Chapter 2
Denver
Icheck my watch. Almost three. The shift change is at four, or at least that’s what Vince told me during our endless midnight texting sessions.
Pretending to be interested in that man turned my stomach, and kissing him has me close to fucking puking, but it was worth it.
I got Vince Capelli alone, something most people fail at.
He upped his security massively after the attempt on Colt’s life in the restaurant all those months ago because he knew Colt would come for him.
But all it took was a few days, some heartfelt moments and innocent selfies, and he was ready to fuck me.
I didn’t think it would happen tonight. I thought at least another week. I had to make some last-minute adjustments to the plan, and I just hope it—
“What a mess.”
I jump, my hand slapping over my heart as Dante Capelli appears from the adjoining bedroom. Vince’s cousin.
“Do you have to do that?” I snap.
He shrugs, tucking his hands into his pockets and nudging his cousin’s dead body with his shoe. “He definitely dead?”
I snatch up my dress. “Check.” As I pull it on, Dante grips Vince’s head. Seconds later, I hear a sickening snap and gape at him. “Was that necessary?”
“It’s a precaution,” he says sweetly, flashing me a devilishly handsome smile.
Dante Capelli is a little wild, and that’s putting it politely.
He’s known for his fondness of violence and general disregard for tradition, but I saw a softer, more concerned side of him when he came to me two days after the explosion and told me Vince was the one responsible.
He offered the information and said if I were to take Vince out, he’d ensure no one looked into it further.
I get my revenge; he gets Vince out of the picture.
“So you can eventually take his place without blame?” I’d asked. It was a clear way for Dante to take the Capelli empire without dirtying his hands. Killing a family member would be frowned upon.
“Yes and no. I’m fairly sure he’s going to kill our grandfather, and I need to prevent that. I’d rather be next in line and have my grandfather alive,” Dante had said, and he seemed sincere.
But we were too late. Vince killed Vincenzo Sr. before I could secure a night to seduce Vince, and now Dante will be the head of the family.
“No one will miss him,” Dante says, tilting his head as he looks at his cousin’s lifeless body. “Isn’t that sad?”
“No.” I zip up my dress. “I hope he burns in hell.”
Dante hums sadly. “Me too. I liked Finn.” My throat thickens, and I nod. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, Deluxe.”
“Can I still count on you?”
“I’m in your debt.”
I’m unsure if having him on my side is a good thing or not, but Vince Capelli is dead, and we have the Italians backing us. That has to be a win for now.
Lewis is waiting at the end of the hall. “You okay?”
I take his hand, hoping his touch will ease my trembling. “Let’s go.”
Vince’s security is gone, likely killed by Dante’s men, so the house is oddly quiet when we leave. I sit in the back seat of the car, and as we pass through the gate, I lean forward, putting my head between my knees.
“Talk to me, Denver,” Lewis says, glancing at me in the rearview.
“I’m going to be sick,” I whisper, grappling for an old takeout bag tucked into the car door. I open it and hurl my guts up. My eyes water and my shoulder and ribs scream in pain as I bring up the alcohol and little food I’ve had today.
It isn’t just kissing Vince. It’s killing him. Taking a life that close, that hands on … I’m trembling, and a cold sweat sits on my skin as Lewis opens the back window for me. I heave in breaths, one hand clinging to the bag of puke, the other to the car door.
I had to do it. For Colt. For Finn. For Ronan. Even for Wilder. Holly lost her dad because of that piece of shit. And while there’s no love lost for him, she deserved to have him in her life.
By the time I get home, shower, dress, and compose myself, the rich smell of coffee is filling the house. Helena is an early riser, and Alistair is, too.
With Lewis by my side, I go to the office. Just as I thought, Alistair is seated behind the desk, laptop open, his gray hair swept back, shirt pressed, thick-rimmed glasses on. Helena is placing a cup of coffee on his desk as he talks to her, but they fall silent when I appear in the doorway.
Alistair eyes me. “You’re up early.”
“I haven’t slept,” I say, clasping my hands together. “Vincenzo Capelli is dead.”
“I know. We were told yesterday.”
“Not senior. Junior,” I say. Helena looks between us.
Alistair takes his glasses off. “And how do you—”
“I killed him. Stabbed him twice with sharpened hairpins, then slit his throat with them. He died on his bedroom floor,” I say matter-of-factly. Helena’s hand hovers by her mouth. “He was the one who planted the bombs.”
Alistair looks beyond furious, his jaw tight, shoulders tense as he stares at me.
“So you decided to start a war?”
“There won’t be a war. Dante Capelli is taking the lead. I have his word—”
“His word?” Alistair shouts, standing. “You cannot kill the head of a fucking family without consulting me!”
“And yet, I did.” He opens his mouth, and I raise my hand to silence him. “I had evidence. If I’d told you, you’d want to go about it with plans and procedures and whatever shit you think matters. I dealt with it.”
Alistair’s fist comes down onto the desk, the impact knocking a pot of pens over.
“You’re a fucking amateur,” he snaps. “You really think Dante Capelli will do as you say?”
“Vince killed his grandfather,” I add, my own anger threatening to breach the surface of my skin. “Dante had a vested interest in him dying. And even if I’d had to fight Dante and every Capelli, I was always going to kill the man who took Finn from us. Who could take Ronan and Colt, too.”
Alistair shakes his head, but Helena comes to me and kisses my cheek. She doesn’t need to thank me, it’s written all over her face, and she squeezes my hand as she leaves the room, Lewis following.
Alistair continues to rage. “Colt wouldn’t—”
I stride toward the desk. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me what Colt would or wouldn’t want when he’s in a hospital bed on a fucking ventilator. Don’t you dare use him against me, Alistair.”
“He wouldn’t want this!” he roars. “You’re causing more fucking mess!”
“I’m doing what you’re too afraid to do,” I hit back. “I made a stand. I did something. I didn’t sit behind a computer and pretend I had control. I got control. I fucking stole control.”
He comes around the desk. “You’re a brat. A selfish little girl who lashed out when you should have used your brain.”
“And yet, I did what you couldn’t. And isn’t that what bugs you the most? I pulled the trigger. You couldn’t even load the gun.”
Alistair is about to unleash hell—I can tell. His cheeks are flush, eyes wild with rage, but I’m ready for it. After days of pain, of burying everything, I’m aching for him to scream so I can scream right back.
A knock on the door stalls his words.
He’s glaring at me, jaw tight, and my heart is hammering when I hear the door to the safe house open. And a familiar voice.
A voice that can’t belong to who I think it does.
Alistair forgotten, I pull open the office door and stride into the hall.
The man in the doorway stares at me. A man, not a boy. Not the person I last held a year ago. A brother, a friend, who killed for me.
“Axel?” I whisper.
He’s tanned, his hair a little longer, and he has a short beard. He looks so much like Ranger, but his muscle is lean, and his expression isn’t hard. He looks bashful, almost shy, as Helena invites him in.
I can’t move, but I don’t have to, because Axel closes the space between us and pulls me into a hug. He buries his face in my shoulder, and I burst into tears. Sobs rack my body as I hold him, cradling the back of his head, letting this moment sink in.
He’s home.
And my God, he’s strong.
I wince and he pulls back, his dark eyes wide. “Oh God, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
Nodding, I cup his face, my cheeks damp with tears. “I’m fine. Look at you.” I scratch his beard. “You’re a grown-up.”
He grins, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”
I sniff and turn to Helena. “I’m sorry, Helena. This is Axel. Ranger’s son.”
“I can tell,” she says, her smile soft. “Are you hungry, Axel?”
“Thank you, but … I really need to talk to Denver,” he says, and his brows pinch together. “It’s about Dad.”
Helena gives us privacy, and Alistair watches as I lead Axel into the living room. We sit beside each other, and I hold his hand, squeezing gently, reminding myself this is real.
“I’m sorry,” Axel says quietly, focusing on our joined hands. “I know you and Ethan tried so hard to get me out, but … I saw the explosion on the news, and I couldn’t sit around. By the time I got your messages saying you were okay, I was already back in California.”
God, I should have known that would happen, but so much has changed these last few days that checking on Axel has been the last thing on my mind.
“Why didn’t you call?”
“When I saw Dad, I knew I needed some time with him.”
The words blow me away. In all the years I’ve known Axel, he’s never willingly spent one-on-one time with his dad. The only thing they have in common is their blood.
“He’s a mess, Denver,” he says gently, meeting my eye. “I’ve never seen him like this. He … he hugged me when I got home. He’s barely said a word other than he’s glad I’m back.”
I shake my head. “He’s manipulating you into staying.”
“He told me to go home. He said to go back to wherever it was you sent me to and not tell him where it was. Said it wasn’t safe here.” He searches my face, and I can’t hide my disbelief. “Tell me what the hell has happened, Denver. What’s changed since I left?”
He deserves to know. This involves him and his new life.