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“Cesare?” Beatrice asked, studying their faces as Montrell and Vespa shared a look.
“Someone who tried to fuck with me years ago. It didn’t end well for him.” Vespa frowned. “I really don’t get what’s going on, but if anyone’s figured it out, it’s Antonio.”
“He knows about Cesare?” Montrell asked, his eyes widening.
Vespa’s feet shifted. “Yeah. He knows.” She blew out a breath. “With his resources, he probably knows more than we do.”
“Well, if he was the one to kill Rossi, he’s moving forward with his own agenda.” Beatrice scowled. “I’m not certain how I feel about that.”
“If it makes things safer faster, I’m not going to complain.” Montrell moved closer to his wife to pull her into his arms, careful not to jostle her cast. His chin lowered to the top of her head. “We’ve seen enough violence for a while.”
“True,” Beatrice said, relaxing. “Sometimes I’m surprised you’re not more vindictive. Not that I’m complaining. I love you as you are.”
Montrell’s skin flushed under his beard, and a tingling rushed inside Vespa as she considered how together they looked. She scowled as she remembered Antonio’s very public confession from the night before. Her best friend was adorable with his wife, but Vespa would never let Antonio get away with the same. That would be way too much affection for her, especially around others.
She waved them off. “Get out of here already. I’ll call Antonio to ask what’s up.”
They parted as Montrell gave her a look. “You’re still a target. I’m not leaving you alone.”
She groaned. “At least wait outside. You know how stupid I feel talking on the phone.”
He smirked. “Yeah. That was another reason I was surprised you called me last night.”
“Oh, shut up,” Vespa said, pushing at his arm.
Montrell’s lips widened. “I fucking love you, Ves.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, switching to shove at his back instead. “I’ve heard it.”
“Isn’t that how Di Salvo said it? I wish I’d been there. The boys were—”
“Gah!” she shouted. “Enough. Get out!”
Montrell held up his hands. “We’re going, we’re going.”
Beatrice smiled as she helped to steer him away. Montrell bent toward her as he told her he could count on both hands how many times Vespa had called him on the phone.
Vespa listened to their banter fade into the distance, then stared down at Antonio’s contact information after they were gone. Finding her smirk, she changed his display name. Antonio wasn’t an asshole. He was…
Her finger froze over the call button. Antonio had declared his love for her, and she hadn’t said a damn thing in return, she realized.
She was back to feeling like she would throw up. Did she love him?
She loved fucking him. There hadn’t even been a blip on her red-flag radar from him taking control in the pantry. Letting go with him had become a craving, especially when it cleared out her thoughts.
But it wasn’t sex that crowded her mind. Instead, she imagined him sitting on a bathroom floor with her after she’d embarrassed herself with a meltdown over a damn dress. She remembered the way his fingers played with her hair. He was there for her as she crawled out of a flipped car or freaked out over getting someone killed, not taking over but reminding her she was worth the loyalty.
He’d called her a badass, and it seemed like he believed that.
Because she was a badass. Even if her stomach swooped over making a damn phone call.
Why did surviving a shootout seem easier?
Vespa pushed the call button, holding the phone to her ear. When he didn’t pick up right away, she reminded herself that was good. She hadn’t given herself time to think through all the words. The eventual click startled her, and she opened her mouth until a robotic voice began to recite the number she’d dialed.
Voicemail was an evil sort of black hole. She should hang up. She hadn’t prepped for leaving a message, and besides, she never left them.
The beep sounded, and she was too late. “Shit! Fucking voicemail. I should hang up,” she said into the phone, grimacing as she realized it had recorded that. “Fuck it. You already know who this is.”
