Page 110 of Brutal Heir
I reach for him, but he steps back, recoiling from my touch, and it cuts deeper than a knife.
“Start talking.”
And just like that, I have no idea what to say. I stare at him, mouth parted, breath stuck somewhere between my lungs and my tongue. This is it. The moment everything falls apart.
“I’m waiting, Rory.”
“No,” I whisper, voice hoarse. “You’re waiting for Brigid. That’s who I used to be.”
His entire body stiffens, like I just slapped him. “Brigid?”
“Brigid O’Shea. That’s the name I was born with. But I left it behind the day I ran.”
“Ran from what?” he grits out.
“From him,” I hiss. “From Conall Quinlan back in Belfast.”
His face twists, confusion giving way to something darker as realization sets in. “The Butcher of Belfast?”
Feck me, he’s heard of him. Of course he has. I nod slowly. “My fiancé.”
He stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. Like he doesn’t even recognize the woman standing in front of him. “You’re telling me you were engaged to one of the most violent men in the Irish underworld, and you didn’t think that was something I needed to know?”
“I didn’t have a choice!” My voice cracks like glass. “If I’d told you who I really was, you never would’ve let me stay. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. I had to disappear, eraseeverything. My name. My records. I didn’t fake the documents to hurt you, Ale. I faked them to survive.”
He shoves a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal. “Cazzo. I brought you into my home. My family. You knew I was part of the Gemini. You knew what this life meant, and you still lied to me.”
“No, that’s not true! You never told me about the other side to the Geminis either. I’d only heard rumors… rumors I chose to ignore because I wanted this so badly.”
“Oh, come on, Rory, or Brigid, whatever the fuck your name is. You lied again and again.”
“Because I was falling in love with you,” I whisper. “And the more I fell, the harder it got to tell you the truth. I wanted a fresh start. I needed one.”
His eyes flash. “So you just conveniently forgot to mention the blood on your family’s hands? Or the fact that you’ve been lying to every single person you’ve met here in Manhattan?”
“I was protecting myself,” I snap. “And yes, I lied. But I never lied about my feelings for you. About us.”
He laughs, bitter and hollow. “There is no us.”
I flinch.
“Get out,” he says, voice flat and dangerous. “I need you gone before I lose my shit.”
But I don’t move.
“I said get out, Rory.”
“No,” I reply, firm now, stepping toward him.
“Don’t you fucking push me right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I snap, chest heaving. “I already told you that. I won’t run. Not from you. You want to hate me? Fine. But I’m staying. And I will do whatever it takes to fix this, because I love you, Alessandro Rossi. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything, and I won’t walk away from that.”
His jaw flexes. His fists curl. But his eyes… his eyes betray him. They burn with rage, and something else. Pain. Devastation. Longing.
“I don’t want your love,” he mutters. “I don’t even know who you are,Brigid.” He bites out my name, but it’s not a declaration, it sounds more like a plea. Like he’s trying to protect himself from the very thing he’s desperate for.
“Too bad,” I whisper. “You already have it. And you already haveme.”
