Chapter 23
Montrell kept his eyes on Beatrice as she spoke with her father. Santino Lucchese had his back to the corner. Cornered rats tended to lash out, and if the man did, Montrell would get to end him.
“She said she’d take care of him,” Vespa murmured.
“I’d rather she just let me kill him,” Montrell said, intentionally not murmuring.
Beatrice and her father both looked his way. She was smiling, with a softening to her features that Montrell adored.
She had come to the joint meeting of La Cosa Nostra families looking absolutely stunning. The maroon dress she wore covered her arms again, though she no longer wore the bangles. The plunging neckline was deeper than ever, skimming along one of the scars he had traced in the shower. A slit up each thigh flashed skin when she walked, and her makeup made her eyes look smoky somehow.
There were five families in La Cosa Nostra, and all of the dons except Giovanni had followed Beatrice with their eyes when she’d entered the Di Salvos’ conference room. Giovanni had given them both a nod, then dipped his head to say something to Nera. Lucchese’s eyes had glittered as he stared, a promise in them that Montrell wanted to break, and the other two older men had stared at her like property.
Beatrice was nobody’s property, and Montrell was already willing to demolish this meeting of the families to make that point.
It hadn’t helped when Beatrice squeezed his arm and then isolated her father to make her own point. The man’s expression had turned pasty, so it seemed he understood what she said, more’s the pity.
“Here they come,” Vespa warned under her breath.
The heads of the other two families had hard, blank faces. Leandro Barone had gone fully gray since Montrell had last seen him. He had always worn the fanciest suits, and today’s attire was no exception. Even though he was the oldest one there, the man was fit, a force to be reckoned with. Like Montrell’s own father, Barone ruled through fear. His reputation had been earned.
Franco Rossi had more of a nervous twinge to his jowly neck. He held his expression firm with effort. He was shorter and heavier than Montrell remembered. The man wore way too many rings, including one he nervously twisted as he approached. He had a new, young fiancée, or at least that was what Montrell had heard. The rumors about what had happened to Rossi’s last two wives had made it necessary for the man to look for someone outside of the life.
Montrell didn’t understand why Di Salvo had any interest in consolidating La Cosa Nostra. The older generation would be better off placed in the ground.
Barone looked toward Beatrice. “You married the Lucchese daughter?”
“She’s a Coronella,” Montrell said, his gaze level as the man’s dark one flicked back to him. After what Lucchese had done, or failed to do, he didn’t want her associated with the family name.
Rossi harrumphed. “Of course she’s yours. We’re simply surprised.”
Montrell’s gaze narrowed, words he didn’t say boiling inside. It always came down to ownership, even though that wasn’t what he’d meant.
Vespa stepped on the edge of his foot, warning him to keep from making a mess she’d have to clean up.
“We should get down to business.” Rossi’s gaze lingered on Beatrice. “Isn’t it time to send the wives away?”
“No. If having women here makes you uncomfortable, you can be the one to leave.” Montrell watched the men’s faces tighten. “I’m sure Di Salvo will tell you the same.” He nodded over to Giovanni, who managed to look both remote and lethal.
“I will,” Giovanni said, brusque as usual as he shifted a step closer to Nera.
Antonio Di Salvo stepped up to her other side, his blue eyes colder than ever as he smiled at the Mafia dons. “The Di Salvos won’t allow disrespect to be given to anyone holding our name.”
Beatrice’s heels were a steady sound in the sudden silence as she moved to Montrell’s side. “I’m sure they meant no disrespect.” She reached out, straightening Barone’s tie, which didn’t need to be straightened. She had no trouble meeting each man’s eye. “I remember both of you being quite gracious to me in the past.” Her hand pulled back to curl around Montrell’s arm. “We should at least give them time to acclimate.”
Montrell figured they’d had more than fifty years to change their views on women, but he settled on waiting for them to make the first aggressive move before he fought back.
“Let’s get this farce over with,” Lucchese said, moving to one of the chairs around the oblong table.
The business conversation went more amicably than the chitchat ahead of time had. Montrell found himself disappointed, though, especially because Beatrice remained quiet throughout.
Franco Rossi rested a fist on the table. “The fall of the Bratva and the Albanians mainly benefited the Di Salvos and the Coronellas. Now here you are, coming to us with words of peace, begging without even offering a gift.”
Beatrice placed her arms on the table as she leaned forward. “Oh, the Coronellas never beg.” She tilted her head, her painted lips a hard line. “I never expected anyone in La Cosa Nostra to expect handouts.” Her gaze shifted to Leandro Barone. “Especially you.”
She let the silence hang in the air as his dark gaze met hers. “The Coronellas are correct. We would take what we want.” Then she nodded, sliding back in her chair.
“There’s still plenty available to consolidate,” Antonio broke in. “The Di Salvos have no interest in some… aspects of the Bratva business. As long as the threat is gone, we all benefit.”
“The Coronellas also lack interest in specializing in anything beyond our current trade,” Beatrice said, giving the older Mafia dons a small nod.
From there, the agreement to cease fire among La Cosa Nostra was easy to obtain. The tension eased among the men, all except for Lucchese. He looked as if his tie was strangling him.
Montrell would be happy to make that happen.
“Oh, one thing I did want to ask for,” Beatrice said, her voice bringing silence to the others again. “If you see any Albanians around your territory, please send them to me. Dead or alive.” She gave a forced smile. “I’d consider it a gift. Just as Lucchese provided a gift to us the other day.”
Lucchese twitched as he straightened in his seat.
“Do you have anything to add, Father?” Beatrice asked. “If you’re not careful, these men will think the worst of that incident at the docks.”
Heat shimmered inside him. Montrell leaned toward his wife. “Bea?” He swallowed, but he knew it would be worth breaking the barely made truce to spill her father’s blood.
Beatrice patted his clenched hand. “It’s all right.” She turned to face him, and he searched her eyes. “Killing that Albanian myself really was a gift.”
Montrell slowly nodded. His eyes shifted back to study her father. He was determined to kill the man eventually.
Beatrice faced the group again. “It’s not enough that the Albanians have fallen. I want every last one to be wiped out.” She studied the men, satisfied with what she saw. “And, Father,” she murmured, her lips curving like a blade as he flinched, “I’m allowing this one surprise. Future gifts should always be announced. It would be difficult for us to be lenient again.”
Lucchese’s head jerked in a nod.
“I need to hear the words,” Beatrice pushed. “Or others will be spoken.”
Her father sucked in a breath, and his lips parted. “Understood, Coronella.”
Beatrice nodded in return.
The rest of the meeting was uneventful. Montrell led Beatrice to a corner afterward, his bulk easily hiding her face from the room. “Are you sure a threat is enough for you?” he asked, trying to make his voice quiet. “We could retaliate.”
“I’m sure.” She gave one of her softer smiles before moving into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “I think I like being called by your name almost as much as being called your good girl.” She breathed the words against his beard, and Montrell reminded himself not to haul her against him. They still had an audience, and he wanted to give his good girl the whole world.
When Rossi approached them a few minutes later, wanting to discuss the newest, highly sought-after shipment, Montrell cut him off.
“You’ll need to set up time with Beatrice to discuss that.” He nodded at her as her head tilted up toward his. “She’s my new consigliere.”
Her eyes seemed to sparkle, taking away any concern he’d had that she would be mad they hadn’t discussed it first.
Montrell found himself leaning against the wall, watching Beatrice in her element as she spoke to everyone present but her father. She’d said all she needed to him.
Montrell’s eyes followed Lucchese. “Keep an eye on him,” he murmured to Vespa, who was still beside him.
“I thought you were calmer after your date yesterday.” Vespa frowned as she stared at Beatrice’s father. “You’re not calm at all, are you?”
Montrell considered the word. It didn’t fit, but he wasn’t feeling as out of control as he had the day before either. If he had to boil down how he felt to one emotion, it was one that surprised him. “I’m… happy,” he murmured, and the word felt right.
Vespa’s gaze switched to his face, and she blinked.
He nodded toward Beatrice. “You’ll help keep her safe?”
Vespa sighed. “She’s a Coronella.” She pushed off the wall. “I wish there were two of me, though.”
He watched her stomp over to protect his new consigliere, and the warmth in his chest expanded.
Beatrice had the oddest feeling. It was as if she were floating, but her heels were very much on the ground. She’d had trouble concentrating on the business talks happening around her. Well, no, not around her. They were happening with her at their center.
She’d never had trouble focusing on business before, but now her fingers tingled with the urge to hold Montrell tight.
Which would be ridiculous. He’d just given her the status she’d always wanted. Ignoring everything to snuggle with him in the corner wouldn’t send the right message.
She really wanted to, though.
When she realized she couldn’t imagine life without him, she lost track of whatever she’d been saying. She wasn’t just with him. She wanted to be with him. And so she felt all sorts of emotions that became a tangled ball in her chest and a giddy inability to focus.
Vespa nudged her arm.
Beatrice refocused on the man standing in front of her. Leandro Barone wasn’t used to being ignored. His gray hair made his eyes seem darker as she found him staring at her. “We’ll set up a date to discuss your offer further,” she said. Some ideas swirled in her mind regarding the joint business venture he’d proposed, but they weren’t fully formed enough to be eloquent. Besides, it never hurt to give herself time to plan the details with all possible caveats in mind.
Antonio Di Salvo was the last to approach her, his perpetual, wolfish grin in place. “It seems we’ll be working more closely together now that we have similar roles.” His eyes shifted to Vespa, who was already scowling at him. “Will you be looking after her as well? Maybe her style will rub off on you.”
“I don’t need style to kill you,” Vespa muttered.
Antonio chuckled, leaning closer to Vespa’s ear to say something.
Vespa’s eyes dilated, and Beatrice decided to give them a moment.
Besides, Montrell had told her she should give Nera a chance. Beatrice couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a woman as a friend.
Nera and her husband were talking to Montrell, which made approaching them even better, but what she overheard Giovanni Di Salvo saying as she walked up made her stomach twist.
“We told the O’Connells that they should speak to you first,” he was explaining.
Montrell stiffened as he nodded. “I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if they reach out.”
Beatrice moved to his side and squeezed his arm. The tension there seeped away beneath her touch.
Montrell’s gaze swept around the room. “Looks like the older generation cleared out finally.” His eyes settled on Giovanni. “I still think we should just kill them, Di Salvo.”
Giovanni didn’t nod or shake his head. “It’s worth the attempt.”
Beatrice squeezed Montrell’s arm. “My father needs to suffer more before we kill him.”
Nera studied her. “Should we celebrate your new position? We have sweets in the kitchen.” Her head turned toward Vespa, who had approached the group, leaving Antonio behind. “Alina is down there as well.”
“Hard pass,” Vespa muttered.
“Scared she’ll hug you again?” Antonio asked, strolling up to knock shoulders with her.
Vespa shuddered. “Don’t even joke about that!”
Beatrice shared a smile with Montrell, though his expression became more serious as he fell into step beside Giovanni. “I guess that means your pet assassin is lurking around.”
Antonio’s smile fell. “He’s around as often as he likes, much to my disgust.” He sighed but looked at Giovanni fondly. “Someone has a soft spot for the little creep.”
“Luka saved my life,” Giovanni said in a tone that suggested they’d had this conversation time and time again.
Montrell had mentioned the hit man with dislike once before. It intrigued Beatrice. Montrell got along with everyone unless he had a reason not to—like with their fathers. “You’ve mentioned an assassin before.” She searched her memory. “He’s related to the Bratva?”
“Was brainwashed by them as a kid,” Antonio muttered. “He didn’t so much save Gio as just let him live when he was ordered not to. He shouldn’t have been able to do as much damage as he did; he wasn’t even grown at the time. Luka has always been damned lethal.”
The kitchen was on the bottom floor, and Nera led them inside.
“So he’s a hired killer?” Beatrice asked, ducking through the door that Montrell held open.
Inside, a slight woman was cutting up fruit at the kitchen island. She was the same one who had hugged Vespa before. Alina, Beatrice thought she’d been called.
Antonio leaned back against a cabinet. “He’s not a hired killer anymore, not with the pakhan dead.” He sighed. “He does good work, though. He’s been listening in and taking care of problems before we ask him to lately.”
Alina’s hand tensed on the knife.
The kitchen seemed smaller with Montrell hovering behind Beatrice. She leaned into his side, peering up at his face. “And you don’t like him?”
Montrell’s eyes narrowed. “He shot Vespa.”
“He wasn’t the one who shot me.” Vespa hunched into herself in the corner. “He tried to shoot you, I interfered, and the pakhan shot me.” She nodded toward Beatrice. “Remember the sling I was wearing in Vegas? That’s what happened.”
Nera had pulled down some plates while Giovanni gathered something sweet-looking from the refrigerator.“Luka is a sweetheart,” she said, “and he’s welcome among the Di Salvos as long as he’d like.”
Her tone was firm.
Antonio’s smile returned, but it appeared genuine this time as he looked at Nera. “Like husband, like wife. You both have a soft spot for him.”
Nera lifted her chin. “I’m loyal. He’s one of us, like Alina is.”
The slight woman had pushed the fruit she’d been cutting to the side. “You don’t have to worry about me. I know Luka has a past, but he’s everything to me now.” Her eyes found Montrell. “And we can leave if we’re not wanted.”
Montrell tugged at his beard. “No, we’ll be leaving soon.” His eyes shifted around the kitchen. “That must mean the little bugger is a shadow around here somewhere, though.”
Nera began plating the dessert. “Stay. We’re celebrating Beatrice becoming consigliere today.” She crossed, holding out the first plate to Beatrice. “I just heard that news. Congratulations.”
Beatrice’s gaze slid over to Montrell. “It was a well-kept secret.”
Nera laughed. “And here I was, thinking Coronella was more talkative than Giovanni.” She smiled at her husband. “It seems he doesn’t always use his words either.”
Montrell leaned down toward Beatrice. “But it made you happy?” he asked next to her ear.
“It did,” she replied.
Nera’s eyes softened as she studied them. “Giulia must be happy with your marriage to Montrell.”
“Giulia?” Beatrice paused with her spoon lifted. “I’m not sure I’ve won her over yet.”
“Oh?” Nera looked surprised. “She caught me holding hands with Giovanni when we had a date at the restaurant and said she was happy to see a love match. With her mothering toward Montrell, I assumed she’d want love for him even more.”
Beatrice’s face warmed. The idea loving Montrell sounded better than she expected, but also confusing, so she deflected instead. “I meant to ask, Nera. Do you have a specific role among the Di Salvos?” Her gaze shifted to the Di Salvo men, who were talking quietly together. “Antonio told me he’s consigliere, but you seem very involved as well.”
“Oh, I’m not interested in titles.” Nera shrugged. “Giovanni and I talk through things together, share an office, and share the weight of decision-making.” She looked toward her husband. “I just want to love him. And to share in as many moments with him as possible. That’s enough for me.”
Beatrice swallowed, feeling like she’d seen an expression not meant for her.
Nera returned to handing out the dessert, which she had made herself, Beatrice learned.
A plate had been put to the side. At some point, while they all ate, it disappeared. Beatrice saw another man, slight in stature, with a shaved head and tattoos, resting against the wall beside Alina. They didn’t touch, but their bodies were turned toward each other as she murmured something to him.
With the conversation flowing around the kitchen and many other Di Salvos coming in once they’d sniffed out the treat, the Di Salvo estate seemed like a home.
Beatrice appreciated being able to see it, but she preferred the Coronella estate.