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She had no idea what to do about tears. Montrell wasn’t a crier. Neither of them were. Before she figured out what she wanted to do, the door was clicking shut behind her. Stupid. He’d asked her to leave, and, even when it wasn’t good for him, Vespa couldn’t deny him anything.
Only one person could. As the noises of destruction echoed in her ears—Montrell was literally losing it—she lurched forward, sprinting down the hallway and skidding into the kitchen.
Giulia must have already heard because she’d taken off her apron. She had a sixth sense about these things. The woman who had been like a mother to Montrell and Vespa was more formidable than she looked; she also hoarded information and could be an extreme manipulator when she wanted to be.
“A little emotion scared you off?” Giulia asked, raising an eyebrow.
Vespa flushed. “This isn’t about me. I’ve never seen Montrell like this. Hell, he’s tearing a fucking room apart, Giulia. He’s always been strong enough to do that, I guess, but he’s losing it. That’s not like him.”
Giulia’s face softened. “It’s perfectly like him when he fails someone he cares about. But I guess you wouldn’t remember that.”
Vespa scowled. “I remember everything. He’s never—”
“You were unconscious at the time.” She sighed, moving closer and patting Vespa’s shoulder.
Vespa got hurt plenty, but there’d only been one time that she’d passed out and woken up in the hospital. “You mean when—” She swallowed, her throat too dry to continue. She wasn’t sure exactly how to describe the incident anyway. It hadn’t been a gang rape, despite their attempts, and it hadn’t been a simple beating.
“You killed everyone who hurt you by yourself, before Montrell got there.” Giulia sighed, letting her hand drop. “That left him with no outlet. He hates realizing he can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”
“You think this is about Beatrice’s dead husband?” Vespa blew out a breath. “He was irritated back in Vegas when he found out the man was already gone, but he handled it. Why would he flip out now?”
“He probably saw her scars.”
Vespa blinked at her as she tried to reason that one out. “Scars? You mean the ones she baited her father with?”
Giulia frowned at her. “There are more people around to pay attention to besides Montrell, Vespa.”
She shrugged. “None as important. And, hell, Giulia, Beatrice’s husband used her as a punching bag, and worse, for years. Montrell hates that, but he’s not dumb enough to be put off by a little scarring.”
“It’s not the scars themselves. It’s the realization that someone he loves almost died because of his inaction.” Giulia lifted an eyebrow. “And you know well enough who created that trigger in him.”
There was no one alive in the world that Vespa hated more than Montrell’s mother.
Giulia waved her out of the way before she could spiral into her own toxic thoughts. “Move aside so I can go set him straight.”
Vespa remained in the kitchen after Giulia had left, trying to breathe through her rising anger. If asked, she’d never be able to explain when she’d first realized Montrell’s mother liked to torture him. It was more that she’d always been aware of it. The woman liked to pretend she didn’t mean to, but something in her eyes showed her manic delight.
Vespa had hated the times when Montrell was hurt enough to have to recuperate. At first, it had been out of selfishness. She enjoyed being around Montrell. He smiled and never got annoyed with her and was fun to play with. Early on, he’d talked about being strong enough, and that had seemed like a good goal, though they never talked about what “enough” meant.
Montrell was addicted to the idea of saving and protecting, but when he’d offered to do the same for Vespa, she’d balked. Hell no. She wanted to be his shield, not the other way around.
His mother had hated her. Vespa was capable of provoking her into hitting her instead easily enough most times. When Montrell asked questions about her injuries, Vespa would change the subject, not wanting him to feel sad about them. Maybe it wasn’t honest, but she never lied either. Sometimes he’d push, but she just got stubborn and asked him to practice getting stronger with her so it wouldn’t happen again.
Of course, it always happened again. The abuse only ended when Montrell’s mother got bored and ran away. Vespa wished she could have found a way to kill the woman that wouldn’t have made Montrell sad.
She really hated to see Montrell sad. His big smile was so much better.
There was something about the person you cared about most being whole and healthy that made the world a better place to be in, despite all the other crap. She’d begun to see Montrell that way more often than ever since Vegas.
Vespa forced herself to return to the conference room, where she found Beatrice eavesdropping at the door. She didn’t blame her for it; in fact, she respected her more. They’d both run, but they’d both come back.
Even when Giulia took them to task over being nosy, being there felt like the right thing to do. Vespa felt guilty but also relieved when Beatrice left instead of going inside to Montrell. The mix of emotions was a confusing swirl, but she took advantage of her opportunity. It was too bad he’d prefer to see his wife.
Montrell looked the way only Giulia could make him look—properly chastised.
Vespa flumped down into the debris next to him. She eyed the room. “I guess this place did need to be redecorated.”
Montrell shook his head, running a hand over his beard. “Go ahead. Call me an idiot. I deserve it.”
