Page 59 of Brutal Heir

And no one looks away.

But with her hand locked in mine and the mask shielding half the face they used to worship, I raise my chin. My back straightens. And for the first time since the explosion, I feel something more than pain. More than shame.

I feel power.

Because I may be scarred, but Rory’s right, by showing my face here I’m proving I amnotbroken. And with her burning at my side, I’m ready to set this whole fucking city on fire.

The crowd descends on me the moment we set foot into the lounge.

“Alessandro, you’re back!”

“Mr. Rossi, such a pleasure to see you.”

“You look incredible.”

The heartfelt greetings, condolences, and praises spew forth, one after another. Then come the questions, the never-ending litany and the inevitable looks of pity. Keeping the smile plastered on my face becomes nearly impossible after the first half hour. Only Rory’s firm shoulder to lean on and steady grip on my hand keeps me grounded.

The mayor finds his way from the VIP room down to the lounge to greet me, a blonde escort glued to his side. I force the smile for just a little longer, staying in the man’s good graces essential to our business, legitimate and otherwise.

“Alessandro Rossi!” He smacks my bad shoulder with a meaty paw, and I grit through the pain as stars explode across my vision. “You are a sight for sore eyes, my friend.”

“Yes, same here, Mr. Mayor.”

Through the antique Venetian mask, his beady-eyed gaze flickers to Rory, and lust blooms in those pale hazel eyes. “And who is this beautiful woman?”

I open my mouth to respond, but not a single word comes out. Damn it, why didn’t I think about this earlier?

Rory extends her free hand while keeping the other firmly entwined with mine. A beaming smile curls her crimson-stained lips. “Rory Delaney, Alessandro’s date. Pleased to meet ya.”

“What a heavenly creature,” he croons, eyes flaring as they rake over every inch of exposed, milky flesh, and the burning desire to gouge his eyes out nearly overwhelms me.

If I still ruled this city, the mayor would’ve known better than to ogle what’s mine. But now? I’m not sure what power I stillhold, and I hate that more than the pain. So, I curl my fingers into a tight fist and draw her closer to my side.

“That she is. And thirsty I imagine after all the chatter.” Dipping my head to the mayor, I offer a quick goodbye before ushering Rory toward the bar.

While I’m not certain if she actually needs a drink, I certainly do.

“Shite, that was intense,” she whispers once we’re finally freed from the mass of bodies.

“That’s exactly why I prolonged this evening for so long.” Avoiding the line at the bar altogether, I tug Rory to the far corner of the club to the private elevator. Her fingers tighten around mine, just for a second. Maybe it’s the lights, or the masks, or the ghosts I still carry, but I swear I feel her hesitate. I almost stop. Almost ask her what’s wrong. “Come on,” I say instead, to ease her mind. “I just need a break.”

She nods, bottom lip snagged between her teeth.

Riding the elevator in a comfortable silence, we finally reach the third level. To my sanctuary.

Down a quick corridor, and then I’m unlocking the door. A cool breeze whips over my skin as we cross the threshold. The moment the door slams closed, quiet envelops the dimly lit industrial space. Exposed metal rafters crisscross the high ceilings, and my desk backs against an original brick accent wall. The balcony doors across the chamber are already ajar, the icy December air sending a chill up my spine. Exactly what I needed after the claustrophobic interior.

Two cocktails sit on my desk, glistening beneath the pendant light.

Thank you, Lance.

The guy may be a terrible flirt, but he does his job well.

“So this is the great king of the Velvet Vault’s office?” Rory saunters around the space, running her finger across the sleek glass desk before eyeing the art plastered on the walls.

It’s a little-known fact that my uncle Nico, Matteo’s father, is quite the artist.

“These are beautiful,” she murmurs, pausing at each one before stopping in front of a vivid painting of his wife, my aunt Maisy.