Deception Page 2

  “Our life should have been Harvard.” I grit my teeth, frowning hard. “We could have had so much more than this.”

  If our lives hadn’t gone to shit, we’d have gone off to Harvard and actually be making something of our lives now. It sucks knowing our path took such a sharp turn, landing us in the arms of the Morellis.

  “Bitterness is an ugly look,” Sparrow states. “Also, Scout will eat you alive if he hears you whining.”

  “I’m not fucking whining.”

  Sparrow shrugs before leaning back in his seat. Sometimes, I think Sparrow is the bigger of the three of us, but then I remember it’s just his arrogance that makes him seem that way. His ego is a giant goddamn mushroom cloud above him, looming over everyone, including myself. But, since he’s my brother, an identical triplet at that, I know physically we’re built exactly the same. The three of us are way too competitive to allow one of the others to surpass us on muscle mass.

  Deep voices can be heard, signaling the approach of men. I immediately tense up, hating the idea of dealing with Bryant. When it’s business as usual, dinners and private parties are something I can endure. However, when he calls us in for a special meeting, I want to crawl out of my own skin.

  I hate being his little bitch.

  Bryant strolls into one of the many sitting rooms in this massive mansion that we’ve designated as our meeting space. His air of authority is stifling. Where Sparrow seems larger than life with his arrogance, Bryant gives off this powerful regal vibe. Like he’s the fucking king of everything or some shit. Behind him, Scout enters—no, prowls is the better word—following stealthily like a pet panther just waiting for the command to destroy someone.

  His limp is almost unnoticeable.

  Almost.

  When Scout catches my gaze scrutinizing his gait, he shoots me a scathing glare. I’m used to him being an asshole, though, so it doesn’t bother me. After all, it’s his fault he has the damn limp in the first place.

  You fuck with a Constantine and they fuck you up. Literally. As though tuned into my thoughts of how Scout incurred not one but two broken kneecaps at the hands of one of Winston Constantine’s men, his jaw tightens and his dark eyes flicker with rage.

  “Boys,” Bryant greets, offering both Sparrow and me a smirk. “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”

  Before I can gripe that we’ve indeed been waiting for forty-five goddamn minutes, Sparrow cuts me off with a sharp expression.

  “Just shooting the shit,” Sparrow states, waving it off as if it’s not a big deal. “What’s up? Got another job for us?”

  Bryant, pleased with Sparrow’s compliance, chuckles. “Always so eager, son. We haven’t even gotten our pleasantries out of the way.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “I need another drink,” I mutter, needing desperately to numb every part of my body.

  Bryant cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed on me. “I believe you’ve had enough.”

  A flash of irritation ignites and travels up my spine to my head, burning my neck and cheeks. Getting chastised by Bryant, as though I’m a child, rankles me beyond belief. I grit my teeth and fist my hands, desperate to lay into him, but manage to offer a clipped nod of compliance instead. Bryant smiles before taking the seat beside Sparrow. I fall into my seat, eager to get this over with. Whatever bullshit job Bryant wants us to do, we’ll do, and then we can get back to trying to squeeze one ounce of pleasure from our stupid life.

  “As you boys are well aware, a lot goes into making us one of the most powerful names in the city,” Bryant starts, his authoritative tone vibrating with ire. “In order to remain an immovable force, certain people’s business interests need to be…” He sighs heavily, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Eliminated.”

  Scout perches on the arm of the chair beside me, shooting Bryant a questioning look. “The Constantines?” His jaw ticks and his eyes darken with fury. “If it were me, I’d have destroyed that family last year. Winston can eat shit.”

  Bryant scoffs. “As much as I appreciate your eagerness to knock that pompous prick down a few pegs, Winston is a necessary evil.”

  It’s Scout’s turn to bark out a derisive sound. “Necessary?”

  “Money makes the world go round. You, Scout, of all people know this.” Bryant bounces his gaze from Scout to me to Sparrow before landing back on Scout. “And with the right amount, you can make it spin faster and faster.”

  I arch a brow and exchange a look with Sparrow. He still wears an uninterested expression, but his body is tense. Not one of the three of us can stand the Constantines. Calling them a necessary evil is almost insulting. As though Bryant accepts the ruthlessness of Winston and his family but isn’t at all bothered by it. The Morellis and the Constantines have been at war for forever. As the secret bastard nephews, we’ve become collateral damage.

  But, then again, Bryant didn’t get his kneecap crushed in such a way that took a few surgeries and a year of physical therapy to regain some semblance of normalcy like us. Scout has it worse than me and Sparrow since he took a bat to both knees instead of just one. Bryant also didn’t get college ripped from his grasp. He didn’t have his mother dragged through the mud by Winston fucking Constantine who only wanted to prove a point—that he was on top.

  No, Bryant Morelli had none of that, therefore he isn’t bothered.

  I know I can speak for my brothers when I say we’re really fucking bothered.

  “You’ll do as I ask,” Bryant continues. “That’s what family does. And you, boys, are family now. Not to mention, you know I will reward you handsomely.”

  Scout grinds his molars together, his anger obviously bubbling up with each passing second. Good, I’m not the only one growing annoyed at Bryant’s nonchalance.

  “Reward,” I mutter, hoping this old fuck will get to the point already. “What do you want us to do? If it’s not about the Constantines…” Then why the fuck do we care?

  Bryant studies me for a long beat, his penetrating stare cutting through me like a hot knife through butter. Effortlessly. Smoothly. Effectively. I swallow, trying like hell not to wither, even a little, under his scrutiny. Because if he looks too hard, he’ll see how much I hate him and this family—how much I want to run away and never look back.

  “Oh, it’s about the Constantines,” Bryant rumbles, smirking. “It’s always about them, but I prefer to stab in the places they don’t expect. Bleed them from the inside out.”

  My muscles relax at those words.

  “Halcyon Corporation is looking to purchase tech giant Croft Gaming and Entertainment, which is dominating the technology industry for the foreseeable future. It’s a massive corporation with global reach. Word is the CEO of Croft, Alexander Croft, will be making a power grab at a place within the Constantine family.” Bryant glances my way. “Through marriage.”

  “He’s going to marry the psycho bitch who heads that family?” Scout asks, voice dripping with disgust. “And, if so, why do we care?”

  “Caroline would never remarry.” Bryant shakes his head, a villainous smile curling his lips. “Besides, it’s not him. It’s his daughter.”

  I do a quick run through in my head of the eligible bachelors in the Constantine family. Winston is out because he recently married our stepsister—ex-stepsister—and I thought the other brothers had girlfriends or some shit. That leaves other, less important Constantines.

  “So this dude’s daughter is supposed to marry some rich-ass distant cousin of the Constantine pricks and we care because…” Sparrow trails off. “Make it make sense, boss.”

  “We care because we love a good scandal,” Bryant says, smirking. “And by a good scandal, I mean a nuclear bomb to drop in the Constantine public relations laps. Something that will ruin their investment and destroy their relationship. Croft has the potential to grow into a trillion-dollar global empire. The Constantines know it and are trying to hop aboard that train, riding it all the way to the bank.” He clasps his fin
gers together, resting them in his lap. “I want to derail it.”

  “A scandal,” Scout reiterates with a scoff. “Come on, uncle dearest, we know there’s more to it than that. Spill the beans, man.”

  Bryant eyes him for a moment before nodding. “Let’s just say Croft has secrets, because frankly, every man in power does. The kind of secrets people like me pay good money to uncover. I want to know everything that man is hiding. I will find out everything that man is hiding. He might appear to be clean as a whistle, but those men are usually the dirtiest.”

  Most of the jobs Bryant sends us on involve good old-fashioned ass whoopings. The three of us, when we gang up on someone, are a lethal combination. We make sure our “jobs” know how much it physically hurts to irritate the patriarch of the Morelli family. He may no longer run the show, officially, but he still demands everyone’s respect.

  “So we’re going to spy?” Sparrow clarifies. “Get information?”

  His nostrils flare. I can tell he’s already bored of our new job. I’m the only guy around here who uses his brain. I made the best grades in school, made the better decisions between the three of us, and actually think ahead.

  Sparrow is super fucking smart but he has just enough of Scout’s reckless energy to make him trouble. He lives for seeing what he can get away with. I think that’s why he likes putting on the suit and playing the rich people games…because he’s good at it.

  And Scout is the crazy psycho. He doesn’t understand boundaries.

  He just does whatever the fuck he wants. Which is usually something destructive.

  “Infiltrate is a better word,” Bryant answers with a dark chuckle. “Infiltrate. Infect. I want you to involve yourselves in every aspect of their lives.”

  “Sounds…easy,” I say, confused as to why we’re even being asked to do this. It’s just so…dull.

  “Easy,” Bryant drawls out. “No, locating some asshole and beating him within an inch of his life because he owes a Morelli is easy. What I’m asking you to do is the next step.”

  “The next step,” Sparrow repeats. “To what?”

  “Harvard.”

  My blood runs cold. It’s a harsh, cruel reminder of what we’ve lost.

  “That’s what you always wanted, is it not?” Bryant offers a wolfish grin that makes every hair on my arms stand on end. “You’ve proven you’re good at obeying commands and have been loyal. Now, I want you to do more for me. This is an extension of my faith and trust in the three of you. Take this step, and I’m willing to give you what you truly want. Your future back.”

  Our future?

  I hate that my heart pumps faster at this prospect. This life is shitty. The chance to do more—anything—is enticing. Bryant’s not an idiot. He knows how to dangle the right carrots in our faces to get us to do his bidding.

  Scout rises to his feet and makes his way over to the bar, his limp more noticeable this time as he walks. I trail my gaze after him, wondering what his thoughts are on this new proposition our uncle is offering.

  “If the Croft guy has plans to marry off his daughter to a Constantine, I seriously doubt he’s going to allow us to waltz into his world and to start shaking shit up,” I grind out. “Seems a little out there.”

  Bryant’s shoulders stiffen and he cuts me a sharp glare. “It’s not out there. My source has done his part diving into Croft and uncovering his next moves. I want to have a hand in every twist and turn he decides to take. I’m still the captain steering his ship.”

  Again with the narcissistic metaphorical bullshit.

  “What’s our in?” Scout asks after sucking down a shot and slamming the glass on the bar top. “We’re pretty notoriously known as your nephews. Not exactly undercover material.”

  “Not as the Mannford triplets,” Bryant agrees, “or even Bryant Morelli’s triplet nephews.”

  Get. To. The. Point. Old. Man.

  “But,” Bryant continues, a sly grin tugging at his lips, “as someone entirely new, you can ease into their world, manipulate the tech princess, and find out every goddamn thing you can about Croft and his association with Winston. His daughter, from all reports, is practically a prisoner in her home. No friends. No outings. She’s sheltered and naive and ripe for the manipulating. I want you crawling all over Croft and his eldest daughter’s lives, never easing up on your efforts. Together, the three of you will work as one—one man.”

  I roll my eyes, but inside I’m wary. This feels big. And big, when Bryant Morelli and my brothers are involved, means dangerous. “Why send three guys, then? If you only want one.”

  “Because I want all three of you invested. I want you working with each other, building on each other’s work—even competing with each other. You’ll do more than one man, or even three other men, ever could.”

  “That’s true,” Sparrow says, as if this entire thing is reasonable. “Especially with Harvard on the line. No one can stand in our way when we work together.”

  “A triple threat,” Scout says, rejoining us. “One blade but three times as sharp.”

  “Precisely,” Bryant agrees. “Now cut those pricks and make them bleed.”

  Chapter Three

  Landry

  Don’t panic.

  Don’t panic.

  Too late.

  I stare at the empty seat across from me at our enormous dining room table that’s capable of seating eight, but only usually seats the three of us. Our dining room is one of the most visually pleasing rooms in our penthouse. It’s nestled in a corner, showcasing floor-to-ceiling panoramic views of the city. For such a stunning setting, it’s the room I hate the most. It feels as though we can’t hide from Dad. Under the sparkling chandelier that cost more than most people’s apartments, we’re magnified and exposed for his careful scrutinization. I can barely remember the good times here when Mom was still alive, back when dinners were filled with love and not dread.

  Where’s Della?

  Dad is distracted by replying to emails on his phone, but that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll realize Della isn’t here. His mood will plummet within seconds and then the entire condo will feel his wrath. The staff, me, and especially Della.

  Darting my gaze to the opening that leads into the living room, I search for any sign of my sister peeking around the corner.

  Nothing.

  The savory scents coming from whatever our chef is preparing no longer has me salivating, but instead has me wanting to gag.

  I could excuse myself and hunt her down. But he’d see right through that. I’ve tried before and it never works. No, the best option when it comes to Dad and Della is to distract him.

  Come on, Della. Stop messing around.

  The sound of a phone being set down on the mahogany table has me jerking my stare from the living room to my father. His narrowed eyes are fixated on the empty seat across from me. I note the clench of his jaw and slow change of color on his skin. From healthy tan to red, and soon to furious purple.

  Distract. Distract. Distract.

  “So, this new—”

  “Della,” Dad calls out, cutting off my sad attempt to make conversation. “Don’t keep us waiting.”

  Silence.

  Of course there’s silence. There’s always silence.

  You don’t just call out to Della and expect her to come running. It doesn’t work that way. He knows this, but does it anyway. Always setting her up for failure.

  “She, uh, was feeling under the weather earlier,” I say, fear for my sister making my voice raspy. “Maybe she fell asleep. I should go check on her.”

  When I begin to push my chair out to stand, Dad slams a hand down on the surface so hard, it makes me cry out in surprise. Slowly, he rises from his seat, the familiar purple fury painting his skin with every passing second.

  Oh, God.

  “Sit tight,” he instructs. “I’ll fetch the child.”

  The child.

  I hate him for this.

  He stalks out
of the dining room, his footsteps thunderous. I’m frozen, unsure what to do. I could rush in there and intervene, but last time I did that, I only made it worse. Tears prickle my eyes. I pray like hell she doesn’t give him any trouble that would cause her pain.

  A crash makes my heart jump into my throat. I curl my fingers around the knife beside my plate, wondering if I could actually use it if forced.

  Can I do it? Can I take him down?

  He storms back into the dining room.

  Della, all dolled up and dressed for a party, squirms as she tries to free herself from Dad’s iron grip around her tiny bicep. Her green eyes, filled with tears and confusion, slam to mine.

  The pleading in them kills me.

  Save me, Landry.

  If only it were that easy.

  Dad drags her chair out, tosses her onto the seat of it, and then shoves it back. His body vibrates with venomous rage. I attempt to catch my little sister’s gaze, but her chin drops to her chest to hide. Golden-blonde hair curtains her face, strands finding their way into the wetness on her cheeks and sticking there.

  “Tell your sister why you kept her waiting,” Dad grinds out, his voice booming and angry. “Now.”

  No answer.

  “She can’t hear you,” I whisper. “You know that.”

  Ignoring me, he repeats himself. Same result. No answer. Finally, he brings his fist down onto the table so hard, the water from her glass sloshes out. This gets her attention.

  With her hands she signs: What?

  I close my eyes briefly hoping he doesn’t see her answer as disrespectful. Rather than using ASL, her only method of communication, Dad speaks to her as if he’s forgotten the fact he has a deaf child. His voice grows louder and louder as he rants about her tardiness.

  Peeking my eyes back open, I watch Della as she attempts to read Dad’s lips. She’s precocious and busy, so learning how to sit still long enough to read someone’s lips has been something she’s failed to master, much to Dad’s disgust.