Chapter 3

I'm lost in the pages of Tolstoy when Liam bursts into the library like a hurricane in an Armani suit. I don't bother looking up. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.

"Daniel Hayes is dead," he announces, voice dripping with drama.

I grip my book a little tighter, willing myself not to react. Daniel Hayes. Now there's a name I hadn't expected to hear today. Or ever again, if I'm being honest.

"And?" I manage, keeping my tone as flat and uninterested as possible.

But Liam, being Liam, isn't about to let me off that easy. I can practically feel the manic energy radiating off him as he plops his designerclad ass right on the antique coffee table in front of me. Dad would have a fit if he saw.

"And you know what that means," Liam grins, snatching my book away. I resist the urge to snatch it back. That would only encourage him.

Instead, I sigh, resigning myself to whatever scheme he's cooked up this time. "Shouldn't you be talking to our father about this?"

Liam leans in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm talking about it with you."

He turns those puppydog eyes on me, the ones that stopped working sometime around my tenth birthday. I tense up, ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his secrets when the door creaks open again.

Great. Just great.

Sophia glides in, all angelic grace in a flowing white dress. She closes the door behind her with a soft click that sounds suspiciously like a coffin lid to my ears.

"Not until you hear us out," she says, her voice sweet as honey and twice as sticky.

Before I can make a break for it, Liam claps a hand on my shoulder, pinning me in place. "Both of us," he adds, unnecessarily.

I slump back into the couch, defeated. "You have five minutes."

Sophia perches on the arm of the couch, her dress swishing softly. She's the picture of innocence, which immediately sets off warning bells in my head. My sister hasn't been truly innocent since she convinced our nanny that Liam was adopted when we were kids.

"That's all we need," Sophia says, leaning in close.

Here we go, I think, bracing myself for whatever brand of insanity they're about to unleash.

"With that despicable Hayes monster put out of his misery, we have an opportunity if we move fast," Sophia begins, her eyes gleaming with barely suppressed excitement.

I sit up straight, muscles tensing. This can't be good. "The next words out of your mouth had better not be that we should take this chance to eliminate the Hayes," I warn, already feeling a headache coming on.

Liam scoffs, "What, are you scared?"

I shoot him a glare. "No, but I'm also not suicidal. And that taunt stopped working on me when I was ten."

Sophia laughs lightly, a tinkling sound that would be charming if I didn't know better. "We're not suicidal."

"Then stop dicking around and tell me," I growl, my patience wearing thin.

Sophia twirls a strand of her hair, a habit she's had since childhood. It's meant to make her look innocent and distracted, but I know it's just another one of her tricks. "The Morgan daughter, the only one left, was set to marry Daniel Hayes. They were going to announce the engagement today."

That catches me off guard. "I hadn't heard anything," I admit, frowning.

"No one did," Sophia says, her smile widening. "That's the point."

I let that sink in for a moment, trying to see where they're going with this. "It sounds like the girl dodged a bullet," I say slowly, still not sure I want to know where this is heading.

Liam nods enthusiastically. "Most definitely. But here's the thing..."

He exchanges a loaded look with Sophia, and my stomach drops. Whatever they're about to say, I know I'm not going to like it.

"If someone's going to secure an alliance with the Morgan family," Liam continues, "why not one of us?"

I feel the color drain from my face as the implications hit me. Oh no. Oh hell no.

"Then I suppose I should congratulate you on your impending nuptials," I force out, trying to keep my tone light.

Liam's grin widens impossibly further. "Actually, we're here to congratulate you."

Panic floods my system. This can't be happening. I scramble for an out, any out. "What about Umberto?" I blurt. "He's old enough to play husband to the Morgan girl."

Sophia and Liam share another look, their smiles growing wider, and I know I'm well and truly fucked.

"Now, now, little brother," Sophia coos, patting my arm in a way that's probably meant to be comforting but just makes my skin crawl. "You know as well as we do that Umberto isn't... suited for this kind of responsibility."

She's not wrong. Our youngest brother is more interested in partying and blowing through his trust fund than anything resembling actual work or family duty. But still...

"And I am?" I counter, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Liam leans back, crossing his arms. "You're the smart one, Roberto. The levelheaded one. The one who actually gives a damn about the family legacy."

"Plus," Sophia adds, her voice dropping to a stage whisper, "you're by far the most handsome."

I roll my eyes at that. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Liam chuckles. "It's gotten us this far, hasn't it?"

I stand up abruptly, needing to put some distance between myself and my conniving siblings. I pace over to the fireplace, staring into the flames as I try to think this through.

"Why me?" I ask finally, turning back to face them. "Why not you, Liam? Or you, Sophia? You're both older and more established. Wouldn't you be better choices for this... alliance?"

Sophia's smile turns sad, almost wistful. "You know why, Roberto. I'm damaged goods in the eyes of society after that mess with the Fitzgerald boy."

I wince at the memory. That particular scandal had been ugly, even by our family's standards.

"And me?" Liam shrugs. "I'm too much of a wildcard. The Morgans would never trust me with their precious daughter and all that comes with her."

"But they'd trust me?" I can't keep the skepticism out of my voice.

"You're the golden boy, Roberto," Sophia says softly. "The one with the clean record and the good reputation. The one who actually finished college and has a real job outside the family business."

"A lawyer," Liam adds. "Respectable. Trustworthy. The perfect soninlaw material."

I turn back to the fire, my mind racing. They're not wrong, as much as I hate to admit it. I've always been the responsible one, the one who tried to stay above the fray of family politics and backstabbing. And now it seems that very quality is coming back to bite me in the ass.

"What if I refuse?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

The silence that follows is heavy, loaded with unspoken threats and promises.

"You won't," Liam says finally, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

"Because you know what's at stake," Sophia adds. "For all of us."

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of generations of Connoly pressing down on my shoulders. The family legacy, the empire built on blood and secrets, all of it hanging in the balance.

"Does Father know about this plan of yours?" I ask, though I'm pretty sure I already know the answer.

"He will," Liam says, "once you agree."

I turn to face them again, taking in their eager expressions, the mix of hope and calculation in their eyes. My beloved, scheming, utterly ruthless siblings.

"And the Morgan girl?" I ask, realizing I don't even know her name. "Does she get a say in this?"

Sophia waves a dismissive hand. "Details. We'll work those out later. The important thing is to make the first move before anyone else can swoop in."

I shake my head, a humorless laugh escaping me. "You make it sound like we're talking about a business merger, not a marriage."

"Aren't we?" Liam counters, raising an eyebrow.

And there it is, the cold, hard truth of our world laid bare. Love, happiness, personal choice – those are luxuries for other people. For us, everything is a transaction, a move in the great game of power and influence.

I walk back to the couch, sinking down onto it with a heavy sigh. "You really think this is necessary? That the family is in that much trouble?"

The look Liam and Sophia exchange speaks volumes.

"You've been out of the loop for a while, little brother," Sophia says gently. "Things are... not great. This alliance could be our saving grace."

"Or our downfall if we fuck it up," Liam adds helpfully.

"You can't seriously be asking me to marry some woman I've never met from a family we were raised to hate," I say, turning back to face my siblings. The ridiculousness of the situation hits me anew, and I can't help but let out a bitter laugh.

Liam and Sophia exchange another one of those loaded looks that make me want to throw something. Preferably at their heads.

"I'm not," Liam answers finally, his voice unnaturally melancholy. He pauses, and it's like the whole room holds its breath. "Father is."

Just like that, the fight drains right out of me. My hold on the whiskey glass tightens, and for a single second, I actually consider hurling it into the flames. But come on, it would be a horrible waste, because if there’s one thing a Connolly never does, it’s squander good wine. We might muck up a lot of things, but whiskey? That’s sacred. Besides, the burn in my throat is the only thing keeping me grounded right now.

I could argue with Liam and Sophie all day long, and maybe I’d even win once in a while. But Father? Forget it. His word is the final say around here, and he’s a pro at poking our buttons to achieve what he wants. The person knows us better than we know ourselves, which is pretty messed up if you think about it. I learned that lesson the hard way when I was still naive enough to think there was some other life out there for me—a way out of this mess. I used to dream of it, actually—running away, starting over, being just another nobody. But that’s all it ever was: a silly dream. And I’m the fool who thought it could be real.

I slam my glass down, the noise louder than I intended, and walk out of the library, disregarding Liam and Sophie’s shouts like they don’t even matter. Why should they? They don’t get it. No one does. The weight of their expectations, Father’s demands, and this whole messedup situation is crushing me. Every breath I breathe seems like I’m breathing their damn legacy, choking on it. I need to get out, clear my thoughts, breathe. But who am I kidding? In this house, there’s no escape from the Connolly legacy. It sticks to you like glue, no matter where you go, like some awful joke you can never laugh at.

What’s the purpose of attempting to fight it? No matter what I do, I’m always going to be exactly what they want me to be: another Connolly puppet, dancing to the old man’s song.