Chapter 8 #2
Finn fucking McEwan. Cal once called him Big Daddy McEwan and Ranger bit his head off for it. But I get it. He’s big. He’s Ranger’s uncle, so it must run in the family. I wonder if Ranger’s dad was a big guy, too.
Sandy makes her way back over to me and I hide behind the menu. She snatches up a metal jug of water and pours it slowly into my glass.
“Their other guests canceled,” she says through the corner of her mouth. “They’re not fucking, though.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s my job to read people. They’ve got a father–son vibe.” She grabs the arm of a passing waiter. “Take table twelve. I’m done.”
He scowls at her. “Sandy, it isn’t even nine o’clock.”
“Fuck you, Greg. I already agreed it with Darlene. Scram!” She snaps her teeth at him, and he zips away. I really like Sandy. She returns her attention to me. “Two minutes, Red.”
“For what?”
She’s already gone, the door to the kitchen swinging behind her.
Colt and Finn talk easily, their shoulders relaxed, smiling or laughing occasionally.
I wonder what they’re talking about. Work?
Life? Something else? Ranger always told me that rivalries run deep, and making alliances with other families is sometimes necessary, but we’ve never done it.
Even the Merricks, who were close to my dad until he died, were shut out once Ranger took over.
I can’t remember the last time we had a meal with someone outside of our circle or who wasn’t already submitting to us in some way.
The McEwans and Harlands operate in similar business.
McEwans are big into drugs and guns, and the Harlands are guns and money.
A slight overlap, nothing too surprising, but they own dozens of restaurants, bars, and clubs across the city.
That’s direct competition, and it should lead to some animosity.
But they’re laughing and joking like old friends.
Sandy slumps into the seat beside me, the chair almost tipping over from the enthusiasm of it. She’s in dark jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket, and she’s let her black hair down. She’s texting rapidly. “So, what’s your name?”
“Denver.” I eye the jacket. “Is that Prada?”
“Yep.” She puts her phone down. “Dean is gonna be pissed I canceled, but I’m not missing out on this. If you need me to hit someone, I will.”
I fully believe that.
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I say, my gaze landing once more on the booth. “Who’s Dean?”
“Boyfriend. Kinda. Almost,” she says. “I might break up with him. He’s a little … intense. And mafia.”
I nod. “Wait, what?” My attention snaps to her.
“Are you drinking that?” She points to my water, and I shake my head. She picks it up and takes a mouthful, crunching the ice. “He’s not important mafia. He does all the other stuff. Cleaning up mess. Y’know.”
I do.
“Which family?”
“Capellis.” She says it with such ease. “You know ’em?”
I shake my head. I know of them. Everyone does.
Vincenzo Capelli is the oldest don in the city, and his grandson is a total prick.
He tried to arrange a meeting with Ranger once, and it was the first time I’d seen Ranger laugh without me making it happen.
He said he’d never associate with that Capelli, and at the time I thought it was because Ranger doesn’t like associating with anyone, but my research into Colt and the New York families proved that Vince Capelli Jr. is just an amateur.
I watch Colt and Finn again.
Sandy huffs as she reads a text. “He’s pestering me to leave.”
“Why?” I ask, leaning in my chair to watch Colt. His shirt sleeves are rolled down, and I want to catch a glimpse of the tattoos I’ve heard so much about. People knew him by the ink on his skin, but not his face, and I’m curious to see what the big deal is.
“I dunno. He didn’t even want me to work tonight,” Sandy continues. “Turned up before my shift and tried to get me to leave. He only let me come in because I promised to be gone by nine.”
I’m half listening. “He sounds controlling.”
“Yeah, but he buys me things,” she says, sighing contentedly.
“Your jacket?”
She grins. “Nope, that was another boyfriend.”
I laugh. “I think I like you.”
“Thanks, Red.” She nudges me with her elbow. Her phone starts ringing. “God, what is his problem?” She answers, and I can hear him shouting at her to go home. “You know what, Dean—”
While Sandy argues, I scan the restaurant.
And something feels … wrong.
People are eating, laughing, talking. Music plays from a piano in the corner. People on the street pass. Nothing has changed.
But the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and goose bumps climb up my arms. And then I realize the change.
Finn’s man at the door is gone.
“Ask him why,” I say to Sandy quickly. “Why do you need to leave?”
Sandy sighs. “Dean, why are you being so—” Her words drift away, and her eyes widen. “Are you fucking serious?”
I don’t need to ask what he said, because the door to the restaurant is already opening.
A man steps inside, a dark coat over a suit. The world slows, a symphony of crystal glasses and cutlery against dishes, the music dragging to an almost painful slowness. The man’s gaze sweeps across the restaurant, landing on Colt and Finn’s table.
A waitress stumbles in front of their booth, a plate smashing. Colt gets up to help her.
I know what’s about to happen. A Capelli has seen the opportunity to take down two important men. This restaurant is about to be filled with bullets and blood. Colt Harland and Finn McEwan are about to die.
I should walk away. This isn’t my territory; they aren’t my friends. I don’t even know them. Colt has prevented me from getting my revenge for too long, and with him out of the picture, I could maybe find Wilder. Colt’s family, his empire, will be unprotected. Weak. I could tear everything apart.
I can return to San Francisco, find Sebastian, and tell him I did what I promised I’d do.
It would finally be over.
But an image flashes in my mind. Of a little girl sleeping in Colt’s arms. Of his hand rubbing her back. Of a father, and a daughter. A family.
“Pull the fire alarm and run,” I say to Sandy, already on my feet.
The man steps forward, reaching into his coat, but I’ve already pulled my gun. I point it at the ceiling and fire. The restaurant erupts into screams, plaster dust scattering over me and the ground. The Capelli looks at me.
I lower my weapon to him, gripping the butt of my gun with one hand, the other squeezing the trigger. I fire once. It lands in his chest, and he jerks back. I fire again. He goes down.
Water erupts from the sprinklers. An alarm starts screaming.
When I look at Colt’s table, he’s standing.
Water rains between us, his shirt sticking to his skin, my hair dripping.
We’re both breathing heavily, and the moment is frozen, my decision thickening the air between us.
My weapon is by my side, water running down my face as he keeps his eyes locked on mine.
I just made a choice that I want to believe changes nothing, but I couldn’t be more wrong. It isn’t me protecting a father. It isn’t me returning a favor when he saved me in that hotel.
It’s a Luxe taking sides.
Finn turns and looks at me, and even through the fog of adrenaline and the space between us, I know what he says. “Cara?”
My mother’s name.
“Denver, down!” Colt bellows across the room.
Shot are fired.
I duck behind the table just as bullets hit the kitchen door.
The floor is soaked, and water leaks through the knees of my jeans as I lift my head and watch men flood the restaurant.
They must be his and Finn’s men, because Colt shouts, “Stop fucking shooting!” His voice is enraged, a thunder crack over the sobs of the patrons and the scream of the alarm.
I only know the shooting has stopped when a strong hand grips my arm and pulls me to my feet.
I’m face to face with Colt Harland.
It really is him. The man who stood at a bar and flirted with me.
Who offered me chocolates and grinned confidently when Ranger made it clear who I belonged to.
The only difference now is he’s soaked, his shirt clinging to him, the vague outlines of tattoos showing through the material.
Water drips from his dark hair, rivets of it down his face, clinging to his lashes and his bottom lip.
“We need to leave.”
I try to pull my arm free. “I’m not going with you.”
“I didn’t ask,” he says, glancing once in Finn’s direction before pulling me into the kitchen. The chefs and other staff stare in wonder as Colt half drags me through the space.
He ducks just in time to avoid being clocked across the head with the blunt end of an axe. He slides back, pushing me behind him, but it isn’t a Capelli. It’s Sandy.
“Let her go, motherfucker.”
My God, this woman is a fucking superhero.
Colt straightens to his full height. “Get out of my way.”
“It’s fine, Sandy,” I say quickly. She narrows her eyes at Colt, slowly lowering the axe. It’s then that I spot the smoking pan. “Did you start a fire?”
“I don’t know where the fire alarms are!
” she says, as if that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for nearly burning the building down.
Colt drags me past her and to the back door.
“Don’t take him back if he stuck his dick anywhere other than in you!
” she calls after me, and despite myself, I laugh.
That is, until Colt and I burst outside into the side alley. I release a tight breath, instantly shivering. A town car waits, and Colt opens the back door. “In.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He seizes my wrist and tugs me close before I can walk away. His shirt highlights the outline of every muscle, and he must be as cold as I am, but he isn’t trembling and doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the drop in temperature against our sodden clothes. “We have no idea who did—”
“The Capellis. Mystery solved. Now, let me go.”
He swears under his breath. “Do you have any idea what you did in there?”
“Saved your life?”
“You killed a Capelli. You chose a side,” he says, echoing my thoughts.
“You cannot leave here unguarded, and I don’t see Lewis Gozia.
Is he hiding somewhere? Under the dessert cart?
” My jaw tenses. Lewis being my protection isn’t a secret, but I still hate that Colt knows anything about me when I know so little about him.
“That’s what I thought. I’m not going to make a phone call to Ranger Luxe telling him his wife is dead. Get in the car, Denver. Now.”