me like I might shatter under his hands.

“Your color’s better today.” His voice is low, haunted. “You ate, and you didn’t pass out in the shower.”

“That’s because you didn’t let me take a real shower.”

“Because you still bleed when you breathe too hard.”

I open my mouth, then shut it again.

He peels back the covers, hands careful, practiced. He hasn’t let anyone else touch me since we got back from Belfast two weeks ago. Not the nurse, not the doctor who comes by every few days. Just him.

I should protest. Say he doesn’t have to do this. But I don’t. Because a tiny part of me loves the way he dotes on me. I’ve never had that before.

And I definitely don’t protest when he lifts my tank top like it’s made of glass.

Like I’m some fragile little thing in need of his protection.

Not when his fingers skim the edge of the gauze taped over the bullet wound on my right side.

Not when I see the flicker in his eyes. Grief, guilt, and rage are all carved into the planes of that beautiful, scarred face.

“Ready?” he asks, voice barely more than gravel.

I nod.

The first tug of the bandage stings. I flinch before I can help it. He goes still.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” I breathe. “Just… keep going.”

He does. Slowly, carefully, like I’m sacred. The wound’s healing, ugly and pink, sutures like little soldiers lining the angry flesh. No infection. No fever. But the ache is bone deep.

“You’re good at this,” I whisper.

“I learned from the best.” The hint of a smile emerges before he leans in, inspecting it closer. His thumb hovers just beside the wound. “You should’ve run in the opposite direction,” he whispers, not quite looking at me. “You should’ve let me take the bullet.”

A rueful smile curls my lips. “That’s not how this works.”

“I came so damned close to losing you, Rory.”

My breath catches, but it’s not from pain this time.

His eyes finally meet mine. There’s no armor left in them. Just the man who sat beside my hospital bed for eight straight days. The man who hasn’t slept more than three hours a night since.

“You didn’t,” I whisper.

But he doesn’t answer. Just picks up the antiseptic, dabs it over the raw skin like a prayer. I hiss again, and his jaw clenches.

“I used to think this was weakness,” he mutters as he secures the final bandage. “Taking care of someone. Needing someone.”

“And now?”

His eyes flick to mine. “Now I think the only thing that scares me more… is losing you.”

The world stops. The snow keeps falling.

And for once, I don’t feel the weight of pain, or stitches, or the ghosts of our past pressing in. Just the warmth of his fingers brushing mine. The quiet thrum of something that’s survived bullets, betrayal and blood and everything in between.

I reach for his hand. He doesn’t let go. The brilliant emerald and the matching diamond band on my ring finger catches the light, bringing a smile to my face. “When are we going to tell them?”

“When you’re well enough to endure a group hug from my overenthusiastic family, Mrs. Rossi.” The hard line of his jaw softens on the final words.

Mrs. Rossi.

I can’t quite believe it myself. I’m not even certain our marriage is completely legal given the amount of pain medication I was on when I said ‘I do’ from that hospital bed.

There was no aisle. No music. No bouquet.

But he was there, and I’d never been more sure of anything in my life.

The priest clears his throat gently. “Are you ready?”

I glance up at Alessandro. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days because he hasn’t. But his eyes are clear when they meet mine. Steady. Fierce. The kind of look that makes it impossible to feel anything but safe, even when you’re in a hospital gown with fresh stitches beneath your ribs.

“I’m ready,” I whisper.

He reaches for my hand, careful of the IV. His fingers are rough and warm, anchoring me. He nods to the priest.

“I have my vows,” he says, voice low.

The priest gives a soft nod. “Go ahead, son.”

Alessandro shifts closer, one knee resting on the edge of the mattress. He looks at me like I’m something holy. Something he almost lost.

“I never thought I’d get to do this,” he begins, voice tight.

“Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t think I deserved it.

I was broken and angry, and bitter as all hell.

But then you showed up. Red hair, reckless mouth, no sense of self-preservation.

” He huffs a breath, almost a laugh. “You didn’t see a monster.

You saw me and you stayed. Even when I was a total fecker.

Even when it would’ve been easier to walk away and leave me to my misery. ”

His grip tightens slightly around my fingers.

“I vow to love you in the quiet and the chaos. To protect you with everything I have. Even when you’re the one throwing yourself in front of bullets. I vow to choose you. Every day. In every lifetime.” He pauses. “You are my redemption, Rory. And I am so goddamn lucky to be yours.”

I swallow hard. God, I love this man. My throat burns worse than my stitches, and I squeeze his hand back. “Okay,” I rasp, blinking fast. “My turn.”

I take a breath, ignoring the sharp ache in my side.

“I didn’t believe in fate before you,” I begin.

“But then I met your cousins, and they steered me to you. You crashed into my life like a wrecking ball made of shadows and scars, and suddenly, everything made sense. You are the storm that shook me awake. The fire that burned away everything else. And I love you, not in spite of your darkness, Ale, but because of it. Because you fight every day to be more than what circumstances made you.”

His eyes shine. He blinks hard.

“I vow to be your peace when the weight is too much. To remind you of who you are when you forget. I vow to fight for us, to stand beside you even when the world tells me to run. And I vow that this love, our love, will never be something you have to earn. You already have it. All of it.”

I exhale shakily. “You are my home. And I will never stop coming back to you.”

The priest waits a moment, respectful of the silence wrapping around us like silk. “Do you, Alessandro Marco Rossi, take Rory Brigid O’Shea to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

His voice doesn’t tremble. “I do.” He says it with such certainty my breath hitches.

“And do you, Rory Brigid O’Shea, take Alessandro Marco Rossi to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” I whisper.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss ? —”

But Alessandro’s lips are already on mine.

He kisses me like he’s breathing for the first time. Gentle, reverent, a hand cradling my face like I’m breakable and beloved all at once. I feel the heat of him, the strength, the promise.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips. “You’re mine now.”

I smile.

“Wasn’t I always?”

And I don’t regret a single thing about that day.

Alessandro is dreading telling his family, not because he’s worried they won’t accept me, but because of how angry they’ll be that they didn’t get to attend. So as soon as I’m well enough, we’ll host an extravagant wedding reception with all the bells and whistles.

For them.

The simple exchange of vows in that hospital room was for us.

As the days dragged on in that cramped little room, all I had was time to think. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I certainly wasn’t Brigid O’Shea… but I wasn’t really Rory Delaney either. She’d been built on lies.

I twist the emerald ring around my finger, letting its cool weight remind me that Rory Brigid Rossi could be anyone she wants to be.

“Breakfast?” Alessandro’s voice draws me from my inner musings.

“Are you cooking?” I shoot him a smirk.

“Well, someone has to pick up the slack around here since you’ve been incapacitated.”

A laugh tumbles out before I can stop it, and I immediately regret it. Despite my best effort at holding back the wince, he sees it.

That darkness carves into his jaw again, but before it can settle, I reach for his face and run my thumb across the stubble. “I’m fine, Ale. I’m more than fine—I’m happy. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

He slowly shakes his head, heaving in a breath. “We’ve got to work on your happiness bar, Red. It’s set much too low.”

“That’s what I have you for, McFecker.”

A smile, a real one, flashes across his face.

He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles, then works his way to the tip of my ring finger. “I love you so much, Mrs. Rossi.”

A whisper of heat unfurls between my legs. The first I’ve felt in weeks. Alessandro has been so careful, so gentle… and all that built up desire suddenly floods my senses.

As if he feels it, his eyes darken, and a feral smile curls his lips.

“And I cannot wait to make love to my wife.” He leans in and slants his mouth to mine.

The kiss is soft, tender, but a hint of fire lingers beneath the chaste act.

“You have no idea what torture the waiting is,” he breathes against my lips.

“Oh, I think I have some idea.” I grin.

Loosing a breath of frustration, he sits back. “Come on, let me feed you before I lose all restraint and feast on you instead.” He curls one arm around my back and the other under my legs and gently lifts me off the mattress.

I’m more than capable of walking, but I know he enjoys the role reversal as much as I do. So, I lean into his chest and bury my nose in his familiar scent.

Because I’m finally home.