Page 109 of Brutal Heir

It’s been three days since Alessandro declared war on La Spada Nera. Three days since I’ve found myself dragged back into the familiar dark world of crime and punishment. Threedays filled with thoughts of fleeing and three nights tangled in Alessandro’s arms knowing I never could.

Every day I remind myself Ale is not Conall.

I love the Gemini heir, whereas my relationship with the Butcher of Belfast had been forced upon me by my father. Sure, I liked him well enough when I was a stupid teenager, but once we both grew up, I saw the man for what he was.

Alessandro, for all his faults, isn’t a heartless, brutal butcher.

His fear for me pushed him to these lengths. The irony doesn’t go unnoticed.

Maybe if I was just honest with him about my past, the guilt wouldn’t devour him so wholly, and he could give up this bloody crusade against La Spada Nera.

Every day I try and fail to tell him the truth. Loyalty is everything to this man. How will he react when he finds out I’ve been lying to him all along?

Fear lances through me, sharp claws tearing through the ice in my veins. I can’t lose him. In less than two months, Alessandro Rossi has become everything to me. Swallowing down the rest of my coffee, I steel my resolve.

I have to tell him today.

The longer I wait, the worse it’ll be.

The front door whips open, and I drop the cup, the loud clatter against the marble countertop echoing across the quiet space. Damned nerves.

Alessandro marches into the kitchen a second later, a deep line between his dark brows. He’s holding a manilla envelope to his chest, his knuckles white from the strain.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper, my feet moving toward him like the earth spins toward the sun.

He doesn’t answer.

Icy fear crawls up my spine.

Instead, he unfastens the clasp on the envelope and pulls out a stack of papers, then tosses them across the counter.

I scan the familiar pages, and my heart sinks.

Shite.

“Care to explain?” he barks.

Knotting my arms across my chest, I stiffen the set of my jaw. Does he know they’re all fake documents or only the nursing school ones? Before I condemn myself, I need to know.

“What are you talking about?” I reply, impressed with the calmness in my tone despite the tremor rolling through my body.

“I went to see my father today about the shooting and imagine my surprise when he shows me this. They’re all forged documents, Rory. Every single one.” His shoulders round, a tangle of confusion and hurt streaking across those mismatched orbs. “What the hell is going on?”

My bottom lip begins to tremble, and feckin’ hell I’m so pissed at myself for losing my cool. “Please, let me explain,” I murmur.

“By all means, start explaining…” He throws his hands up, the movement pulling at the freshly sewn skin, and the wince is barely perceptible, but I catch it all the same. Because it’s Alessandro, and I’m deeply familiar with every one of his tells.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile now…” I start.

“Tell me what, Rory?” He grips my upper arms, desperation flashing across the hard lines of his jaw. “That you’re not a board-certified nurse? That you never finished nursing school? That even your damned birth certificate is falsified?” He shakes me, fingers digging into my arms. “When my father told me, I assured him there had to have been a mistake. But what do you know? It turns out I’m the asshole because his lawyer doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Please, Ale…”

“No, Rory, just stop,” he hisses, finally releasing me. “Is that even your real name?”

I swallow hard, guilt churning low in my gut. I could lie again. Spin another story. But I’m tired. Tired of hiding. Tired of surviving. And I want him to know the real me. “It is now.”

“Fuck,” he grits out. “What is going on here?”