Page 36 of Brutal Heir
Well, I do not accept that. Along with his rehabilitation, my goal will be to get that stubborn eejit back to work. Nothing better for the soul than some honest labor.
“So you’re just going to sit around the apartment all day sulking and driving me crazy?”
“You don’t have the job just yet, Red. Tomorrow’s the last day of your probationary period. You could still fuck it up.”
I scoff. As if. “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Rossi, and you know it.” I shoot him a grin.
The corner of his lip twitches, but he doesn’t fully give into the smile. “One more thing, if you plan on getting out of the car, do me a favor and change your clothes. I can’t have you in myclub looking like a crazed leprechaun.” He eyes my green scrubs splattered with sparkly shamrocks with barely veiled disgust.
Normally I’d argue with the arse, but I can’t deny I’d appreciate a change from the daily routine of scrubs. “Fine,” I mumble.
“Good. We leave in ten. Sammy will have the car waiting in the garage.”
With that, he marches down the corridor toward his bedroom and for the first time since meeting the ill-tempered fecker, I catch a glimpse of that future CEO energy. Decisive. Controlling. Powerful.
No wonder he had the women falling to their knees for him.
“I don’t hear you moving, little leprechaun.” His voice echoes from down the hall, drawing me from my thoughts and spurring my feet forward.
I take it back. I’m not sure I like this version, after all.
Alessandro holds the front door open, and a wave of cool air brushes over my skin. I step into the Velvet Vault and immediately question if I’ve just wandered into the lair of a Bond villain or a high-end den of sin.
Even in the late afternoon light, the place drips with decadence. Shadows cling to the rich burgundy walls, the air thick with the faint scent of cigar smoke and aged whiskey.
Alessandro prowls in, his entire demeanor changed the moment we crossed the threshold. He stands straighter, the dark jacket, the first time I’ve seen him in one, molding to his broad shoulders. His strides are purposeful, and a gleam of pridereflects across those mismatched orbs. He’s the king surveying his kingdom, a land of whispered deals and veiled threats.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I thought he looked good before, but here at home in his domain? He looks like a feckin’ god.
“Mr. Rossi, thanks for coming.” A man in a navy suit appears from behind the bar where a bartender wipes down the counter, and a waitress counts the cash from the tip jar. Mirrored backlit shelves climb to the ceiling, filled with every rare and illegal liquor you can’t find in a regular Manhattan club.
Even in the quiet, the space hums with the kind of tension I haven’t felt since Belfast. Not the good kind—the kind that coils in your gut and whispers: something bad happened here. Or is about to.
The financial manager, Lawson, eyes me for an instant before his gaze swivels back to Alessandro. “It’s nice to see you out of that wheelchair, boss. I assume this lovely lady is the reason?”
Alessandro grits out a smile, flashing teeth.
“I hope that means you’ll be returning to the club soon?”
“We’ll see.” He signals toward the main lounge area where low-slung velvet couches in deep wine and ebony are scattered in intimate clusters. “Now, shall we get down to business? I have another appointment I need to get to after this.”
Lawson dips his head and allows his boss to take the lead. Before he moves, he turns to me, eyes more vibrant than I’ve seen in days. “No need for you to be bored poring over financial statements with us. Feel free to show yourself around. Or better…” Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he whistles, the sharp squeal like a crack across the cavernous, vacant space. The bartender and server both immediately stop what they’re doing and spin toward the sound. “Hey, Lance, Sienna, which one of you want to give Rory here the grand tour?”
“I’ll do it,” the bartender calls out. “I’m all finished up here.”
“Good.” Alessandro eyes me expectantly before tipping his chin toward the man.
“Now, behave yourself,” I mutter before turning to follow the bartender.
A rueful chuckle squeezes out through his thinned lips. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Red.Dioforbid I slip across the slick marble floor and break my neck.”
“You’d probably do it just to spite me.”
Shaking his head, he whispers, “Go and let me take care of this so we can get out of here.”
Though he says the words, his entire demeanor screams the opposite. Alessandro is more at home here than I’ve seen him anywhere else. Why would he be in such a hurry to leave?
The bartender approaches with a smile, distracting me from my wandering thoughts. Warm hazel eyes meet mine, and I’m already sure this guy is killing it working behind the bar. He’s all perfect teeth and chiseled cheekbones. “Rory, right?”
