Page 4 of Brutal Heir

Men this handsome didn’t exist in real life.

Beneath a furrowed brow and sharp cheekbones were a pair of piercing brown eyes so deep they appeared almost black. His dark hair was just long enough to brush against the collar of the expensive tailored suit beneath his long cashmere coat.

The damp gave it an almost whimsical curl at the ends, which belied the air of intensity clinging to him.

Even the small white scar on his right upper lip, standing out against his tanned skin, could not diminish his overpowering male beauty.

If anything, it made him look…dangerous.

One thick eyebrow raised in a perfect arch. “Signorina, did I hurt you?”

His fingers were still on my arms, radiating warmth through my thin shirt.

I couldn’t stop staring at them. A flash of a black diamond signet ring gleamed on his ring finger, the kind only powerful rich men wore.

Reflexively, I tugged on my soggy vest so my nipples, erect from the wet chill…or from his stare…wouldn’t show.

A vision slammed into me of his hands wrapped around my wrists, pinning me to a bed, his mouth on my⁠—

“I— Hurt me,” I blurted.

Cheeks blazing, I coughed and tried again. “Sorry. I meant no. You didn’t hurt me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted with the hint of a smile. “That is good. I would never forgive myself if I hurt a bella donna such as you.”

Wait. Fuck. He’s Italian.

Alarm bells went off in my head as my mother’s voice screeched a warning.

All my life, she'd conditioned me to fear Italian men, despite my own Italian heritage.

Italian men were dangerous.

My father was Italian.

The father I’d never met—for a reason.

The man’s hand grazed my cheek, a touch so light it should have reassured me—but it didn’t.

If anything, it confirmed all my mother’s warnings.

This man would devour me if I let him.

Say something. Anything.

“My shoes—they’re gone.”

Anything but that…

He chuckled as his gaze traveled down my body. “I can see that.”

My toes curled against the cold pavement under his scrutiny.

Then his hand slid down my arm and he took the shoes from my grasp, kneeling on the wet cement. “We can’t have you risking harm by running through the streets barefoot.”

“Wait! No. You can’t⁠—”

His palm smoothed over the back of my calf as he lifted my right leg.