Page 7 of Brutal Heir (Ruthless Heirs #3)

IMPRESS ME

A lessandro

I slam the door behind me hard enough to rattle the floor-to-ceiling windows before I sink onto a barstool at the marble island in the kitchen.

The beautiful kaleidoscope of yellow and burnt orange hues across Central Park does nothing to temper my mood.

My body aches like I’ve been stitched together with barbed wire, but the pain is welcome. Grounding. Better than the silence.

Going to the Velvet Vault was a mistake.

Too many eyes in the bustling Meatpacking District. Too much fucking pity. And Lawson’s half-assed theories about missing money didn’t help anything. He kept fidgeting with his damn pen like he was afraid I might rip it out of his hand and jam it through his neck.

He wasn’t wrong.

Returning to my club, my kingdom as a broken king was more painful than the countless skin grafts and excruciating hours of physical therapy. Fuck, that man made it seem like it was my fault, like I’d lost control of my staff. That never would have happened before…

I roll my shoulders, grimacing as the grafted skin pulls. My shirt’s soaked through. I need a shower. I need a drink. I need?—

The doorbell rings, and the unmistakable click of the front door opening sends my head spinning over my shoulder.

“Hey, boss, there’s a Miss Rory Delaney here to see you.” Johnny’s voice booms down the hallway and I slide off the barstool, my entire body screaming at the movement.

I freeze mid-step as soft footsteps echo down the marble hallway. My father promised to send someone. A new nurse.

No fucking way he sent her today . I turn toward the door, scowl already locked in place.

And then I see her.

Hair like fire. Eyes like a bloody Irish war. Scrubs clinging to every sharp little curve like they were made to be sinned on.

I brace myself for pity from the gorgeous redhead.

But when her eyes meet mine, the look is not what I expect.

Not even close.

She doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t pity me. For a half-second, something dangerous flares up. Hope. But I crush it before it can breathe.

She marches across the foyer like she owns the place, a duffel bag bigger than her hung over her shoulder.

With green leprechaun scrubs, messy hair pinned back with something sharp, and a mouth made for trouble, she eyes me.

She’s small, but not delicate, more like compact dynamite.

Despite her red hair being tied up, high, messy curls slip loose like fire begging to be touched. Or burned by.

And her eyes. Bright emerald, defiant, and locked straight on me.

No hesitation. No flicker of revulsion. No soft gasp at my face. Just a slow sweep from head to toe like she’s assessing damage at a car wreck.

I hate her already.

“Who the hell are you?” I bark.

She holds out her small hand, but there’s nothing meek about her presence. “Rory Delaney, your new nurse. Nice to meet ya.”

I force my shoulders back despite the overwhelming urge to lean against the kitchen counter for support. Instead, I press my arms across my chest and glare down at the tiny fireball. “Well, I’m sorry you came out all this way, but I don’t want or need a nurse.”

“No, I’m sorry, you must’ve expected someone who gives a damn about what you want.” Her lips twitch. Not a smile, nope, something more dangerous. “I’m here because your father has offered to pay me well, and frankly, you look like hell.”

I nearly choke on my own spit. “Is this how you speak to all your clients?”

“Only the ones I like.” She shoots me a wink.

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re rude,” she fires back, voice laced in a sharp Irish lilt and zero fear. “Looks like we’re both off to a brilliant start.”

I blink. The breath I didn’t realize I was holding lodges in my chest.

She walks past me like I’m not the heir to the Gemini empire, gaze locked on the sprawling park below. Like I’m not a man with scars that make grown men flinch. Like I’m… nothing.

It’s infuriating. And refreshing.

“So I take it you’re the new babysitter my father hired behind my back?” I trace her movements by the window but remain beside the safety of the island in case my knees give out.

“No, I’m your nurse like I said a second ago,” she says flatly, spinning to face me before dropping her bag on my kitchen counter. “And if you were capable of taking care of yourself, I wouldn’t be here.”

I take a step forward, stupid, considering the pain flaring in my leg, but I need to close the distance between us. “You don’t know a damn thing about what I need.”

She raises a brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Please. You’re barely holding yourself upright. Don’t get me wrong, the wounded billionaire prince look is working for you, but if you want to keep infections away, maybe let someone change your dressings properly.”

The way she says it, unbothered, clinical, like this is just another day at the office, makes my skin crawl. I don’t want her near my scars. I don’t want her hands on me.

Because I’m not sure what will happen if she touches me.

“And if I say no?” I ask, voice dropping to a growl.

She doesn’t blink. “Then I leave. And you get to explain to your father why the last nurse you chased off was the only one willing to take your shit.”

I laugh. It’s sharp, humorless.

“You think you’re the first person to try to help me?”

“No,” she says, meeting my gaze dead-on. “But I might be the first who doesn’t give a fuck if I fail.”

Cazzo .

I haven’t felt this off-balance in months. Not since the fire. Not since I stopped being a man and started being a sad reminder of one.

And now, here she is. Five feet of attitude and nerve, standing in the middle of my penthouse like I don’t terrify her. I’m not sure if I want to throw her out… or grab her and see if anything inside me still works.

Fuck. This is a terrible idea.

Still, I find myself biting out the words. “You’ve got one week. Impress me. Or you’re gone.” Because this woman might be the only way to get my ass back to the Velvet Vault where I belong.

She shrugs like she’s already won.

And maybe she has.

“I’ll make this simple.” She steps closer until she nearly has me pinned against the marble counter, refusing to look away. “I need this job. You need a nurse. I don’t give a damn how scary you think you are. I’m not scared of scars, and I’m not scared of you.”

Another sharp laugh threatens to bubble out, but I bite it back, dropping my voice to a lethal level. “You will be.”

“Doubtful.” She grins up at me, that fire in her eyes threatening to consume me. “Now unless you’d like me to report back to your Papà that you’re rejecting medical care, I suggest you sit down and let me take a look at those dressings.”

My smirk falters. And my plan to go along with this insanity crumbles. There’s no way I’m letting this woman see me at my most vulnerable.

“I already took care of it this morning,” I grit out.

“Then why is that tendon in your jaw doing the Irish jig?”

I smile. Almost. “Because I don’t like you.”

“Then it’s a good thing that’s not part of my job description.” Her hand shoots out, arm wrapping around my own.

Before I can process what’s happening, she’s towing me down the hallway. At five-foot nothing, she’s alarmingly strong.

“What the hell are you doing?” I rasp.

“Just what I said, checking on your dressings.” She drags me down the corridor, and I grit my teeth through the fire scorching my veins. How the hell did this woman become a nurse? She doesn’t have a damned gentle bone in her tiny body.

If I wasn’t so fucking proud I would have forced her to slow down, but there is no way I’m admitting weakness to this wildcat.

She pauses when we reach the end of the main hall which splits off to three more corridors. “Are you going to tell me where your bedroom is in this giant maze, or do you expect me to guess?”

Begrudgingly, I tick my head to the right which houses the master chamber, sitting area and an attached bedroom.

When Alessia found me the place over a year ago, she teased I could use the extra room as a nursery one day.

Back then, it was funny, now it was a total joke.

Who the fuck knew if I could even have children now?

And even if I could, how could someone ever love the monster I’d become?

“This it?” Rory’s bubbly voice draws me from the dark musings, and I nod, wrapping my fingers around one of the handles of the double doors that leads to the master suite.

The doors swing open, revealing the clean lines and quiet luxury that is my bedroom, and a sharp gasp squeezes through pretty pink lips.

“Feck me, this place is unbelievable.”