Page 33 of Brutal Heir
“I’m fine, Sere, relax.” My cousin has been hovering over me like a mother hen from the moment she flew back in town. She’s always been like that with all the cousins, but never to this extent. I know she feels guilty as hell for what happened in Milano. She thinks it’s her fault, that she owes me somehow, but her guilt only makes me feel worse.
And the pity…
That is the absolute worst of all.
“Maybe we should give Alessandro some time alone,” Antonio offers, curling an arm around her waist.
Smart man. As much as I despised the guy when they first got together, I can’t deny he’s perfect for her.
“Fuck that,” Serena shoots back at Antonio. “That’s not how we do things in the cousin crew.” She rushes out the door and shouts down the hallway.
“Oh, fucking hell,” I grumble as I hear her call for each of our cousins, one by one.
“I tried,” Antonio mutters, lifting his shoulders.
“How do you put up with all of us?” The question pops out unbidden as I force myself to sit up, gritting through the pain. In the past few weeks, I’ve found it easier to talk to Sere’s fiancé than my own family. Maybe it’s because he, too, survived being burned alive, or maybe it’s because he wasn’t close to his own father or siblings. Lately, they’re all just suffocating.
A silly grin flashes across his face and instantly, I regret asking. “Because I know how much Serena adores all of you, and I love her.”
“Love certainly is a fickle beast,” I murmur.
“You’ll see one day.”
A cold, hollow laugh escapes. “I don’t think love is in my future, Toni.” Then I motion to my scarred neck and cheek, not to mention all the layers of bandages hidden beneath my loose-fitting clothes. “I look like a fucking monster.”
He shakes his head, that familiar flash of pity surging to the surface. But he masks it quickly, and it only takes me a second to remember why. He, too, still bears the scars of the fire he survived. They’re nothing compared to mine, and yet, I almost take back the callous remark. Luckily, he’s already speaking before I can figure out what to say.
“We’re all monsters one way or another, Ale. It only takes the right woman to look past our darkness, our flaws, physical or otherwise.” He offers a smile, and it’s a genuine one, not like the ones I receive from random strangers on the street when theystare at my bandages. “You’d be surprised how love can find you when you least expect it.”
“Right,” I murmur. Maybe I’ll find a hot, blind girl at their wedding next year.
Speaking of the bride-to-be, Serena bounds in with Bella, Raf, Matty, and Alessia trailing her. Antonio’s hand lands on Serena’s lower back the moment she’s in the room, the kind of casual, effortless touch I’ll never have again. With each of my cousins finding love, our cousin crew is growing exponentially. I should be happy for everyone, but my raging bitterness only swallows it up.
“What are you doing moping around in here?” Bella asks, a glass of champagne in her fist.
It isn’t only her gaze pinned to mine now. They’re all staring at me, watching, waiting, walking on eggshells. The worst part of all of this isn’t the scars, the pain, or the fact that I can’t even walk right. It’s the way they look at me. Like I’m already half-dead.
“I’m just not in the mood to dance,” I finally manage, flashing her a sneer before ticking my head at the bandages poking out from beneath the navy sweatpants.
“Shit, I never should have said something so stupid.” She takes my good hand in hers, squeezing. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, but Bella has always been my favorite. There’s just something about her selflessness and endless optimism that gets through my thick armor. Or at least it used to.
“Just have a drink.” Matty pulls a bottle of champagne from behind his back, and Alessia throws him a scowl.
“He can’t drink on the pain meds, you idiot,” she hisses.
“Aw, come on, let him have one drink. He looks like he could use one.”
I’m about to agree with my cousin when the last person I want to see right now marches through the door.
Rory roars in, her mane of fiery crimson hair wet and wild across her bare shoulders. She looks like she just jumped out of the shower and raced right over. She probably did when Mrs. Jenkins undoubtedly ratted me out.
“There you are!” She jabs an accusatory finger in the air, the Irish lilt seeping through like it always does when she’s angry. “How could you just take off like that? Are you trying to give me a heart attack, you eejit?” She claps her hand to her chest dramatically, and I focus on the skimpy shorts which barely qualify as clothing, and that clingy tank top, a crime against my self-control. This crazy girl ran over here in little more than pjs.
“Who is this gorgeous woman?” Matteo’s mischievous gaze darts between us. “She cannot be the same lovely Irish lass I met the other day?”
I huff out a breath, the expanding of my ribcage only tearing at my delicate flesh. But I clench my teeth to hide the wince. The last thing I need is my new overzealous nurse proving her point.
“For anyone who doesn’t already know, this is Rory Delaney, my new live-in—.” I can’t even force her title out because it’s too depressing. As a virile twenty-four-year-old male, admitting to needing a full-time caretaker is just embarrassing.
