Page 11 of Brutal Heir
Not for the first time, my thoughts sail to Serena’s fiancé, Antonio. He was burned in a fire over the summer and endured the pain of a tattoo over the still-healing skin only a month later.Dio, that must have hurt like hell. I can barely touch my skin without wincing, and to have a needle piercing the sensitive flesh? Absolute fucking torture.
That man is a beast.
A fist smacks into the bathroom door, drawing me from the dark musings. “Hurry up! I don’t have much time before my next showing, Ale.”
“I can’t rush this, Alessia,” I hiss, perched at the edge of the wheelchair. My twin can be so insensitive.
“Which is exactly whyMaandPapàare right, and you should have a live-in nurse to help you with this sort of shit.” When I was first released from the hospital, my parents forced me to move in with them. I had little say in the matter as I was in such bad shape, and I really did require twenty-four-hour care. But now after a month in the hospital and another month under my parents’ watchful eye, I’m finally free in my own apartment. They’d attempted to send the nurse they’d hired, Stephanie, along with me but I’d dismissed her on day one.
“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” I tug on the gauze in frustration, and it catches on the newly grafted skin. Stars shoots across my vision, and nausea claws up my throat as I suppress the howl of pain.
“Then at least open the door so I can talk to you before I’m late.”
“No,” I grind out.
I haven’t allowed anyone to see my ravaged body since I was freed from the white walls of the hospital burn unit. Already, I can barely stand the glances of pity from my family, and if I allowed them to see what lay beneath the bandages, they’d never look at me the same way again.
“Ugh, you’re so stubborn, Ale.”
“Just say what you have to say, damn it. I’m listening.”
“Lawson called last night and said the numbers in the Velvet Vault books aren’t adding up.”
My brows furrow as I focus on my sister’s words, momentarily distracted from the painstaking process of changing the dressing on my wounds. “What do you mean not adding up?”
“I don’t know, Ale. You know I’m no good with the accounting stuff. Every time that guy calls to ask me a question, it’s like he’s speaking Mandarin.” She giggles at her own joke. “Anyway, he thinks someone could be skimming money off thetop. It’s not anything big enough to draw attention, but you know how Lawson is.”
The guy is a Pitbull in a tailored suit which is exactly why I hired him. But who the fuck would dare steal money from me?
One glance at my reflection in the mirror, and I have my answer. I lived and breathed the Velvet Vault. I used to spend every night there, schmoozing with the VIPs, hiring the talent, handpicking the liquor for the craft cocktails. And now, I haven’t stepped foot inside my club for months. I’d come up with a lame excuse after Thanksgiving dinner and skulked home instead, while my cousins partied it up until dawn.
I don’t belong there anymore.
I’m a fucking monster. No one who looks like me deserves admittance into that exclusive nightclub. The Vault is all about decadence, sophistication and sin. I was a god there, the divine among mere mortals. If I showed up now, the myth of the notorious Alessandro Rossi would be ruined.
“So take care of it,” I grit out.
“Me?” she squeals, the sharp sound echoing through the thick timber. “It’s your club, Alessandro. You need to show your face and remind them who’s in charge.”
Fuck, I hate it when my sister is right.
I guess I could meet Lawson this afternoon before the place opens to go over the books. “Fine,” I growl.
“You’re welcome.” I can practically hear her smile through the door. “Now wish me luck at this showing. It’s an amazing penthouse in that new building overlooking Central Park.”
“It’s not like you need it.” Not the luck or the money. All of us Rossis and Valentinos are more than set for life with our numerous trust funds thanks to our parents’ flourishing businesses, legal and otherwise.
I suppose it’s a testament to how our parents raised us that despite all the money we’re set to inherit, we’ve all found our own passions, and most of us work pretty damned hard at them.
“Thanks, bro!” she calls out a moment before the click-clack of her heels echo across the marble.
When the penthouse door slams shut, I draw in a breath, relieved to be left alone to my misery. Well, except for the guard permanently stationed outside the door. After the explosion in Milano,Papàinsisted on it.
Even though thepezzo di merdawho orchestrated the attack is dead, the Geminis still have countless enemies out there. The Velvet Vault was shot up by the Russians at the start of the summer, and it had taken me weeks to get it back up and running.
No, as the eldest heir to the Gemini throne, the threats would never end.
I used to revel in the idea of the power, the prestige and most of all, the notoriety. A rueful smile curls the corners of my lips as my thoughts spin to the past, to the nights of debauchery at the VIP room of my club. But that was before, when I was the great Alessandro Rossi, not this tortured, broken version of myself.
