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Bryce is quick to defend himself. “It was a setup. I didn’t force myself on anyone. Missy plays dirty.”

She looks at me with a plea. “That’s just another reason why you going to your father tonight is a terrible idea.”

My sweet Harper. The woman I chose to spend the rest of my life with. She’s looking at me with love and concern. She’s been a Sexton for only a moment, and I have dragged her into the thick of the abyss that is my family drama. There’s desperation in her eyes and only one way to make it go away.

Austin and Bryce are given the same look. The women we love each try to hold us back from doing something rash.

Problem is, we’ve waited eight years to avenge our mother’s death.

We can’t wait another day.

Austin, Bryce, and I share fierce determination. Brother to brother, we share a look. A conversation of nods and clenched jaws, flared nostrils, and puffed chests. Where the love of a good woman is one you cherish forever, you can’t undermine the love of a brother.

Harper softly kisses me in understanding. She knows my mind is made up as I place the drive in my pocket.

With the three of us still dressed in tuxedos, we kiss our women and head out to confront the man who took our mom away from us.

We don’t speak a word on the elevator ride down. The car ride to the house is quiet. Even Bryce’s Tesla is silent. We each stew in our thoughts, our memories … our hatred.

The mansion is dark, except for a room on the first floor—Father’s office.

Austin turns to Bryce. “What about Missy?”

“She won’t be home,” I say from the backseat. “And, if she is, her room is on the opposite wing. They stopped sharing a room a few years ago.”

“She’ll run as soon as she finds out what we know. Her ass will be in France before a warrant is issued,” Austin bites.

We didn’t think about that. Who the hell knows what to do in situations as fucked up as this?

Bryce pulls out his phone and scrolls through the screen. Austin glances in my direction in the backseat, seeing if I have any clue who he’s calling. I shrug, so we both put our full attention into Bryce and that phone call.

“Chief Tatum, this is Bryce Sexton. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I have information that you will definitely want to know, concerning the death of my mother. Can you send a patrol car to my father’s house on the corner of Pacific and Divisadero? You know which one it is, right?” There’s a pause, and Bryce nods before saying, “Thank you.”

“How in the fuck do you have the Chief of Police’s cell phone number?” Austin asks as soon as Bryce ends the call.

“I made friends when I realized I might need to save your ass at some point.” Bryce gets out of the car.

Austin chuckles to himself before opening the door and stepping out.

As we all walk up to the sixteen-thousand-square-foot mansion, I grit my teeth even harder.

They bought the place two years ago when it came up for auction after someone lost their ass in trying to renovate the historic landmark. The property is the largest in Pacific Heights, and it is a complete joke for the two of them to own an eleven-bedroom house. But, since it was the most desirable place that everyone knew about because of the history dating all the way back to 1894, Missy would stand for nothing less after they were married.

Bryce knocks on the door. No one answers. It’s late, but knowing Father, he is in his study, having a nightcap. Austin knocks again, this time loud and long.

Father answers the door, wearing his pajamas and a velvet robe. He eyes the three of us standing in his doorway.

“Where’s Missy?” Bryce asks point-blank.

“She’s not back yet,” Edward says.

Bryce steps forward with Austin, and I’m right on his heel. He heads toward the study, not saying a word.

“Could this really not wait until morning? It’s late,” Dad says, pulling up his sleeve to examine his watch.

We ignore him as we walk down the hallway lined with wood paneling and gold sconces. We walk into the study where a fire is roaring, and there’s a filled glass of amber liquid on the table. His television is on with a Dean Martin movie playing. Austin picks up the remote and turns it off.

Father closes the door and opens his arms out. “Okay. We’re here. What could be so important that you had to waltz into my home at one o’clock in the morning?”