Freeing Denver (The Luxe Universe #3)

Prologue

ALISTAIR

Wilder Harland and Finn McEwan are dead.

Two explosions tore apart brick and bodies. Two lives were lost. Two families found themselves without leaders.

Colt Harland and Ronan McEwan are in comas, and there’s no telling when they’ll wake up, or if they even will. The structure of two of the most powerful families is falling to pieces, with only me to hold it together.

Well—me and Denver Luxe. A woman I believe would grab at this opportunity for the power and presence it brings.

But it was her or let the McEwan businesses get picked apart, and I couldn’t do that to Finn’s memory or Ronan’s legacy.

And despite Denver’s reasons for agreeing to step up, a weak link by marriage but still a link, it doesn’t change the fact that she can do it, and she has been for the past few days.

Even with a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, and countless other injuries, Denver is by my side, ready to be judged by the most feared men in New York.

And she’s fucking trembling.

“If you need pain relief, take it,” I say, adjusting my cuff while attempting to mask my irritation.

We’re sitting at the dining table of one of our safe houses, an extravagant town house, stylish and modern, kept tidy and well stocked in case of emergencies, but it doesn’t feel like home.

Helena’s cookbooks aren’t stacked in the kitchen; Holly’s crayons aren’t strewn across the coffee table—it feels cold, almost clinical, and Denver’s constant fidgeting is wearing on me.

“I’m fine,” she says, but she closes her eyes briefly as she shifts her shoulder.

“Then act like it. You’ll make the family look weak if you’re wincing throughout the entire meeting.”

Denver pauses her gentle shoulder movements and glares at me. “Says the man who was lucky enough to avoid a fucking explosion. Apologies that my brain and body aren’t healing to your timeline, asshat.”

I resist baring my teeth and look toward the archway, willing the guests to start arriving.

Taf is leaning against the far wall and gives me a look—one I can read easily.

Show a little fucking compassion.

He likes Denver. Everybody fucking likes Denver. It escapes me how we’ve come this far when my friends are clearly so damn na?ve. She’s a fucking chameleon when it comes to befriending people, and I don’t understand how nobody finds that strange.

“Wear your sling,” I say.

“It doesn’t go with my outfit.”

I clench my teeth. “Are you being serious?”

“I never joke about fashion, Alistair. Which is why you should believe me when I tell you your suit is ill fitted.”

Fucking—

The doorbell sounds, and she smiles brightly and stands. “Here we go. Try to smile, Al.”

I’m going to murder this woman.

We’re meeting the heads of some of the families—something that was already in the works before the explosion.

Canceling would have raised more questions than Colt not being here.

Besides, the disaster has been all over the news, and someone leaked Finn’s death, too.

Either way, the best way to deal with this mess is to clean it up quickly.

Taf stays in place as one of our other men, Keto, answers the door.

Keto is the first impression we want. He’s wiry and has a habit of glaring a little too openly at people, even if he has no issue with them.

While he doesn’t look strong, he sets a tone with his chilly exterior—I have zero patience and a gun.

Do the math. And true to that, patience really isn’t his strong point.

He got his nickname after vowing to go keto, something that lasted a total of four hours.

His gruff voice floats down the hall, and I hear a name: Capelli.

Vincenzo Sr. is here.

This could be tense. Vincenzo recently had words with his grandson, Vincenzo Jr.—or just Vince, as we call him—about the recent attempts on Colt’s life.

There’s every chance the explosions were Vince’s doing, but something tells me they weren’t.

He isn’t smart enough, and given how much it’d piss off his grandfather, it wouldn’t be worth the risk.

But he was also the last person to call Colt.

That’s either a big fucking coincidence, or evidence.

Regardless, since the accident, Vince has been talking to Denver.

He called her at first to introduce himself, and said he was close with her family, the Gallaghers, and was calling on their behalf.

Denver hasn’t spoken to her mother’s family since coming to the city, and though they’ve passed on their concern through others about her well-being, it wasn’t enough to reach out themselves.

Vince is the first person who appears in the archway. I wait for his grandfather to shuffle close behind—he’s over ninety now—but he doesn’t. Two of Vince’s men do, though, surveying the room, and us, with caution.

“Denver,” Vince says warmly, and to my surprise, opens his arms. “How are you feeling? How’s the shoulder?”

Taf and I exchange sharp looks. How often has she been speaking to this prick?

“Fine,” she sings, making her way over to him and air-kissing his cheeks.

Vince bypasses a hug and rests his hands on her hips.

On her fucking hips. I may not like the woman, but my best friend is in love with her, and if Vince touches her intimately again, I’ll remove each of his fingers.

Slowly. “I’m made of tougher stuff than I look. ”

“I don’t doubt that,” he says, shifting his dark brown eyes to me. He’s smartly dressed, as always, and Denver’s earlier comment has me wondering if his suit looks better than mine. “Alistair. How are things?”

“Back on track. Where’s Vincenzo Sr.?”

I have zero interest in discussing business with this little shit. Vincenzo is the man in charge.

Vince sighs softly. “My grandfather passed away this morning.”

Denver gasps. “Vince, I’m so sorry.”

“He had a good life. A long life,” Vince says, and takes Denver’s offered hand. Sympathy is warm in her expression. “He died peacefully in his sleep.”

How fucking convenient.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy that you’re taking the lead,” Denver says, brows furrowed, her smile small. “I know he was proud of you.”

And how the fuck would she know that?

Vince kisses her knuckles, and I’m about to reach for my gun in Colt’s honor when the doorbell rings again.

“I’ll get that,” I bite out, darting my gaze from Taf to Denver and back again. A silent request.

Watch her.

Alexei Volkov arrives next. He’s on the phone, talking in Russian, and almost barges by me as I open the door.

He doesn’t have security, and there’s a reason for that—Alexei could take out every person in this house without breaking a sweat.

He’s been preparing for his role as head of the Bratva since he was born.

He loves his job, the violence it allows him to carry out, and the money he makes that he uses to spoil his six kids.

It was a hard sell for Colt to get Alexei on side with us, and I really believe Colt’s family focus was what sealed that deal.

While Alexei would never work in the shadows like Colt did, he respected the decision to do it.

He isn’t a big fan of me, though. He’s how I assume my mother would be if she’d bothered to stick around—looking at me with general confusion and disgust when I explain I don’t want kids, and marriage doesn’t interest me.

I wonder how he’ll like Denver. If he knew Colt and Denver were together, I’m sure Alexei would warm to her quickly, but that relationship is currently under wraps.

If we want Denver to be accepted as the head of the McEwan family, people need to believe that she and Ranger are still together.

He’s her only connection to the family, after all.

There’s a chance the Volkovs may need more convincing than—

“Denver!” Alexei cries, and I reach the dining room in time to see him hugging her gently. “How are you? How’s the shoulder?”

Did a fucking bulletin go out with her health records?

“It’s fine; you’re all worrying over nothing,” Denver says, her smile so sweet I grimace.

“You survived an explosion. It’s natural for us to worry,” Alexei says, stepping back slightly to admire her outfit. “You look dressed to kill. I hope I’m not on the menu.”

Denver smiles sweetly. “You know what they say about a lioness, Alexei. If you can see her, she’s not hunting you.”

His grin makes me want to hit him. “Noted. So, where’s your husband?”

Ah, and there it is. Their sweetness for Denver is her link to Ranger.

“Running our empire back home,” she says. “Am I not good enough? You wound me.”

Vince chuckles. “You’re Teflon, Denver. I doubt words have any effect on you at all.”

What do you know … Vince isn’t a total dipshit.

Massimo Morelli arrives next. The Morellis are a smaller Italian family, nowhere near the size of the Capellis, but they have strong connections.

Colt has agreements with them due to an overlap in territory but has voiced his concern over Massimo taking more of a lead.

Massimo isn’t maintaining the relationships his family built, so we prefer to work with his sister, Sabina.

She cuts through the bullshit and does what needs to be done.

Unfortunately, she isn’t in attendance, and I make a mental note to call her later to find out why.

Andrzej Nowak arrives shortly after. The head of the Polish crime family isn’t seen often, but again, his respect for Colt brings him to the door.

“It’s a social event,” Colt had told me when we first held one of these meetings years ago. A chance for people to meet Ghost, usually sub rosa to guarantee his appearance was kept under wraps.

“Social?” I’d asked, brow arched.

He’d grinned. “Among other things.”