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Luck had always been a bitch to Vespa, but there was no way she would let her best friend go in alone.
Montrell groaned once more, and then his eyes focused on her face. “Damn, Vespa, you look like hell.”
She wiped at her forehead, smearing blood in the process. She didn’t have energy left to grin through the pain. “Yeah, but they’re dead.”
Montrell’s dazed gaze took in the strewn bodies. “You did all this?”
She nodded to where Luka crouched nearby. “I had help.” And she didn’t quite know why, unless Antonio was keeping tabs on her. The thought sent a mixture of annoyance and appreciation through her.
Montrell was thanking the assassin when he tensed. He’d noticed. “Where’s Bea?”
A wave of nausea twisted through Vespa’s stomach. “The Irish must still have her. I came to as they were dragging us out of the elevator, started putting up a fuss, and, well, here we are.”
Montrell staggered to his feet. “We have to get Bea.”
Vespa swayed as she rose. “Don’t go off half-cocked. I already called the boys, Montrell, but shit, this place is a fortress.” She expected his glare and scowled back. “I’m not saying no. I’m saying let’s think this through. Walking in and getting shot won’t help our girl.” It wouldn’t, but everything within her was telling her to do it anyway. Montrell would never be the same if Beatrice died. And fuck, his own mother was going to do it, the one he’d always begged Vespa not to kill, the one she sure as shit should have murdered years ago anyway. Montrell was going to blame himself for losing the woman he loved.
Her head pounded, and she saw the pet assassin again. “Why are you even here?”
She watched him stand, but he was looking away from her. She’d forgotten how weird he got around women, and she tried to stop glaring at him. The pain following her adrenaline crash wasn’t helping any.
“Meeting. Something off. Sent to follow.”
Vespa didn’t know why she was so certain Antonio had sent him.
Montrell paced among the bodies until he found one he recognized. “We were being given to the Lucchese?”
Vespa sighed. “Not exactly. The Lucchese were intent on shooting us. That’s what made me put up a fuss sooner than I intended.” She felt like roadkill. “Managed to not get shot, but the results weren’t pretty.”
Montrell looked toward the elevator. “When our boys get here, I want you to go.”
“Like hell,” Vespa muttered, but he didn’t seem to hear her.
“I’m going to try to talk some sense into the O’Connells. Maybe I can convince my mother that—”
And that’s when Vespa saw red. “Don’t be an idiot!” she snarled. “You aren’t going to convince that bitch of a goddamn thing. We should have never trusted that woman. Going in there will just get you killed.”
That was what would happen. Montrell’s mother was finally going to kill him. Every beating Vespa had received over the years in her attempt to prevent it had been culminating into absolutely nothing. She fucking hated it and wanted to scream and kill someone.
At least, she thought as a grim consolation prize, the last part was sure to happen.
Montrell’s sudden grip on her good arm steadied her. “I can’t leave without her, Ves. I can’t.”
She bit her lip, then jerked away so she could shove at his chest. “I know!” It was one reason she loved him so much. “Help me pop this arm back into place first. Then I’ll grab another gun from one of these fuckers. I want to go down shooting.” If she took the front position, there was a slim chance he’d get out alive.
Montrell stared at her limp arm. “Vespa…”
She glared at him, not surprised when he glared back. The pain of using her arm wouldn’t matter. She could swallow that pain and aim through it. And Beatrice was smart. Vespa was sure she was working on her own plan from inside. That raised their chances of survival to possibly five percent. “If you’re going, I’m going. No way we’re getting her out alive, but we’ll try.”
A soft voice weaved into their standoff. “I can.”
They turned to look at Luka.
A glimmer of hope flared inside Vespa, but then she glanced at Montrell’s hard face. “Like we trust you,” she said, knowing Montrell didn’t. He blamed the former Bratva assassin for once getting her shot.
But then Montrell surprised her. “You really think you can?” he asked Luka, hope coating the question.
Luka nodded.
