Chapter 12 #2
I guess we both do. The Capellis are moving against me, and Spider is still out there deciding what to do next, if he hasn’t already.
“Any word on Spider and I’ll let you know,” I say.
“I appreciate that.”
I nod in place of a good night, or a good morning—whatever the hell time it is. As I walk away from her, she calls my name. I pause and turn to her.
“Please stop calling me Deluxe.”
I smile. “Then what should I call you? I’m not calling you Denver. I got shot in Denver.”
She tsks. “People need to try harder to kill you.” She folds her arms and leans against the frame. “Call me Del. Del I can deal with.”
Del. I think I can deal with that, too.
“Okay. Good night, Del.”
She smiles. “Good morning, Colt.”
By the time I get home, Finn McEwan is in my kitchen, and he does not look pleased. I drop my keys on the counter and go straight to the refrigerator.
“You disappeared.”
“I took Denver home. I told you I was going to.”
His attention burns into the back of my head. “I’ve known you since you were thirteen years old, Colt. I may not be your father, but you’ll show me some respect when I don’t hear from you all fucking night.”
I take out a bottle of water and face him. “I was fine.”
“But I didn’t know that!” he rages. “Someone tried to kill you last night, and the only thing I get from you is a half-assed message through Taf? A message that said you were with a woman who’d vowed to kill you.”
I grit my teeth. “I’m not a child, Finn.”
“You will always be a child to me!” he says, green eyes flaring with the kind of anger only my mom uses for me. He runs his hand across his mouth. “Did you sleep with her?”
“Give me some fucking credit.”
His look could melt through glass. “Did you?”
“No, Finn. She’s married.”
“And is that the only reason?” I lean against the counter. “Ranger already has an issue with us. If he’s about to have another, I need to know.”
His concern is understandable. Wars have been started over far less than drinking with an enemy’s wife. Finn has seen more bloodshed over love than money in his time, so I get it. But he should also know me better.
“I went to talk to her about Wilder. The fact that she was in a hotel and we had some drinks is irrelevant. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. I’m trying to fix Wilder’s fuck-up.”
“By making your own?”
I slam the bottle down, my patience fraying. “It amazes me that you stand there and question my fucking judgement, but not once have you done the same for my brother.”
“Because I expect more of you!”
“Why? Why can’t I make mistakes? Why can’t I fuck people I shouldn’t? Why does it always fall to me to be the responsible one?”
He watches me with a dark expression, with knowledge beyond my years, and I feel the shame of his words before he even says them.
“Because you’re the head of your family, Colt.
Just like I’m the head of mine. This is the life you chose.
You don’t get to make mistakes, and you don’t get to pick fights across the country. Do I need to protect you from Ranger?”
I drink more. “No.”
“He won’t find out you were there? Or what you discussed?”
“No.” I could add that by the sounds of what Denver said last night, she isn’t even talking to him, but that isn’t my business.
He grips his jaw and lets out a sigh. “Is she okay?”
Far from it. But that’s not my business to tell, either. “She’s fine.”
“Is she letting this thing with Wilder go?”
I wish I knew. I wish she’d said the words. “I think she’s considering it.”
Finn folds his arms, and it’s only now that I note that he’s wearing the same suit he wore to dinner. He’s probably been up all night worrying, and he’s right. I’d dismissed him.
“It was the Capellis,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. I don’t bother telling him I already know that. “I spoke to Vincenzo Sr. this morning. He didn’t sanction it, and he’s not happy about it. He sends his apologies and reassurances that he’ll deal with his grandson.”
I finish the water. “I’m happy to do that myself.”
“He was willing to do it because he thought we killed Vince’s man. If he finds out it was Denver, he might change his mind. Take the win and let it go,” he says. “It was Grant who told them we’d be there.”
Fuck. Grant isn’t Finn’s head security, but we’d relied on him to watch the door that night. “Where’s Grant now?”
“Gone,” Finn says. It didn’t take me long to get used to hearing a single word to describe the death of a person, but I can still recognize how unsettling it is that between us, we’ve likely killed hundreds. “Why did Denver help us?”
“A long, fucked-up, exhausting reason.”
“Shorten it.”
I place the bottle on the counter. “She’s a good person.”
He’s silent when I say that. I can’t tell if he’s proud that she’s good or in pain that Wilder hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.
“Where is she staying?”
“The Rosalia.”
“Is Ranger with her?”
I shake my head. “She’s with Lewis.”
“I’ll send men to watch her.”
“She’ll be pissed.”
“Let her be angry and safe,” he says, and squeezes my shoulder as he passes. “Get some sleep, kid.”
He walks to the door and I turn. “I’m sorry you were worrying.”
“I’ll always worry about all of you.” He knocks on the frame. “Helena is ready to murder you, though.”
I groan. “Tell her I’m sorry, too.”
“Tell her yourself, chicken shit.”