Prologue #2
Networking. Power. Friendships. That’s important to Colt.
And this meeting was the first instance where he’d expanded the guest list because he was finally out of the shadows.
The invitations were coveted, but now people know Colt won’t be in attendance, the list of attendees has dwindled.
Still, it’s a busy room, and that’s good.
Denver is in deep conversation with Andrzej, the leader nodding occasionally, and though he’s listening, he’s scanning the room quietly.
Conor Gallagher arrives last.
Denver’s cousin shows up with two men. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in two years, ever since Finn attempted to buy some of the Gallaghers’ businesses.
He’d told them that two Irish families building bridges would go a long way to end age-old family feuds, but they’d refused.
When Finn hadn’t upped his offer, Conor had seen it as a personal insult and had tried to shoot Finn.
It was smoothed over a few days later, Conor’s father apologizing for his son’s behavior, but things were never the same.
I expect Conor to head straight for Denver.
As far as I know, the cousins have never met, but despite eyeing her, he keeps his distance.
Conor smirks at me though, and I don’t need to nod at Keto for him to make sure that Gallagher doesn’t do something untoward.
As drinks are served, I observe the room. Everyone is in conversation with each other or their security.
Except Vince Capelli.
He’s watching Denver. No, he’s staring at Denver, running his thumb across his lower lip as his gaze drops down her outfit.
My palm meets his back sharply as I move to his side. He lurches forward and spills his drink from the impact. “I am sorry about your grandfather. When’s the funeral?”
He rolls his shoulder, and I hope I winded the fucker. “I’m still figuring out dates.”
“Are those dates written on Denver’s ass?” Vince’s eyes cut to mine. “Keep looking and I’ll remove your eyelids to allow for easier viewing. And then I’ll let Ranger know just how interested you are in his wife.”
I like to believe that Vince’s close-to-panicked expression would make Colt proud.
But he quickly schools that fear and says, “It isn’t me texting her in the middle of the night, Alistair.”
A chill sweeps across my shoulders as he confidently makes his way to Denver. She greets him with a wide smile, and when he leans in to whisper in her ear and she laughs, he looks at me.
I don’t want to be right about Denver. Colt loves her, and he trusts her, but if he’s out of the picture and she’s already getting cozy with Vince, what the fuck else am I supposed to think?
She plays with her hair as Vince talks to both her and Andrzej, her gaze soft, and it doesn’t sit right with me.
If she is fucking Colt over, I’ll deal with it when the time is right. All I need is her face and name until Ronan and Colt wake up. I can put up with her until then.
By the time we’re all sitting at the dining table, Denver has rejoined me. I say very little to her, because I’m honestly not sure I won’t outright accuse her of sleeping with Vince. She, cleverly, stays away from him after their initial greeting, but I won’t put that as a point in her favor.
Conversation moves smoothly, careful discussions about traded territory, imports and exports, business ventures and sales.
Colt told me once it isn’t only the conversation that matters, it’s the atmosphere.
With fewer bodyguards and whispers from respective family members, we’re freer to make choices of our own.
“It’s the opportunity for them to meet the men they hear about without the baggage picked up over years of feuds. These meetings remind them that stories don’t make a man—the man does.”
Colt is the smartest of us. The one with the silver tongue and the calm exterior. He could tame a beast while learning the sharpness of its teeth for future reference, and it’s why he’s our leader.
I wish he were here tonight.
Andrzej says, “Colt’s absence is felt, isn’t it?”
Beside me, Denver doesn’t visibly tense, but she closes her fingers into her palm.
“He’ll be back on his feet in no time,” I say.
Alexei taps his fingers on the table. “Do you know who did it?”
All eyes are on me. Except Denver’s.
“I have a few ideas,” I say. “But rest assured, it’s in hand.”
“And the McEwan businesses?” Alexei asks, brow raised. “Are they in hand, too?”
Denver leans back in her chair. “Yes. I’m handling them.”
Alexei’s lips twitch, his light eyes shining as if he knew she was going to say exactly that. Vince takes a sip of his drink. Everyone else, though, looks unamused.
“You?” Conor asks. “You’re not a McEwan.”
“No, but my husband is,” Denver says swiftly. “It isn’t exactly a family secret that Rory McEwan was …” She waves her hand. “Dabbling.”
A polite way of saying he cheated on his wife for years, and that affair led to Ranger being born.
“Then why isn’t Ranger here?” Conor asks, looking at me.
“Ranger is running his own businesses back west,” I say. If the fucker is even alive. We haven’t heard a damn thing from him. There was no body discovered in the remains of his old family home, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t crawl away to die somewhere else.
“I have his guidance, along with Alistair’s,” Denver says. “And it’s only temporary until Ronan is able to work again.”
“If,” Conor says curtly. “I’ve heard he’s a long way from breathing on his own, let alone working. Or am I wrong, Deluxe?” He uses her name like an insult, and if Denver and I weren’t on the same side, I’d likely enjoy the moment.
“Yes, you’re wrong,” Denver says. Her tone isn’t sharp, but it is cool.
Conor leans forward, searching her face. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“I’m correcting your information.”
“Do it politely.”
The table is quiet. Vince is watching the interaction with a level of frustration, as if Denver is his to protect. Alexei looks mildly amused. Even I’m wondering how she’ll react to this kind of challenge so early on.
Denver sits up straight. “I respond with the energy I’m given. If you’re unhappy with that, I suggest next time, you do what we all wish you had and stayed home.”
For fuck’s sake.
Conor wets his lips. “You at the helm just proves to all of us that the McEwans are done for. Because let’s face it, if you’re anything like your mother, your skill set is better suited to fucking gangsters, not being one.”
Denver runs her tongue across her teeth. “Conor, I know speaking for yourself is a new concept given that Daddy isn’t here to hold your hand, but you’re supposed to respect your host.”
Alexei whistles in amusement, and Vince smirks.
Conor is on his feet and Denver’s eyes glint with amusement, observing him like a half-dead zebra stumbling into her territory. No, into her pride.
Because there are more men at this table who look willing to defend her than I thought there would be. Denver has clearly been doing some preparation of her own.
“Sit down, Conor,” Alexei says. “Denver’s right. Don’t give it if you can’t take it. That’s always been your damn problem.”
“Fuck you, Volkov,” Conor spits out.
He reaches for his gun, and now I speak.
“Conor, draw your weapon in this house and you won’t leave it alive.
” He bristles, his eyes darting to mine.
“You all agreed to certain terms before walking through that door. We anticipate things can get heated, and the moment you step foot on the street, you can shoot who you like. But this”—I tap the table—“is a safe space. Colt has always maintained that, and I won’t allow it to unravel because you take criticism like a fucking three-year-old.
” I tilt my head. “Now, please sit down.”
He deliberates over this for a few seconds before returning to his seat, sulking.
Denver addresses the rest of the table. “I know this transition won’t be easy.
Finn meant a lot to all of us, and even if you didn’t always agree with him, you did respect him.
I won’t be making waves or changes or trying to cement my place here.
I want to keep things running smoothly until Ronan takes over, that’s all.
Some of you don’t know me, but rest assured I will do what needs to be done to ensure the continued success of this family.
I may not be a McEwan in name, but Finn was close with my father and my mother. I won’t fail him or his memory.”
Massimo says, “And then what? Ronan returns and you go back to the West Coast and pretend you didn’t run the single most powerful family on this side of the country? Do you think you can step back so easily?”
I don’t look at Denver, despite the prickle of anticipation that crawls across my skin. I pick up my drink as if the question bores me, when it’s the single most interesting thing I’ve heard all night.
“The only interest I have is to be at my husband’s side back home,” she says with total confidence. “I don’t belong here.”
It’s an effort to remain expressionless, even as the conversation moves on, because I have the distinct impression that the last sentence was aimed at me.