Page 122 of Brutal Heir

“This is nice,” I whisper.

His gaze softens. “You’re nice.”

“Liar.”

He leans down and brushes his lips against mine. “Okay. You’re fire. And anarchy. And the only thing worth living for.”

“Well,” I smirk, “as long as I’m useful.”

He spins me, and when I land back in his arms, laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it. It's loud. Real. And it feels good.

Because for once we’re just a girl and a boy in love at a party, dancing toward midnight like we don’t have the weight of the world chasing us.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

The room swells with noise, but I barely hear it. All I can feel is Ale’s breath on my neck, the steady beat of his heart pressed against mine. If I could stay right here frozen in this moment of love and laughter, I’d bottle it and drink it for the rest of my life.

“Happy New Year!” Shouts echo across the penthouse.

Because it’s absolutely perfect.

CHAPTER 47

SAFE AND ADORED

Rory

I linger in the shadows of the corridor, watching Alessandro through the doorway of his office. He sits at his desk, all hard lines and dark menace as he instructs the Gemini foot soldiers on the comings and goings of the Irish mob families dotting the tri-state area. A whisper of heat blossoms between my legs as I watch him command the room like a king preparing for war.

His voice is low and lethal, every word laced with authority, every movement purposeful. The scar peeking from the collar of his shirt only makes him look more dangerous, more untouchable. But I know the truth. I know the way his body reacts when I run my fingers through his hair. I know how he kisses me like I’m the only thing that matters to him in this world. And God help me, I crave that power. That raw, ruthless energy he so carefully leashes around everyone else. Except me.

The penthouse has become command central in the past week, an impenetrable fortress where Alessandro shouts ordersto his men while keeping me captive. Safe. Adored. And coming on his cock all night long.

I can’t say I hate the perks of it.

It’s funny how quickly our roles have reversed. Now I’m the wounded, weak one, hiding from my psychotic ex-fiancé. When he’s not plotting Conall’s destruction, Alessandro dotes on me, takes care of me, like I once did to him. I love seeing this side of him. He’s all but forgotten about his scars now that he has a mission.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can play this role.

I love that he protects me. But part of me, the part that clawed her way out of Belfast, wants to fight beside him. I don’t want to be tucked away like a secret.

I’ve never been one to hide, to cower in the face of powerful men. And I sure as shite don’t plan on starting now.

As if he’s felt my heavy gaze on him, he cocks his head in my direction, and the hint of a smile twitches at his lip before he schools it back into a hard line. With his men in the room, he must put on the persona of the Gemini heir, not the lovesick schoolboy chasing after the poor little Irish girl.

“What’s the status, Jimmy? Did you get any new intel from the Murphys or O’Donoghues?” he barks.

Jimmy crosses his arms, jaw tight as he leans a hip against the line of bookshelves across the back wall of Alessandro’s office. “We’ve got eyes and ears in every Irish syndicate from Hell’s Kitchen to Yonkers. The Murphys are laying low, playing dumb, but they’re spooked. Conall’s name alone is enough to make them twitch. O’Donoghues are harder to crack, but I’ve got one of their runners feeding us scraps in exchange for protection and a fat envelope.”

He pauses, glancing at Matteo, then back to Alessandro.

“We’ve inserted snitches into all the big crews. Kellehers, Brennans, the Westies. Low-level guys for now—bartenders,drivers, muscle who like fast money and loose lips. It’s not enough to give us Conall’s location yet, but if he even farts in this city, we’ll know.”

A smirk flickers across his mouth. “Far as we can tell, the O’Sheas haven’t made any noise. But word is Conall’s been wiring funds to ghost accounts linked to offshore safehouses. If the bastard’s coming stateside, he’s coming quiet. But not invisible.”

Conall in Manhattan? In the same city as the man I love. Maeve once warned me that when Conall disappears, it means he’s already planned the funeral.

A tendril of fear erupts low in my chest, working its way around my heart and lungs, sharp claws digging in. My throat tightens as memories of the past threaten to surge to the surface.