Chapter 37
Colt
Ronan and I watch the door to the warehouse.
Night fell hours ago, and with it came a chill that settled on my bones, chased away only by the anticipation that’s sat with me since Kitrick’s visit last week.
Denver and I told Ronan everything. He was a victim of the bombings too, so there’s no way he’s the rat. So far, he’s remained calm.
Tonight is a different story. His anger is like a current on his skin, the tension palpable, and it’s ramped up since the cars started arriving, each one holding the head of a New York crime family.
It’s been decades since every unofficial powerhouse sat in the same place to discuss business.
There was too much bloodshed in the past, too much risk, Finn told me.
But in the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve cultivated relationships that helped make tonight happen.
Ronan has, too, though he wields fear more than respect.
Denver is in the car with Lewis, keeping warm, and I lean against the hood as people exit cars and make their way into the warehouse. It was the only space big enough to contain everyone and empty enough that they would know armed men weren’t hiding behind closed doors.
“We’re making history,” Ronan says quietly, his green eyes tracking the movements of the people arriving.
I nod. “Yes, we are.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “He should be here.”
Finn. Yes, he should be. He should be guiding us, or at the very least be by our side.
“We’ll just have to make him proud.”
Ronan meets my eye. “I’m gonna miss you. Don’t exactly know what life is supposed to be like without you in it.”
“Dull, I bet.” I grin and grip his shoulder. “You were born for this. You’ll be fine.” I straighten off the hood and open the car door. Denver looks up from her phone. “Ready, Del?”
“Nope,” she says but holds out her hand, and I take it. She steps out of the car, looking every bit a mafia queen. Heels. Designer dress. A gun hidden well. She looks at the long line of cars, security waiting by them.
Lewis gets out of the car. “I’ll be at the door.”
I nod, and he leaves.
“Everyone in position?” Denver asks, playing with the bracelet Holly made for her last night. It’s white and gray, a single white bead with a pink heart stamped onto it.
Ronan nods. “They’ll call you.”
Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep, steadying breath. Alistair approaches, tucking his phone into his pocket. All four of us stand together, Denver’s hand in mine.
Four heads. McEwans and Harlands.
We amount to more power than every man in that warehouse combined, but enough hyenas can take down a lion.
Time to remind them who’s at the top of the food chain.
As we approach the warehouse, I release Denver’s hand. The large double doors are cracked open, and we step into the artificial light of the metal building. Fold-out chairs are set into a circle a good distance apart, a man in each one, their protection standing behind them.
Fifteen families, plus ours.
These people are the dark heart of the city. The unofficial rulers of New York. The reason for the heavy flow of drugs, guns, and gambling. Their ages range from mid-twenties to late seventies, but there are few women. Denver must notice the same thing, because she tsks and gives me a look.
Around the outside of the room is our protection. Lewis for Denver, Taf for me, Charlie for Alistair, JJ for Ronan. Lucas is here as Alistair’s second, and Keto is by the door, gaze zipping around the room.
The four of us head to the middle. Alistair, me, Denver, Ronan.
“This is all very dramatic,” Conor says, leaning back in his chair. Cecelia, his cousin, is seated beside him, her gaze sweeping the room.
“I fucking love it.” Dante rubs his palms together, his eyes lit up with wicked delight. “Looking good, Deluxe.”
Denver gives him a knowing smile, and he winks.
Massimo’s expression is dark. Sabina is in the chair beside his. Her arms are folded, attention fixed solely on Denver.
“Thank you for coming,” I say. “We won’t take up too much of your time, but there’s something that could only be addressed with us all here.
” I slowly drag my gaze across each person, looking for any sign that this could go south.
“Finn ruled this city for more than forty years. He kept it fair. He kept relationships as civil as he could. I have done the same for my family. However, I understand betrayal happens. People forget their place. It’s unavoidable.
But to do so now, after my father was murdered, and someone attempted to murder me …
well, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. ”
Ronan is waiting for the big reveal so remains quiet. Denver is Ronan’s second, so she speaks next. “There are some people in this room who have decided to take advantage, believing that we’re weak enough to allow that to happen.”
Conor barks out a laugh. “We? You’ve been a McEwan all of five minutes.”
Denver considers him. “And in that time, I’ve successfully run every business under the name. Nothing has been disrupted. The money has continued to flow. Shall we compare that to your decade as a Gallagher, or would you prefer to keep your ego intact, Conor?”
His hands tighten into fists, a blush blasting across his neck. Several men chuckle, and Conor remains quiet.
Denver continues, “As Colt said, Finn kept things peaceful. We tried to continue that. We met, or attempted to meet, with every person in this space. Some of you listened.” She looks at Massimo.
“Some did not. We recognize that things are changing, alliances are shifting, and some need to be reminded of their place. Perhaps respect no longer holds the same value that fear does.” She clasps her hands together.
“As of this moment, there are men situated all over the city. Men who work for us. We know who has been meeting with Massimo and Conor in an attempt to take us down, and you know who you are, too. You have the next three minutes to pledge loyalty to us, or your businesses will go up in flames, your employees murdered, and your families torn apart.” She looks at her watch.
“Raise your hand when you’ve decided you’d like to continue your family lines. ”
A thick, heavy silence follows Denver’s words.
It’s a bold move. Not one I’d favor. But betrayal can’t be dealt with in a meeting or forgotten with an apology. They need to be reminded who we are, and we’ll do that through choking them.
Massimo finally speaks. “You can’t fucking—”
“I can,” Denver interjects sharply. “We can.”
He gapes at us. “You’re not merging.”
“Yes, we are,” Alistair says. “The Harlands are being absorbed by the McEwans.”
Ronan grins, and ripples of shock work their way through the room. The McEwans were always kings with my family not far behind, and now we’ll control almost everything.
“You’ve underestimated the people who want more,” Conor hisses, standing, his hands clenched at his sides. “Look how many of us there are. You think we can’t fight back? You think we won’t—”
“Taf,” Denver says simply.
The bullet from Taf’s gun rips through the back of Conor’s head, blood spraying across the cement floor. He slumps to his knees, then hits the ground, a pool of red slipping across the uneven ground.
Denver steps away from the stream of blood. “Conor forgot his manners. He’s also been a thorn in my uncle’s side for quite a while. Cecelia will be taking Conor’s place.”
A person who deserves the position much more than Conor did. Cecelia eyes her cousin’s body for a moment before tutting at the spot of blood on her leg, licking her thumb and wiping it away. “Let’s move on, shall we?”
Dante cackles and leans forward in his seat to catch Alexei’s eye. “Told you tonight would be fun, didn’t I?”
The head of the Bratva rolls his eyes, as if the entire evening is boring him.
Denver says, “Two minutes left. Those who sided with Massimo, raise your hand, and your families will be spared.”
Silence creeps through the space. People shift in their seats.
Those who I know are innocent are eyeing the others with interest, and those who aren’t have started to sweat.
Collars are pulled at. Throats dip and rise with heavy, calculated swallows.
As Conor Gallagher’s body cools, our guests observe the room, waiting for the first hand to rise.
And when it does, others follow. One by one, each person who met with Massimo or Conor raises their hand.
“This is bullshit!” Massimo bellows at those surrendering. He stands. “We had agreements!”
But he’s clearly outnumbered, his promises not enough to overshadow our threats. Besides, they’ve lived comfortable lives under our control, and they’re likely realizing the risk of trading that for Massimo’s dreams.
“Well,” Denver slaps her hands together. “That was easy. Sabina?”
Sabina pulls out her gun, holds it to the back of her brother’s head, and fires. His body hits the ground in a similar fashion to Conor’s.
We all stare at her. Denver says, “I thought you were just going to take over.”
“I am,” Sabina says, shoving her brother’s body out of the seat and replacing him. She dusts down her pantsuit. “I just couldn’t be bothered with the argument.”
Denver gives me a look that says, “oh fuck,” but it isn’t our problem.
Dante Capelli leans forward again, this time looking at Sabina. “You single?” She gives him the finger.
The pressure of the last few months is gone so quickly that I feel unfamiliar in my own body. Ever since I woke up from that coma, it’s been an endless battle for my family, an attempt to hold onto what we all worked so hard for.
Now our place is secured, I can breathe again.
“Nothing changes,” Ronan says, his deep voice commanding the attention of those still alive.
“Business runs as normal, shipments will arrive, and territories will not change, but …” His smirk is etched with dark amusement.
“Feel free to grovel where necessary. My patience is thin at the best of times, so if you test me and had your hand raised in this room, I may find myself quicker to violence. That being said—are there any questions?” His tone is of faux kindness, and no one dares speak.
“What good little gangsters. Now, fuck off.” He waves his hand at the door.
“Is that it? We’re done?” Dante cries. “Can I shoot someone?”
Alexei stands swiftly. “This could have been an email.”
There’s a mix of disgruntled and sheepish exits.
I shake hands, hear apologies but don’t accept them, and Denver remains in the center of the room with Ronan.
Alistair is by my side to bid people goodbye, agreeing to meetings I won’t have to take, taking his place as Ronan’s second in the McEwan family.
It was a huge decision to merge the families. Alistair understood the reasoning behind it—running things without me was going to be a struggle. Losing me and my name meant the family would take a significant hit, and it made sense to unite our strengths. We should have done it years ago.
Once most of the heads have left, I catch Denver’s eye. She smiles at me, but it quickly disappears when her phone rings. The call we’ve been waiting for.
She answers.
And when she closes her eyes, I know what’s been said.
Kitrick was right.
Ronan puts his hand on Denver’s arm, and she shakes her head. My heart beats frantically as I remove the space between us. “Del,” I say, and she faces me, her eyes wide with despair. “I’m sorry.”
Her lip trembles. “How could he?”
I cup her cheek. “Breathe. In. Out.” She does, her attention locked on me. I rest my forehead against hers. “Remember who the fuck you are.”
Her breathing evens out, and she wets her lips.
This could break her. This could break all of us. To know someone was burrowed so deep for so long.
And we had no idea.
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
She faces our friends, the gathering of them by the door—and I watch her pull herself together in real time. Like the moment rewinds, the shattered pieces of Denver become one again. Her lip doesn’t tremble. Her eyes are no longer glassy.
And she’s Deluxe.
“We deal with it,” she says.
Ronan’s voice is low. “Now?”
She nods.
She lifts her chin, clears her throat, and calls his name.
“Lewis, I need to speak with you.”