Page 12 of Brutal Heir

Enough. A deep voice in the back of my mind grinds out the command. It sounds suspiciously like my father.

With a frustrated huff, I reach for my phone beside the sink and type out a quick message to Lawson. His response is nearly immediate, and just like that, I have my first business meeting in months.

After unwrapping the final bandages, I push myself up, holding onto the sink to stagger toward the shower chair in the oversized tub. At least I can hobble around by myself now. As a grown man, allowing someone to give you a sponge bath is the most degrading of all experiences. Doing it yourself is only a tinystep up, but if I’m going downtown to meet Lawson, I can’t very well stink.

Sitting in the back seat of the Range Rover, I eye the wheelchair in the trunk over my shoulder. My driver, Sammy, loaded it into the car for me and is a second away from stepping out of the vehicle to get it out now that we’ve arrived at the doorstep of the Velvet Vault. But the idea of wheeling myself into my club, my den of decadence and debauchery, has my stomach raging at the idea.

I’d rather hobble in, holding onto the velvet ropes that line the entrance than use that wheelchair. And if I fall and make even more of an ass of myself?

Fuck it. I’ll risk it.

Sammy spins his head over his shoulder. “You want me to get that wheelchair for you, boss?”

“No, I don’t need it.” Wrapping my hand around the door handle, I refuse to meet my driver’s gaze as I open the door because I know what I’ll find there.Mahas already threatened the hell out of him, making him swear to take care of me. He has been since I was a kid. He’s been my loyal driver since I turned thirteen and begged my parents to take Mila Santucci out on a date without them. I almost smile at the memory.

Sammy practically jumps out of the car, rounds the back and appears on the other side to hold the door open for me. “You sure?”

“Yes, Sammy. I think I can make it the length of the sidewalk.” I slide out of the backseat, keeping one hand on the door when my boots hit the cement and my knees wobble.Though the fire only ravaged one leg, the other one is still weak from months confined to a bed.

“Let me walk you in.” His light eyes lift to mine as he scrubs his palm across the back of his neck. “Just to make sure Lawson’s already in there.”

“Fine.” He moves to my bad side, and I use his broad shoulder as a way to steady myself without actually taking his offered hand. Instead, I slightly lean into him as we amble toward the door.

A few feet before we reach the entrance, the front door whips open, and my father’s familiar form fills the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt.

“Alessia called me earlier about Lawson. I didn’t think you’d be up for coming all the way out here.” The surprise in his eyes is visible, and a hint of pride bubbles up as he watches me stride past him dodging the rich velvet drapes that cascade from the high ceilings.

“It’s still my club, right?”

He nods as he easily catches up to me. “I wasn’t sure anymore, to be honest.”

Gritting my teeth through the pain of burning muscle and too tight skin, I barely make it to the lounge before I sink into a black velvet couch. The familiar scents surround me, a tangle of sweet cigars and pungent high-end liquor. Dimly lit crystal chandeliers cast a soft, ambient glow throughout the space, and I realize I feel more at home here than at my own penthouse.

“Lawson will be here in a few minutes, but before he arrives, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?” I rasp out through the ache that has my entire body trembling. Clenching my jaw, I will the pain away, shoving it into a box I keep in the darkest depths of my broken psyche.

“There’s a woman I want you to meet.”

“Oh,Dio,Papà, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me? I’m not marrying the daughter of thatcoglionefrom the Red Dragons. I thought you gave up on that arranged marriage bullshit when half of my face got blown off.”

He clears his throat, his expression softening, which only irritates me more. “Not that type of woman, Ale,” he amends. “A nurse.”

CHAPTER 6

IMPRESS ME

Alessandro

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.