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He’s touching her. Jealousy surges. His hand on her back. From the angle of his arm, his palm is low on her shoulders, and her elbow brushes his side as she laughs. He wears an amused smile, captured as he speaks to her. In the next frame, they both look out at the cameras. Her eyes are bright, as if they’d shared a private joke.
They seem close. My jealousy is causing a physical reaction now, one I don’t like, and I take several breaths and scroll to find out who this motherfucker is.
Leo Morelli. Second son, third child. Owns a subsidiary of Morelli Holdings in Manhattan. Real estate. “Beast of Bishop’s Landing.” More detail upon request.
Her brother.
The jealousy subsides, but it’s replaced with something else. Awareness. Of this brother, yes, but all of them. They’re distinct faces now. Except—
I scroll back up. Daphne has seven siblings in total. Four brothers, three sisters. Two of her brothers weren’t at the gala, but other photos have been included.
Tiernan Morelli. Third son. Works for Bryant Morelli.
The photo of him is grainy. It shows a distinctive scar on his face.
Carter Morelli. Fourth son. Graduated from Oxford. Lives overseas.
So the youngest child at boarding school was flown home for this event, but not Carter. There is a dynamic in play. I would guess, from the photos, that one of the older brothers is at the center of it. Lucian, perhaps. Or—Leo, from the way Daphne laughed at him. It’s a single frame but it’s genuine.
My phone buzzes on the desk where I’ve abandoned it. My thumb is already above the reject button when the name registers. Will. My younger brother. The photo of Daphne with her brother, laughing at him, happy with him, lands at the center of my screen.
“Yeah?”
“Hi to you too, Emerson.” Will’s going somewhere. He’s always going somewhere. There’s birdsong in the background. Central Park, maybe, on his way to somewhere else. Winter birds. Probably the building where he headquarters his tech startup. “Did Sin call you?”
“I didn’t answer.”
“Asshole.”
“Did you want something?”
“No, but Sin does.” A laugh, punctuated with more birdsong. “He wants us to get together. He wants us to be one big, happy family. I told him the odds weren’t great, given everything.”
Everything encompasses our shitshow of a childhood, which is kept in its own box, out of sight, out of mind. The memories fight against their frames. I pull up the app on my desktop that shows me the security system for the house. All the doors are locked. Two deep breaths to push away the sensation of a threat.
“That ship has sailed,” I tell Will.
“Sin said something about new beginnings.” He sounds thoughtful. “I think he might be fucking someone new.”
“He’s always fucking someone new.” I scroll down past the gala photos to a larger collection of Daphne herself. Anything he could find, plus more details from her life. She won a fellowship at NYU. Graduated with honors. Did well at the private Catholic prep school she attended. It’s not enough. It’s all the information I requested and then some, and it’s still not enough.
No one captivates me in this way. People are always trying to talk to me about new, emerging artists, and for the most part I’m not interested. Nora is an exception. I made my money on the masters throughout history, and built my collection from them, too. New is exciting for small minds. I’m in the business of depth. I’m in the business of excellence.
Something in Daphne’s painting spoke of both.
And the woman herself—
“Are you listening to me?” Will asks.
“No.”
“Sin said he’s coming to New York.”
I don’t like that. No wonder Will didn’t stop to harass me about not listening to his bullshit. This is a call with a purpose.
“Why?”
Will huffs. “Why do you think?”
