She signs something vicious to me, but I don’t know what the fuck it means. Lifting a brow, I point to our usual spot where we work.
“Playtime’s over.”
She cocks her head, frowning. I say it again and gesture at the cat. With a huff of understanding, she abandons her efforts and walks over to the desk. Once she’s seated, she signs slowly to me. We don’t discuss the fact that I don’t know ASL, but she’s not stupid. For some reason, she plays along. Probably using me for the damn cat.
It takes me a minute to decipher what she’s saying.
Dad got beat up.
Playing innocent, I say back to her, “He did? How terrible.”
She grins and shrugs before signing something I don’t know. Then, she takes the time to spell it out for me, k-a-r-m-a.
“Karma?”
Yes. She folds her hands in her lap and waits patiently for our lesson to start as though she’s a sweet little cherub and not the little devil herself.
I like this kid.
And Alexander definitely had that shit coming.
A sudden realization hits me right in the gut. The smile I’d returned to Della fades. If Alexander hits Landry, I wonder if he does the same to Della.
Karma.
I’ve seen the way she looks at him—with barely hidden hatred. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if he hits her too. In the end, I keep my mouth shut. Deep down, I know the answer. He does.
It makes me want to beat his ass all over again.
Chapter Twenty
Sparrow
Normally, I’d be completely fine with attending an event where I’m required to wear a nice suit and flash my charming smile. I’m good at it. I actually like it, unlike my brothers.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I’m buzzing with anger and frustration. I am stuck in fucking Boston of all places. Bryant wants me to attend some real estate dinner and bid on some properties. Basically, he wants me to rub elbows with people in the biz, learn a thing or two, and then somehow use it against his enemies.
Maybe Sully was right. This is bullshit. Our lives. How we’re chained to the Morellis, specifically Bryant, and have no hope of doing anything else.
Rather than sulk like my brother would over what I can’t do anything about right now, I focus on my task at hand.
Schmooze.
Sully will smooth out things with Landry, hopefully, and what he doesn’t fix, I’ll manage myself.
After dropping my car off with a valet driver, I make my way into the building that’s bustling with well-dressed people. This is my element. I was born to party with the elite. I’d like to think I get that from Mom. I clean up the best of the three of us and can fake a smile that gets me damn near whatever I want. It doesn’t hurt that I’m wearing one of my most expensive bespoke Tom Ford charcoal suits. Sully says these pants give me a David Beckham ass. I think he’s just being a dick when he says it, but I take it as a compliment. The only thing I’m missing is something lovely hanging off my arm. A few women try to catch my gaze, as though in tune with my thoughts, but I’m not interested. I’m too distracted to flirt. Besides, the only arm candy I want is her. I try not to imagine Landry in a sexy, fitted dress because these David Beckham pants don’t have room for a ten-inch boner.
“Ford?”
A tall, broad guy with fuckboy blond hair and a goofy-ass grin saunters my way. I stare at him blankly because I don’t know this asshole. He’s certainly not anyone I’d willingly associate with. But he knows our alias, though.
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t tell me you’d be going to this shit.” He laughs and smacks the side of my arm. “Dude, you were right about Landry.”
I quickly connect the dots.
Landry?
This has to be Ty fucking Constantine.
“I’m always right,” I grunt, playing along. “What happened?”
“I texted her. We’re going out on a date next week. Without her daddy.”
“Her dad’s a real asshole, yeah?”
“Shit, yeah.” He leans in and whispers conspiratorially. “He still didn’t come into the office today. When he got jumped, they really must have fucked him up.”
“Hmph.”
He smacks my arm again and I swear to fuck I’m going to smack him back if he does it again. “What crawled up your ass and died today? Usually you’re not so grumpy.”
I blink at him in confusion. What kind of act has Scout of all people been putting on?
“Is it the girl you were telling me about?” he asks, frowning. “She still avoiding you?”
Did he really tell her about Ash?
“Always,” I grunt out.
“You’re just going to have to get her alone. Make her hear you out.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that easy. She’s married.”
His eyes bug out of his head. “No shit? Man, you didn’t tell me she was married. You really do have it bad if you’re pining over a married woman.”