I can’t.
The clacking of Sandra’s heels on the wood floors draws my attention. All the hairs on my arms stand at attention. I pretend to be engrossed in my book, making an obvious show of turning the page, even after the sound of her heels stop. If she knows I’m micromanaging the new tutor, she’ll tell Dad. If she tells Dad, he’ll dig in and want to know more about this tutor. It’ll put a microscope on Della and I can’t have that.
Plus, if Dad realizes the tutor is incredibly hot, he might fire him on the spot.
No, it’s better to feign disinterest.
“Miss Landry?”
“Hmm?” I don’t look up from my book.
“Your father wanted me to let you know that tomorrow night you’ll be entertaining a guest at dinner.”
My eyes fly to hers, brows knitting in confusion. “Me?”
“Yes. He said he’ll have Lucy bring by some appropriate dress options.”
Good ol’ Lucy. My personal shopper. Because heaven forbid I’m allowed to actually shop on my own. That would require letting me off the leash and Dad has a strong hold on it. If he’d let me loose, even for one day, to shop, I could probably buy and return enough stuff to stash away a good amount of cash for an escape.
But since that isn’t an option, I’m still penniless and without a plan.
“Who’s the guest?” A prickly uneasy feeling spreads across my flesh. “Do I know them?”
Sandra flashes me a brilliant, practiced smile. “It’s his new protégé, dear. Ty Constantine.”
Constantine.
As in the influential and seriously wealthy gods of New York City.
“Wait. Dad’s protégé is also the guy he wants me to have dinner with?” I clarify, irritation churning my gut.
“You know how your father likes to control all the moving parts and ensure the end result is to his satisfaction.” She waves a manicured hand in dismissal. “It’ll be better this way. Allowing anyone access into the Croft empire is risky and dangerous. You know this.”
I want to pick her apart for more answers regarding this topic, but all thoughts come screeching to a halt when Ford enters the living room with a cat in his arms and my little sister at his side.
I gape at him.
A cat?
He gives me a half shrug, not at all bothered by the way the filthy feline is clawing long snags in his shirt. Dad would have a cow for so many reasons right now—cute boy, mangy cat, and my deaf sister. The idea of Dad walking in on this gives me such anxiety, the room tilts and bile rises in my throat.
I’m vaguely aware of Sandra shooing Della to her room and telling Ford goodbye before she disappears back to her office within our home.
Then, silence.
I snap out of my daze and rise to my feet. After sliding on my shoes, I slip out of the penthouse, hoping to catch up to Ford.
Why?
Because I want to talk to him—to learn all there is to know about him. Like why he’s doing this job and why he’s so interested in me. I want to know what he’s hiding.
Mostly, I want to know if he meant it…that I could trust him.
As much as I know it’s a bad idea, I want to. I don’t have friends or people I can rely on. It’s just me and Della in this big, awful world. Having a person to count on seems almost too good to be true.
By the time I catch an elevator to the lobby of the building, I’m sure he’s long gone. I shoulder past some men in suits lingering near the entrance, trying to catch a peek. When I make it outside, I don’t see Ford’s shiny Audi he loves so much.
What I do see confuses me.
An obscenely yellow Bronco idly rumbles as Ford hands one of the valet men a wad of cash. Ford doesn’t notice me as he climbs into the vehicle. He guns the engine, squealing as he takes off. I stare after the vehicle wondering just how many cars Ford Mann has.
More questions.
No answers.
The urge to look him up on the internet is a temptation I nearly fall victim to. But, searching him out means leading Dad right to him since he watches my digital activity like a hawk. Right now, no matter how much he annoys me, Ford is something in my life that’s mine.
My “friend.”
My secret.
Mine.
Chapter Eight
Sparrow
It’s too fucking quiet.
I hate when it’s quiet.
When we’re all three home, our twenty-three hundred square feet apartment in the heart of Tribeca doesn’t feel big enough, and it’s loud. There’s always a game or movie on the television in the living room. Someone is always talking or bitching.
I rock in my recliner just to hear the squeak over and over again. Our two brown recliners are ugly as fuck but super comfortable. This apartment, a nearly five-million-dollar gift from our uncle, Bryant, had some hard-ass pretentious armchairs once upon a time. As soon as we moved in a year ago, we took them to the dumpster and bought these instead.
This might be Morelli property, but to us, it’s home.
Just like every guy, I’ve wondered what it would be like to be on my own. I wouldn’t have to clean up the messes Scout leaves in the kitchen every goddamn night or put up with Sully during football season. But then it would always be too quiet and really fucking lonely. It’s comforting having them near me. I feel like it’ll always be that way.
Growing up, I’ve always had my brothers right there by my side every step of the way. We played lacrosse together ever since we were old enough to hold a stick and were placed in all the same classes because money talks. Back then, because of Mom, we had lots of it. The three of us ruled every setting we were in because we ruled as one.
After all the shit that happened when we were stupid eighteen-year-old dicks, we’ve been fractured. The close bond we once had has been severed and we haven’t seemed to find a way to glue it back together. Sometimes, I wonder if it was Mom all along who held us tight, and now that she’s rotting away in prison, we’re drifting apart toward our own corners of the universe. Still, despite all the crap we’ve been through, I can’t imagine my life without them.
Needing to get my mind off depressing shit like being alone and missing Mom, I flip through my phone. There’s nothing to be discovered about Landry, but I’m cool with plucking those threads of information from her each time I see her. It’s her father I want to know more about. He’s the key that’ll unlock access into the Constantine world. The three of us have been desperate in our own ways to seek retribution for what Winston did to us.
He fucked us on so many levels. So many goddamn levels.
This job Bryant has tossed our way is the most entertaining shit we’ve been allowed to do. It fulfils an emptiness I’d been struggling to get a hold on. I have purpose.
Maybe Sully was right…
We’ve been existing but not living.
Puppets in the Morelli show.
I scroll through every news article I can find on Alexander Croft. Everything I read, they all kiss his ass and praise him for being the next Steve Jobs. A brilliant tech genius with a knack for turning gaming code into billions of dollars. He’s loaded and his wealth continues to grow exponentially each year.
It takes some digging but I learn that his wife, Evie, passed away not long after the birth of her second daughter. The reporters gloss over the shattering loss in a rare show of respect for the family’s privacy, and instead, focus on the mastermind himself.