Chapter 14
Nera Di Salvo was a difficult person not to like despite Beatrice’s determination not to. She looked soft and sweet, but there was some steel under her words. Even Vespa treated her respectfully, and Montrell’s apparently platonic friend wasn’t nice to anyone besides Montrell.
The Di Salvos were as odd as the Coronellas, given the way they encouraged their women’s involvement in family matters. Beatrice had always wanted her own father to include her, but she’d had to manipulate him to learn anything.
That wasn’t true any longer.
The meeting was just between the two families. Montrell was more guarded around the Di Salvos, at least guarded for him. He really did say what he was thinking most of the time, Beatrice realized, especially around the soldiers at home.
At the Coronella estate, she corrected herself. She doubted she’d ever have a home, even if Montrell forced his family members to act welcoming to her.
“Did you think of something to add, Bea?” Montrell asked.
She’d been frowning and smoothed out her expression. “No,” she said, looking away.
“I was glad to hear the threat of the Albanians is mostly gone,” Nera said, smiling toward her. “Montrell told us a bit about Vegas when he returned.”
Montrell nodded toward one of the Di Salvos. The man was a more traditional made man, tall and dark-haired and precisely put together. “Had to thank Antonio for arranging the private jet. We Coronellas don’t have one of those.”
“Any time,” Antonio Di Salvo said with a smile, ignoring Vespa, who was glaring daggers at him.
“Yeah, in order to hold a favor over our heads,” she griped. She’d had been more on edge than usual since they’d arrived at the Di Salvo estate. She tossed looks Beatrice’s way when she wasn’t glaring at one particular Di Salvo.
“Now, that isn’t quite fair, is it?” Antonio asked. “We weren’t the ones to turn our backs recently, were we?”
Vespa looked away.
Montrell frowned. “How is your pet assassin, Di Salvo?” he asked, directing it toward the one person in the room who had said very little.
Giovanni Di Salvo was as quiet as Beatrice remembered. They’d grown up as children in La Cosa Nostra, so they’d crossed paths a time or two. It had surprised her to hear that the Di Salvos had picked Giovanni as their new leader. He’d never been favored among the made men, or so she’d heard.
His eyes were direct when they met Montrell’s. “Luka has healed.”
Nera shifted forward in her chair, her gaze on Vespa. “So has Alina.”
Vespa looked away, crossing her arms.
Antonio smiled constantly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, Beatrice was noticing.
“The little bastard is probably listening in right now,” he said. “He’s a damn cockroach.”
Nera shook her head, her hand finding Giovanni’s shoulder as she leaned closer to him. “Luka’s been helping with the lingering Bratva. With the pakhan gone, some of them have become desperate.”
“Yeah,” Montrell agreed. “They hit one of our warehouses.” He shifted his shoulder, the one Beatrice had bandaged for him. “Now there’re a few less Bratva to be concerned about.”
Beatrice had forgotten about the scrapes on his shoulder when she’d climbed on top of him the night before. She looked away, trying to control her wandering thoughts.
Giovanni studied Montrell. His eyes flicked to her as well, then back to her husband. “The meeting of all La Cosa Nostra families will be soon.”
All. Meaning her father would be there. Beatrice couldn’t prevent her shoulders from tightening, and she sat up straighter. She kept her lips soft, and coached her smile to feel genuine.
Montrell’s gaze was on her. “I told you as much as I wanted to about that, Giovanni. Things are settled between the Coronellas and the Lucchese for now.” He shrugged. “I think this peaceful alliance among the families is a pipe dream. It won’t work, not while some of the current leaders are in place.”
Antonio lifted an eyebrow. “You want to change that?”
“I want the fucking Lucchese bastard to bleed,” Montrell snapped, drawing Beatrice’s gaze back to him. He didn’t look away from her. “But the revenge isn’t mine to take.”
She forced a smile. “He’ll suffer more alive.” Her hand tightened in her lap. “My father won’t be a problem.”
Nera studied her thoughtfully, but there was a question behind her eyes, one Beatrice was fine ignoring.
“The older generation are the worst,” Vespa muttered, slouching back in her chair. Her boot nudged the leg of the table. “I say we kill them all. Slowly.”
Antonio rolled his eyes, his grin tightening. “That’s your answer to everything. There are more subtle ways than that.”
“You do subtle. I’ll do me.” The table shifted as Vespa kicked at it for real.
The Di Salvo’s jaw clenched, tilting up to reveal a scar that flowed toward his throat. “You’re so—”
“Vespa has reason to hate them.” Montrell cut in. His gaze shifted from Beatrice to Nera to Giovanni. “Bringing our wives to the meeting will show their colors.”
Nera frowned. “Maybe I shouldn’t come.”
Giovanni’s hand settled over hers. “No. Let them question it.” There was a hardness in his eyes.
Montrell blew out a breath. “Hell, it’s not just the misogyny. Di Salvo, you dealt with the same shit as me from being half Italian. And it was their fucking arranged marriages that caused it.” He grimaced as he looked over at Beatrice. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Beatrice shook her head. “Ours wasn’t arranged. Not anymore.” She studied his lighter brown hair with its hint of red. “It’s true that my father changed his mind because of your roots. He was never a fan of the Irish.”
Antonio broke his staring contest with Vespa, shifting his gaze back to Giovanni. “Speaking of the Irish.”
Giovanni’s eyes flickered as his hand tightened. “The O’Connell family approached us.”
Montrell’s chair scraped against the floor as he shoved to his feet and began to pace.
Beatrice’s gaze flew to him, surprised by his reaction.
“Opinion?” Giovanni pressed.
Antonio’s expression was sharper. “Your mother is still living with them, correct?”
“Yeah,” Montrell muttered. He tugged on his beard as he continued to stalk the room. “Yeah.”
Beatrice knew little about his mother’s background, just that the woman had run back to the Irish shortly before Montrell killed his father.
Vespa grimaced as she followed Montrell’s movements, but she said nothing.
Antonio lifted an eyebrow again. “That’s not the response I was expecting. An alliance with them isn’t ideal, Coronella?”
“I didn’t say that.” Montrell was scowling, though.
“Yes, you did,” Nera said, her tone soothing. “Why don’t we table that option for now, Giovanni, and give Montrell time to consider it?”
Her husband nodded, and the Di Salvos brought up another topic for discussion, but Montrell didn’t sit again before the meeting ended.
Montrell still wanted to punch something as the door to the conference room opened. It felt like a doorway to freedom.
His mother. He hadn’t thought about her or her family for a while. If they were going to reach out to anyone in La Cosa Nostra, it should have been to him. But of course it wasn’t.
He didn’t care that the Di Salvos were making more waves than the Coronellas. He preferred it. The years where the Coronellas had been insulated and self-sufficient had been ideal. Hell, between what he’d taken from the Albanians and the Lucchese, he had too many resources to keep up with now. Rescuing Beatrice had shaken things up, but he’d expected that.
Besides, he hadn’t been able to do anything else, not when he’d found out how she was suffering. He should have seen the comparison long before. Beatrice had been given to a monster by her father, just like his own mother had by hers.
And if Montrell hadn’t been so butt-hurt over being jilted practically at the altar, he would have seen it. His insecurities had blinded him for too long.
Even so, he missed how simple his family’s life had been only months prior. Before his alliance with the Di Salvos, sure, but Beatrice was changing things as well. For the better, he had to admit, even businesswise, and Montrell wanted her to have everything she desired. He knew she would want more. An empire, like the Di Salvos wanted, and it was too damn bad that he himself preferred the quiet of running a small business. Sure, they sold illegal shit, but still, he kept free from flesh and from drugs. As long as they stuck to that, he could handle bigger. He could handle anything.
Except facing his mother again. He’d left revenge against his own father for too long. Montrell deserved her anger. He’d always deserved it. He’d failed her, time and again.
The Di Salvos estate was set up opposite of his own. They conducted business upstairs for the most part. He trailed after Beatrice down the stairs.
Vespa followed them, arguing about something with Antonio. She and Giovanni’s half brother were like oil and water. He’d never seen anyone rile her more. Normally, he’d find it amusing.
Montrell almost didn’t see the little slip of a woman waiting at the bottom of the stairs. She was taking after that prick of a Russian assassin she’d latched onto. He still hadn’t forgiven Luka for getting Vespa shot.
Before Montrell realized her intentions, the woman launched herself at Vespa. His best friend stiffened up like he expected, the panic on her face drawing out his smile despite everything.
“What? What is this!” Vespa shouted.
Montrell’s laugh was suddenly easy. “It’s called a hug, Vespa.”
“Well, help me stop it already!” Her glare only made him laugh harder.
Montrell didn’t bother to step in. Vespa had felt guilty for encouraging the young woman to fight if she wanted to fight. Vespa thought everyone should fight. Especially women. As he watched them interact, it was as if a tension she’d been carrying slipped away.
“I’ve never seen Vespa quite like that,” Beatrice commented from beside him.
Montrell shook his head in amusement. “I have.” He used to force hugs on her all the time. Her bristling had been more than half the fun, but with the shit Vespa had put up with over the years, he’d also thought she’d needed them. His gaze shifted to his wife. She was another woman who needed all the hugs in the world, but he knew better than to offer them.
Her smile fell as her eyes searched his. “Are you okay?” she murmured.
It shouldn’t have surprised him. Montrell was an open book, but he was also burly and hard-looking. Very few people had ever shown him concern. Back when they were first courting, she’d asked him the same question, and because her concern had been genuine, he’d fallen in love.
His fingers flexed with the sudden need to grab her. He didn’t. He also didn’t answer, his throat too tight to let the words out.
Beatrice looked away. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here. If you ever want that.” Her heels clipped as she started toward the Di Salvos’ front door.
He took a breath, watching Vespa convince the young Russian woman to keep the gun she’d given her, and for the first time, he considered what he wanted out of his marriage. Up until then, he’d only thought about what would be good for Beatrice.
But damn, did he want her. He wanted the partner that she could be, and he wanted every moment he could steal at her side. He wanted the relationship that they could have because it would be good for him as well.
He wanted it all, even if she wasn’t ready to hear it yet.