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It was Montrell Beatrice looked at. “We kill him,” she said.
Montrell hoped the day would come sooner rather than later. He hadn’t been lying about wanting the man’s blood, even if it was a little hypocritical. He’d had his own hesitation over the decision to kill a parent.
Some might have thought that midday was a strange time for the Mafia to do business. In Montrell’s experience, daylight hid more dealings than the moon ever could. Especially at the port, where everything ran on shipping schedules.
As they made the exchange, Montrell gave Vespa a look. She didn’t like it, but she shifted slightly to place herself behind Beatrice instead. Beatrice stayed beside him as the exchange was completed. Montrell let his capo remain in charge. He’d been feeling antsy, but he didn’t need to take the lead.
Santino Lucchese wasn’t present, not that Montrell had really expected him to be. He had plenty of soldiers to handle drops like these.
It was when they were heading back toward the car that Montrell started feeling squirrelly, like fingers were pinching at his neck. He pushed Beatrice with his arm, moving her down a separate path, through plenty of stacked containers with varying degrees of rust.
“Vespa?” he murmured.
She separated from them with half the crew to circle around.
Beatrice’s hand slid inside her jacket, but she didn’t pull her gun. She remained quiet.
Montrell hadn’t seen anything, but he trusted his instincts. Something wasn’t right. He hesitated, motioning for the capo in charge to continue down the normal path. If he’d been alone, he would have taken that position because it was the most dangerous one—a point which Vespa often told him was stupid, but each man who worked for him was family.
Their lives were important too.
Besides, Montrell was a very visible target with his bulk, one that drew out the rats.
It didn’t surprise him when gunshots rang out, but it still infuriated him. He couldn’t see a goddamn thing hunkered among the containers.
Beatrice’s hand clasped his arm. “You can go to them.”
He shook his head. “Vespa will take care of it.” That was true enough. It was just too damn bad that he wanted to punch something.
Beatrice pulled her gun free. “I want blood. Especially if my father is behind this.” She stalked down the path Vespa had taken.
Montrell scrambled after her. “Don’t be reckless,” he warned her, but he fell into step beside his wife. He’d never hold Beatrice back. He’d only protect her. The choice made his nerves settle as they drew closer to the racket.
He and his men were focused on the path forward and behind. A creak of metal had his gaze lifting instead.
It wasn’t one of La Cosa Nostra like he’d been suspecting. The dark-haired Albanian looked furious as he pointed his gun down from atop the storage container.
Beatrice shot him first.
Montrell stepped in front of her, crowding her toward the container behind them as the first man fell. His gaze flicked as he pulled his own Glock. That it was the Albanians made his fists want flesh even more, but that wasn’t practical in a gunfight.
His shot added more resounding ricochet to the aisle they were in, a din his men added their own fire to. They didn’t give the cowards a chance to take advantage of the high ground. There weren’t that many of them, and the Albanians soon realized they were outnumbered and that their element of surprise had faded.
“I don’t like this position,” Montrell admitted, and Beatrice nodded as she shifted forward with him. She leaned against his back for purchase as she fired again, this time lower to the ground. “Idiots,” she muttered as another Albanian died. She pulled her clip. “I’m out.”
“Back pocket,” Montrell told her, keeping his own gun up.
Her hand got busy. “You put it there on purpose.”
Montrell was surprised into laughing. “I didn’t plan this.”
He heard the slap of the new clip being forced in. “Just hopeful then.”
“Well, maybe that.” They moved together for the rest of the path.
The shooting near the car had already stopped. Vespa looked more irritated than thankful that they had arrived. “Fucking Albanians,” she muttered, spitting on the nearest corpse. “This crew must have been recovering in Vegas for it to take them this long.”
There were too many places where more could be hiding. Besides, while business was fine during the day, the sounds of gunshots would draw unwanted attention.
