Page 143 of Brutal Heir
The explosion tears through the east wing of the house, a wall of fire and smoke billowing into the sky then tearing toward the gardens. Screams erupt. Chaos. Gunshots crack in the distance.
I don’t even blink.
Because I know that sound. I know that fury. And I knowhim.
Alessandro.
He came for me.
Screams pierce the winter air like broken glass, jagged and slicing through the silence. The gathered crowd erupts into anarchy as chairs are overturned, skirts are tangled, and men yell as they reach for weapons. Smoke chokes the garden, thick and fast, curling like a ghost around the altar.
Conall shoves me behind him, barking orders to his men as if he’s still in control. Still the king. But he isn’t. Not anymore.
Becausehe’s here.
The brutal heir. The reluctant king to the Gemini throne.
While Conall’s distracted yelling orders, I tear at the bottom of my dress, shredding tulle and silk until I can move. Then I rip my shoes off, the glittering heels tossed amidst the chaos. My legs are stiff, my lungs heaving, but I run, dodging Conall’s long arms. I don’t wait for permission. I sprint toward the smoke, toward the madness. Towardhim.
“Stop her!” Conall’s shout pierces through the uproar.
Two of Conall’s guards lunge for me and my fingers are already freeing my dagger, but before they get close, a shot cracks through the air. One drops. Then another.
Gunfire explodes like a symphony of salvation.
“Rory!” His voice. Alessandro.
I skid to a stop, breath ragged, eyes searching through the smoke. “Where are you?” I shout back, a tremor lacing my tone.
And then I see him.
Black tactical gear. Grim jaw. Fury in his eyes like a storm. He’s not the polished heir right now. He’s war, fury and hellfire.
And he’s beautiful.
Behind him, Matteo flanks the east side, followed by Serena and Isabella, dressed to kill in every sense of the word. TheGemini and Ferrara men pour in like a damn cavalry, cutting through Conall’s soldiers like they’ve trained for this moment their whole lives.
“Go, go, go!” Matteo yells, dragging one of our men behind a toppled statue for cover.
Alessandro reaches me just as another Quinlan thug barrels in from the side. I scream, but Alessandro’s already moving. His fist connects with the guy’s jaw in a sickening crack, then spins to fire a shot into another’s shoulder.
He grabs me, pulling me behind a marble column along the terrace.
“You came,” I gasp, gripping the lapels of his jacket like a lifeline. “I’m so sorry.” My voice breaks. “You shouldn’t have… Oh thank Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you did.”
“I told you I would.” His voice is hoarse, wild. “And I told you I’d burn this place down if I had to.”
I clutch onto him, fisting his shirt. For a moment we justbreathe, our foreheads pressed together, our hearts beating like war drums in unison. My lips find his, desperate to breathe him in. The fiery kiss is deep and messy and real. Like I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment.
He kisses me back like a man who just clawed his way out of hell. His hand cups the back of my neck, anchoring me, steadying me even as the earth quakes beneath us.
Gunfire erupts again, and we break apart.
“I’m getting you out of here,” he growls, eyes locked on mine. “And I’m never letting go this time.”
“Fine by me,” I whisper.
He grabs my hand and pulls me through the madness. The estate is a blur of shouts and blood and crumbling stone as the Gemini and Ferrara crews lay waste to what’s left of Conall’s empire.
