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“Which is why I didn’t kill her over the years,” Giulia cut in.
Vespa breathed through her inside panic and tried to focus.
Giulia dried her hands on a towel as she shot Vespa a look of commiseration. Her gaze moved back to Montrell. “Maybe it would have been better for you if I had.”
There’s no ‘maybe’ about it, Vespa thought to herself.
Montrell smiled at the woman who had raised them both far more than either of their parents had. “I’m who I am because of you, Giulia. Would you really change any of that? I wouldn’t.” His eyes locked onto Beatrice. “Not when it led me here.”
Realizing that Montrell already had his happy ending did nothing to calm Vespa’s nerves. There was more pressure to make sure he kept it. “Damn sap,” she muttered. Her mind roiled with memories that made her want to hurl. “There are a few things I would change.”
Montrell told her what she’d known would be his choice. “I’ve never run from my mother. I’m going to meet with her. I know you understand, Ves.”
No, she didn’t fucking understand. Montrell had a blind spot when it came to the woman who’d tortured him. It was like a sickness.
Then the only thing that could make this trip worse happened.
“I’d like to go with you,” Beatrice said.
And just like that, Vespa’s best friend was hugging his wife as if this was the best news ever. “I want you there. I want to introduce my wife to my mother. Though keep your expectations low.”
The way Vespa’s nerves were shredding her insides made it hard to breathe. She gripped her bun tightly, panicking over how she was going to get both of them out alive. She likely was going to have to kill Montrell’s mother, despite his rosy outlook for the encounter. “I’m still going. It’s not up for debate.”
She watched Montrell nod, but she wasn’t relieved.
Vespa reminded herself that getting to kill the woman would be like fulfilling a dream. Her finger kept stroking the scar on her cheek on the ride over. The Irish wanted them to come for business, she reminded herself. Even they wouldn’t be stupid enough to let Montrell’s mother loose on her son and still think they could do business.
Things were moving too fast for her to think, and it wasn’t just Montrell Vespa had to worry about. Something happening to Beatrice would be even worse from his perspective. Despite her trying to voice protests, both Montrell and Beatrice rode right along with her into the lioness’s den.
It didn’t get better when the Irish disarmed them. Vespa understood, and in theory she’d do the same thing, but fuck it all, she needed the weight of her guns to keep her grounded. She’d also brought more than her one spare.
The guards were eyeing her by the time they removed the sixth gun. They even found the knife she kept between her breasts that nobody usually found. She scowled into the mirrored walls of the elevator as she resigned herself to her bare hands after all.
Being greeted with guns on the top floor brought a snarl to her throat, but everything slowed before her when Montrell’s broad frame stepped into the space between the opened doors. Dizziness gathered in her head. This was all wrong. She was supposed to be the shield, not him.
Their friendship was never supposed to be even. Vespa had wanted to save the young boy he had been, and that desire had turned into a devotion she’d never regretted, no matter how many times she’d gotten hurt.
Her getting hurt wasn’t a problem, and Montrell had to stop trying to protect her.
Vespa had missed part of the discussion because of her skittering panic. The old man who was Montrell’s grandfather, Liam O’Connell, shifted his gaze to her. “Your last visit didn’t go well. Partly because of this woman. I’m surprised you brought her back.”
That was fair enough. Montrell’s mother had been blaming him for her life like she always had, working her way into a frenzy. Vespa had reminded his mother exactly what kind of bitch she was instead of holding back. It had gotten them out of there without Montrell apologizing like the beaten-down victim again. Vespa had considered it a win, especially since he’d also finally realized what she had all along: there was nothing he could do to earn his mother’s love.
She’d still expected him to go back on his resolve not to see her again, but years had passed, blissful years in which Vespa made sure he got reports and waited for the moment he tried again, but that moment had never come.
Now here it was.
Maeve Coronella, or maybe she’d switched back to O’Connell now, looked nothing and everything like Vespa remembered. She paced the dim sitting room they were led to, her manic energy needing release as she muttered under her breath. Vespa had once lain on the carpet near those pacing feet and tried to breathe through her cracked ribs as the woman debated aloud whether to bludgeon in her head.
His mother had grown slimmer over the years, and the outfit she wore hung off her frame and was frayed where it dragged on the floor. The sheen of red in her hair, so similar to Montrell’s, was darker and grungier, as if unwashed. She looked as if she’d stopped trying to hide the crazy inside and had given it free rein instead.
That didn’t make Vespa feel relieved in any way, though a glimmer of that feeling flitted inside as Maeve gave in to the inevitable and lunged for Montrell, her hand raised.
Vespa shoved between them, taking the hard slap to the face. Her cheek bloomed with pain. Despite appearing frail, Maeve’s hand held the same strength it always had, and Vespa stumbled into a table, her knee adding a throb that her heartbeat echoed. She reminded herself that it would be bad to kill the woman while they were locked in a well-defended condo.
Fuck, this whole visit was a horrible idea.
Maeve pulled back, and her eyes gleamed as she stared at Vespa. “Stupid girl. You always were fixated on my boy.”
