Page 40 of Brutal Heir
“I’m going to get ready, and then it’s bath time for you,” she calls out.
I barely restrain a groan. “You know with all these damned baths, one would think you’re just trying to find excuses to see me naked, Red.”
Her cackles erupt from the depths of the walk-in closet. “Please. If I wanted to see you naked, Rossi, I’d just rip the towel off.”
I choke on my own damn tongue. “Cazzo, woman.”
She emerges a second later, wearing a smug little smirk and holding a bundle of clothes. “You started it, McFecker. Don’t throw out bait unless you’re ready to get hooked.”
“I’m starting to think you're trying to kill me slowly.”
She shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Now come on, the bath is calling, and I’ve got bandages to check.”
I grumble under my breath as I trail after her, but she’s already disappearing into the bathroom.
“And try to keep that overly friendly cock of yours in check this time,” she calls out over her shoulder. “I’m still recovering from the last bath.”
A surge of heat races up instead of down, blanketing my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time a woman made me blush. Instead of giving into the embarrassment, I adopt her blasé attitude. “Not making any promises.”
I follow, still grinning. But a whisper of doubt follows too, one that no bath can wash away.
CHAPTER 17
I’M FREE
Rory
My heart thunders against my ribs, drowning out the sounds of the bustling city. The buildings pass by in a blur, and I’m vaguely aware there’s something familiar about the area. Lifting my gaze to read the sign across the squat brick structure, I recognize the name. Holy Cross Nursing Home. It’s where my first patient, Paddy Flaherty resides. It’s been months since I’ve visited him. I vow to return the first chance I get if I survive the next few days with Alessandro.
Holding my tote bag tight against my body, I quicken my strides before I turn another corner and find myself in a quieter, uninhabited part of the Lower East Side. I can’t stop glancing over my shoulder as I turn down the deserted alleyway.
Just breathe, Rory.
Maeve never would have given me this guy’s name if he wasn’t trustworthy. My best friend in the world had slipped Ryan Flanagan’s contact information into my hand hours before I was supposed to marry her brother.
Only for emergencies.
He’d been the one to arrange for my arrival in New York, but I’d never met the man in person. And he had no idea who I really was and hopefully no one ever would. Brigid O’Shea died the day of her wedding, and may she rest in peace for all eternity.
Now here I am about to walk into the lion’s den to procure some false documents to hand over to Alessandro’s lawyer. I pause at the rusted metal door at the end of the alley, my hands curling into tight fists at my sides.
Why am I doing this again?
Why couldn’t I simply get a normal job at a hospital or private clinic?
They’d never know the difference between real and forged documents…
No. Instead, I’m about to tie myself to a man who I am ninety-nine percent certain is the heir to one of the biggest Italian crime syndicates in Manhattan. Because I’ve clearly lost my mind.
Because somewhere between the growls and the glares, Alessandro got under my skin. And if I’m not careful, he’ll claw his way into the parts of me I’ve tried to keep locked away.
But I lie to myself like an eejit and swear it’s the cushy job. The posh penthouse, the fancy parties, the limos. Not the broody, scarred mob boss. Or the pain I see in his eyes, a mirror of my own. No, it has nothing to do with his lingering looks and Roman god-like body.
Feckin’ hell, Rory, what are you doing?
I’m about to spin around and march all the way home to tell Alessandro I can’t do this when the sharp keening sound of the door wrenching open has my heart leaping up my throat.
A beefy guard with Gatorade orange hair and more freckles than me tips his long nose down in my direction. “You must be Rory.”
