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They were a bit adorable in the way they jumped to obey, calling more soldiers to join them. The Albanians were tough cockroaches to kill, and they still permeated the city.
The multiple able bodies came in handy when her shopping trip took on epic proportions. By the time it ended, she had an entirely brand-new wardrobe, one that rivaled what she used to have before she’d become a wife.
Her first husband had gotten rid of her taste and replaced it with his own preferences, things that made her a beautiful doll with less skin showing. She hadn’t protested. The joy she had taken in her prior sexiness had lapsed by then.
As Beatrice dressed in one of her new outfits the next day, there was a slither of something as she looked in the mirror. She thought it might have been pride.
Her tastes had changed from when she’d been younger. She preferred long sleeves and only slitted hints of her shapely legs. It was easier to hide the scars that covered her body that way. The new dress hid the fading bruises on her neck but had a large enough cutout at her chest to show off the deep valley of her breasts.
She used to love the way her breasts drew men’s gazes. Her hand cocked on her hip as she studied the creamy flesh. Maybe she still did. Her nerves were too present to figure it out.
Her makeup was just as it used to be. She’d been the one to change her brands over the years. It completed the shift in herself, letting her almost think of the person she’d become as a stranger. The smell of her preferred brand of makeup was soothing as she finished putting on her face.
The new heels that cupped her feet lovingly tapped along the floor as she made her way downstairs. There were only a few guards at the bottom, who straightened upon seeing her. When their eyes flitted to her cleavage, she almost turned around, but then their gazes dropped and she forced her feet to move forward.
Most of the soldiers were in the conference room around that time with the capos. It wasn’t how things were normally done, but the Coronellas had their own ways. Their voices stopped as she pushed open the door. The stares almost sent her running. The old Beatrice used to enjoy drawing a room’s attention, but now it only created doubts.
Montrell cleared his throat, his eyes the first to move away from her. “Come on. Speak up if you have something to say,” he commanded the last person who had been talking before her arrival.
Beatrice made her way to the free spot along the wall near him instead of taking a seat. She positioned herself far enough away to study his face as he led the continued discussion, but close enough to be considered one of his nearest.
Not as close as Vespa, who was up his ass like usual. Vespa crossed her arms and scowled at Beatrice from his side, but she said little during the meeting.
Beatrice had heard all the soldiers’ and capos’ talk during her skulking phase. She let her mind wander as she studied Montrell instead.
His movements among the family confused her. She’d seen him least of all since she’d taken up residence in his home. That shouldn’t have been the case; he was the head of the family. It seemed to her that he wore all the hats—capo and consigliere, as well as being the face of the family.
It was a gorgeous face. She’d always thought so. Not sleek and sheened like the faces of most of the men she’d met, but he’d trimmed his beard and hair a little, and his eyes had a lot of laugh lines near them. He was confident and charming and happy all rolled together.
It must have felt nice to be him.
Montrell tapped the table with his palms, satisfied with the meeting. He straightened, his tree-trunk-like arms folding and straining the dress shirt he wore with the sleeves rolled up and no jacket over it.
He turned to her, his head cocked. “Anything new to add, Bea?”
Her mouth tried to seal shut. She swallowed instead, pulling a folded piece of paper from where she’d tucked it in her cleavage. She strode forward, placing it on the table in front of him and tapping it with her finger.
“The names of the men we talked about,” she said before straightening.
A smile played at his lips, making his beard twitch. “And your orders?”
Those words were easier. “Bring them here. I want to kill them.”
She expected murmurs from the capos and soldiers present, not the deafening silence that pressed against her skin.
Montrell reached for the paper, holding it over his shoulder to Vespa. “See it done.”
“Hell yes,” Vespa said, opening the paper. She was using both hands again, no longer wearing her sling. “Shit, some of these are a no-go. Already dead.”
Beatrice regretted the time she’d wasted. Her tongue ran over her bottom lip, tasting the faint flavor of her lipstick. “How many?”
Vespa crumpled the paper in her fist. “You’ll get a solid three. That enough blood?”
“It’ll have to do.” Beatrice backed toward the wall, leaning against it.
Vespa studied her, frowning. “You want to join the hunt, or just after?”
Beatrice let her gaze drop to her own body. All she saw was curves, and she felt a flash of something warm and foreign now. Her eyebrow rose as she met Vespa’s gaze again. “I’m not dressed for it. After is fine.”
