Page 56 of Brutal Heir
“Yes, boss,” Johnny finally murmurs dipping his head, and a part of me actually feels bad for the guy. “Sorry, Miss Rory.”
I nod, embarrassment coating my cheeks in warmth.
Just when I’m sure I’m home free, Alessandro turns that feral gaze on me. “And you…” He closes the distance between us in one long stride, and the nurse part of me is thrilled by the strength of his gait. The other part of me is a tangle of nerves and excitement as he looms dangerously. “When one of my men tells you to do something, you do as you’re told.” He clasps my chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing my eyes to his stormy ones. “It is for your own safety.”
Instead of focusing on the genuine concern in his gaze, I concentrate on the building irritation because the former is much too hard to swallow. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, McFecker.” Wrapping my hand around his, I peel his fingers off my chin. “And the next time you leave the penthousewithout telling me where you’re going, I’ll be putting a leash on ya.”
The hint of a smile teases at the corners of his lips.
“I’ve seen what you do to rules, Rossi. Might be the only way to keep you in check.”
“Were you worried about me, Red?”
“No, I just didn’t want to find you crumpled in a ditch somewhere and all my hard work will have been for nothing.”
He grins again, and the mad flutter that smile ignites is completely unfair.
And dangerous.
Alessandro motions to the door, and Johnny rushes to hold it open for us, eyes cast down to the floor.
“Sorry,” I murmur as I pass the guard. I never had any intention of getting the poor gobshite in trouble.
He says nothing, only further dropping his chin.
Alessandro sidles in next to me once we’re back inside the confines of his apartment. “You know, it’s okay for you to admit that you care about me,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing the shell of my ear.
I do care, too much. But I won’t let the traitorous words slip out.
“So what were you doing at Gemini Tower?” I blurt, anything to change the subject.
“Just had to sign some papers forPapà.” The answer comes too quickly and I’m still pretty sure he’s lying.
When he backs away, his dark gaze drifts past me, catching on the wheelchair by the door. The one he hasn’t used in days, despite my worried hovering. The one that’s become a silent shadow in the corner, a constant reminder of the pain, the fear, the helplessness that nearly swallowed him whole.
His jaw flexes. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
Alessandro steps forward with purpose, crossing the room with powerful strides. He grips the wheelchair, fingers curling around the cold metal handles, knuckles whitening. For a moment, he just stands there, head bowed, shoulders heaving as he breathes.
“Ale…” I whisper, moving toward him, “What are you?—”
He surges through the penthouse, hoisting the wheelchair over his head like it weighs nothing, like it’s just air and metal, not the prison it became for him.
“Be careful!” I cry, chasing after him as he storms toward the balcony. The whites of the living room blur, my pulse thunderous in my ears as I catch up to him. He’s poised at the railing, that damned wheelchair suspended above the Manhattan skyline.
“What are you doing?” I screech, panic and disbelief tangling in my throat.
He doesn’t look at me, just stares down at the street far below. His voice is calm, but it crackles with something raw, something on the edge of breaking. “I don’t need this anymore,” he says quietly. “And I want to give it the end it deserves.”
My mouth opens, ready to tell him to stop, to think, but the words die when I see his eyes clear and resolute. Before I can say anything, he lets out a breath, and with a guttural roar, he hurls it over the edge.
I rush to the railing, gripping the cold metal just in time to see the wheelchair tumble. It’s nothing but a silver blur against the sky, before it crashes onto the asphalt below. It explodes into twisted metal and shattered plastic. The sound echoes, sharp and violent, even this high up.
We stand there for a long moment, the cold wind tearing at our hair, the brilliant sunlight streaming down. The mangled wreckage of the wheelchair lies scattered on the street. A few pedestrians stare at the debris, then glance skyward, but we’retoo high up. Thank God he didn’t hit anyone with the fragments of the prison that held him. That chair was the fear that bound him, the weakness he thought defined him.
Ale’s breath is ragged beside me, his chest rising and falling as he stares down. His hand moves over mine on the railing.
