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“Did you think of something to add, Bea?” Montrell asked.
She’d been frowning and smoothed out her expression. “No,” she said, looking away.
“I was glad to hear the threat of the Albanians is mostly gone,” Nera said, smiling toward her. “Montrell told us a bit about Vegas when he returned.”
Montrell nodded toward one of the Di Salvos. The man was a more traditional made man, tall and dark-haired and precisely put together. “Had to thank Antonio for arranging the private jet. We Coronellas don’t have one of those.”
“Any time,” Antonio Di Salvo said with a smile, ignoring Vespa, who was glaring daggers at him.
“Yeah, in order to hold a favor over our heads,” she griped. She’d had been more on edge than usual since they’d arrived at the Di Salvo estate. She tossed looks Beatrice’s way when she wasn’t glaring at one particular Di Salvo.
“Now, that isn’t quite fair, is it?” Antonio asked. “We weren’t the ones to turn our backs recently, were we?”
Vespa looked away.
Montrell frowned. “How is your pet assassin, Di Salvo?” he asked, directing it toward the one person in the room who had said very little.
Giovanni Di Salvo was as quiet as Beatrice remembered. They’d grown up as children in La Cosa Nostra, so they’d crossed paths a time or two. It had surprised her to hear that the Di Salvos had picked Giovanni as their new leader. He’d never been favored among the made men, or so she’d heard.
His eyes were direct when they met Montrell’s. “Luka has healed.”
Nera shifted forward in her chair, her gaze on Vespa. “So has Alina.”
Vespa looked away, crossing her arms.
Antonio smiled constantly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, Beatrice was noticing.
“The little bastard is probably listening in right now,” he said. “He’s a damn cockroach.”
Nera shook her head, her hand finding Giovanni’s shoulder as she leaned closer to him. “Luka’s been helping with the lingering Bratva. With the pakhan gone, some of them have become desperate.”
“Yeah,” Montrell agreed. “They hit one of our warehouses.” He shifted his shoulder, the one Beatrice had bandaged for him. “Now there’re a few less Bratva to be concerned about.”
Beatrice had forgotten about the scrapes on his shoulder when she’d climbed on top of him the night before. She looked away, trying to control her wandering thoughts.
Giovanni studied Montrell. His eyes flicked to her as well, then back to her husband. “The meeting of all La Cosa Nostra families will be soon.”
All. Meaning her father would be there. Beatrice couldn’t prevent her shoulders from tightening, and she sat up straighter. She kept her lips soft, and coached her smile to feel genuine.
Montrell’s gaze was on her. “I told you as much as I wanted to about that, Giovanni. Things are settled between the Coronellas and the Lucchese for now.” He shrugged. “I think this peaceful alliance among the families is a pipe dream. It won’t work, not while some of the current leaders are in place.”
Antonio lifted an eyebrow. “You want to change that?”
“I want the fucking Lucchese bastard to bleed,” Montrell snapped, drawing Beatrice’s gaze back to him. He didn’t look away from her. “But the revenge isn’t mine to take.”
She forced a smile. “He’ll suffer more alive.” Her hand tightened in her lap. “My father won’t be a problem.”
Nera studied her thoughtfully, but there was a question behind her eyes, one Beatrice was fine ignoring.
“The older generation are the worst,” Vespa muttered, slouching back in her chair. Her boot nudged the leg of the table. “I say we kill them all. Slowly.”
Antonio rolled his eyes, his grin tightening. “That’s your answer to everything. There are more subtle ways than that.”
“You do subtle. I’ll do me.” The table shifted as Vespa kicked at it for real.
The Di Salvo’s jaw clenched, tilting up to reveal a scar that flowed toward his throat. “You’re so—”
“Vespa has reason to hate them.” Montrell cut in. His gaze shifted from Beatrice to Nera to Giovanni. “Bringing our wives to the meeting will show their colors.”
