Page 61 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

Matteo

The Velvet Vault is alive tonight. Music thrums through the floorboards, laughter echoes off the brick walls, and the warm glow of low lights glints off whiskey glasses raised in toast after toast. Our family has always been loud, but tonight, we’re loud in the best way.

No guns. No blood. No Quinlans or vendettas. Just us. Alive.

And celebrating.

Because Alessandro Rossi, my cousin, my brother in every way that matters, is back on his throne. Scars and all.

I watch him now from across the bar, leaning against a pillar with a whiskey in hand as I take in the scene.

He’s laughing, really laughing, as Rory swats him with a cocktail napkin for some smartass comment he made.

She’s glowing, hair loose around her shoulders, green eyes bright as emeralds under the soft lights.

There isn’t a hint of the pain she’s endured in her smile.

She’s fully healed from that gunshot meant for my cousin, and damn, if it doesn’t make her even more dangerous.

Ale bends and presses a kiss across Rory’s ribs, right over where the scar hides beneath silk. She touches the jagged scar on his jaw in return, and for a moment, it’s like the world stills around them.

Merda , why am I getting so emotional all of a sudden? Shoving it back, I plaster on my typical smirk and take another sip.

Rory’s also wearing the biggest rock I’ve ever seen outside of a Brinks truck, the emerald ring catching the light every time she waves her hand while telling a story to Isabella. The girls are helping Rory and Ale plan their ‘real wedding’ despite Serena’s irritation about stealing her thunder.

Across the room, Serena is trying to keep Antonio from getting into an arm-wrestling match with Raf, who’s pretending to be unimpressed while flexing just to piss off his brother.

Isabella moves to perch on Raf’s lap, rolling her eyes as she steals a sip from his drink, while Alessia is behind the bar, shaking up a cocktail like she owns the place—because, well, she basically does.

It’s chaos, but it’s our chaos.

Alessandro catches my eye and raises his glass. I raise mine back, and for a moment, there’s just this silent acknowledgment between us. We made it. We survived. We’ve both crawled out of darkness and fire, and we’re still here.

He leans down to say something in Rory’s ear, and she laughs, turning her face up for a kiss. He gives it to her like there’s no one else in the world. The king and his queen, in every sense of the word.

“Are you brooding over here, Matty?” Serena’s voice cuts through my thoughts as she saunters over, a smirk playing on her lips. “Or just plotting which poor woman to traumatize next?”

“Fuck off, Sere,” I grumble, sipping my drink. “I’m having a moment.”

“With your feelings?” Isabella chimes in, appearing beside Serena with that deceptively sweet smile.

“With the whiskey,” I correct, lifting the glass.

Raf appears behind Isabella, dropping a kiss on her temple. “Don’t let him fool you. Matteo’s a romantic at heart.”

“Shut it, Raf,” I mutter, but a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth.

“Are you coming to dance, or are you just going to stand there like a creep?” Serena arches a brow.

“I don’t dance without a few more of these.”

“You will tonight,” Alessia calls from behind the bar, pouring herself a shot before hopping over it like the little menace she is. “No one escapes the cousin dance circle, Matty.”

“Try me,” I say, but they’re already dragging me toward the dancefloor.

I resist for a grand total of ten seconds before Isabella snags the drink out of my hand and Serena loops her arm through mine. Raf and Antonio join, pulling Alessia along, and suddenly, we’re all there in the middle of the floor, surrounded by music and the roar of the Vault.

Alessandro and Rory join, and Ale pulls his wife close, dipping her dramatically before spinning her into a laugh that lights up the entire room. Her hair fans out, and her eyes catch his like he’s the only man on earth.

“ Dio , they’re disgustingly in love,” Serena mutters, but she’s smiling, leaning back against Antonio, who presses a kiss to her hair.

“Better than them being disgustingly miserable,” Bella points out, grinning as Raf spins her, then shrieks before bursting into laughter.

I watch them all, feeling something warm loosen in my chest that I haven’t let myself feel in a while.

Home.

That’s what this is. What they are. Loud, overbearing, sometimes unhinged, but they’re mine. My family.

Alessandro catches me watching and raises his brows, mouthing, “You good?”

And for once, I can answer honestly. I nod, lifting my fingers in a half salute.

“Oi, Matty!” Rory calls, breathless and glowing as she leans against Ale. “Your turn!”

“Not a chance,” I say, smirking, but I can’t help the laugh that breaks out as Serena and Alessia start chanting my name, the others joining in.

“Mat-te-o! Mat-te-o!”

I roll my eyes but give in, stepping into the circle, where they all erupt into cheers. Rory whistles, and Ale wraps an arm around her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as they watch me get dragged into a ridiculous cousin dance battle I did not sign up for.

And for a moment, as I let the laughter and the music wash over me, I realize that maybe, just maybe, there’s room for something like this for me too. Someday.

But that’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight, I raise my arms, let the cousins scream, and dance like a fool in the middle of the family that will always have my back.

Because if I’ve learned anything from Ale and Rory, it’s that even in this dark world of ours, love can find you. Even if it has to fight like hell to get there.

And when it does, you hold on.

I wish Rory had dropped into our lives sooner because maybe then, I wouldn’t have let Cat go. And I’d have my own little fiery Irish girl at my side.

But I was young and stupid back then, and I’d walked away from the first woman I’d actually loved.

As Alessia is pulled into the middle of the circle, I cautiously back out, then disappear into the crowd.

Weaving between the tangle of writhing bodies, I make my way back to my drink at the bar.

The Dream Cask by Redbreast. A super expensive, collectible Irish whiskey that Ale has specially imported in for his best clients. Namely, me.

As I sip on the smooth liquor, the pounding bass grows more muffled and my thoughts flicker to the past. To my own fiery redhead and that summer in Sicily I’d never forget.

The Sicilian sun is merciless, burning my shoulders as I toss the deflated soccer ball at Enzo’s head, ignoring his dramatic yelp as it bounces off him and lands in the sand.

“Stop throwing shit at me, Matty,” he whines, shielding his eyes as he sprawls across the towel. “We’re on vacation.”

“It’s not vacation if you’re horizontal all day,” I shoot back, smirking. I glance around the crowded beach, scanning for something, no, someone, more interesting than Enzo’s complaints.

And that’s when I see her.

Standing at the shoreline, the water curling around her ankles.

Strawberry blonde hair, like fire spun with honey, catching the sun as she tucks it behind her ear.

Skin kissed pink by the sun. Legs that go on for days.

A navy bikini under cutoff denim shorts, and a thin silver chain around her neck catching the light.

But it’s her eyes that get me, even from this distance. Blue like the Mediterranean Sea, and just as endless.

She’s laughing at something a dark-haired friend says, but there’s a hesitation there, a cautiousness in the way her arms cross over her stomach like she’s holding herself in place.

Mine.

“Yo, Enzo,” I say, kicking sand on his calf. “You see her?”

He squints. “Who, the ginger? Good luck, bro.”

Ginger? He has no poetry in his soul.

I grab my bottle of San Pelligrino, take a swig, and toss it back onto the towel. Then I’m moving, weaving around sunbathers, stepping over sandcastles, completely zeroed in on the girl with fire in her hair and caution in her eyes.

She notices me when I’m about ten feet away. Her smile falters, replaced with a polite, tight-lipped curiosity as she watches me approach.

“Ciao, bella,” I say, flashing the Rossi smile that usually gets me what I want.

She arches a brow, her accent lilting as she answers, “That’s original.”

Ah, Irish. My grin widens. “You’re not wrong. But when in Rome...”

Her friend steps away with a quick wave, leaving us alone in the breeze and salt air.

I stick my hand out, ignoring the way it’s still dusty with sand. “Matteo.”

She looks at my hand like it might bite, then finally slides her palm into mine, her skin cool against the heat of the day. “Cat.”

“Cat,” I repeat, testing it on my tongue like a fine wine. “Short for something?”

“Caitriona.” Her gaze flickers away, her hand slipping from mine too quickly. “I take it you’re not from here.”

“New York.” I shrug. “But I’m half-Italian. Here for the summer, trying to remember how to slow down.”

“Good luck with that,” she mutters, but there’s a ghost of a smile.

I tilt my head, studying her. “And you? Not from here either clearly. Not with that accent.”

“No.” She sighs, glancing back at the waves. “Belfast. I’m working at one of the bars in town for the summer.”

“And you’re standing here looking like that, on this beach, and no one’s snatched you up yet?” I tease, stepping closer, just enough to see the freckles on her nose.

Her lips press together, but she doesn’t back away. “Maybe I’m not looking to be snatched up.”

A laugh tumbles out of me. Dio , I like her already. There’s nothing I like better than the chase. “I’m not trying to snatch you, Cat. Just... walk with you.”

“Walk with me?” Her brows lift skeptically.

“Yeah,” I say, softer now. “Down there.” I point to where the beach curls around a rocky bend, away from the noise, the umbrellas, and the rowdy calcio games.

She hesitates, glancing back at her friend who’s ankle deep in the water giving her a thumbs up.

She bites her bottom lip, then sighs. “Just a walk.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” I hold out my hand again.

This time, she takes it, her cool fingers lacing with mine as we start down the sand, the waves licking at our feet. She’s cautious, holding herself with a wariness I don’t fully understand, but she’s still walking with me, letting me lead.

And as we continue our stroll, I can feel it. This is different. This isn’t just a summer fling, or a beach flirtation I’ll forget by the time I’m back at NYU.

No, this feels like the beginning of something that might just ruin me in the best possible way.

For a stupid nineteen-year-old, I’d been smarter than I thought.

I was right. Cat had ruined me that summer. She burned herself into my skin like a tattoo I could never scrape off, a sweet addiction I never wanted to give up. But in the end, I’d been the biggest idiot of all.

Because I walked away.

No, I didn’t just walk away. I ran. From her. From the promises we whispered under the Sicilian stars. From the future she’d trusted me to hold.

And now, seeing Alessandro with Rory, hearing that familiar Irish lilt echoing through our lives again, then stepping foot in Belfast, it was like a ghost had been resurrected. It cracked something wide open inside me. A door I’d slammed shut and locked a long time ago.

I blink, hard, shoving down the burn in my throat as I drain the rest of my whiskey. The fire does nothing to erase her face from my mind. That wild strawberry hair. Those sea-glass eyes that saw all of me.

Even if I could find her now, she’d never forgive me. Because I didn’t just walk away from Cat…

I abandoned the baby we made together, too.

Eek! I hope you loved Alessandro and Rory’s story and are excited for Matteo’s… It’s going to be a good one ;)