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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.
