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Montrell figured they’d had more than fifty years to change their views on women, but he settled on waiting for them to make the first aggressive move before he fought back.
“Let’s get this farce over with,” Lucchese said, moving to one of the chairs around the oblong table.
The business conversation went more amicably than the chitchat ahead of time had. Montrell found himself disappointed, though, especially because Beatrice remained quiet throughout.
Franco Rossi rested a fist on the table. “The fall of the Bratva and the Albanians mainly benefited the Di Salvos and the Coronellas. Now here you are, coming to us with words of peace, begging without even offering a gift.”
Beatrice placed her arms on the table as she leaned forward. “Oh, the Coronellas never beg.” She tilted her head, her painted lips a hard line. “I never expected anyone in La Cosa Nostra to expect handouts.” Her gaze shifted to Leandro Barone. “Especially you.”
She let the silence hang in the air as his dark gaze met hers. “The Coronellas are correct. We would take what we want.” Then she nodded, sliding back in her chair.
“There’s still plenty available to consolidate,” Antonio broke in. “The Di Salvos have no interest in some… aspects of the Bratva business. As long as the threat is gone, we all benefit.”
“The Coronellas also lack interest in specializing in anything beyond our current trade,” Beatrice said, giving the older Mafia dons a small nod.
From there, the agreement to cease fire among La Cosa Nostra was easy to obtain. The tension eased among the men, all except for Lucchese. He looked as if his tie was strangling him.
Montrell would be happy to make that happen.
“Oh, one thing I did want to ask for,” Beatrice said, her voice bringing silence to the others again. “If you see any Albanians around your territory, please send them to me. Dead or alive.” She gave a forced smile. “I’d consider it a gift. Just as Lucchese provided a gift to us the other day.”
Lucchese twitched as he straightened in his seat.
“Do you have anything to add, Father?” Beatrice asked. “If you’re not careful, these men will think the worst of that incident at the docks.”
Heat shimmered inside him. Montrell leaned toward his wife. “Bea?” He swallowed, but he knew it would be worth breaking the barely made truce to spill her father’s blood.
Beatrice patted his clenched hand. “It’s all right.” She turned to face him, and he searched her eyes. “Killing that Albanian myself really was a gift.”
Montrell slowly nodded. His eyes shifted back to study her father. He was determined to kill the man eventually.
Beatrice faced the group again. “It’s not enough that the Albanians have fallen. I want every last one to be wiped out.” She studied the men, satisfied with what she saw. “And, Father,” she murmured, her lips curving like a blade as he flinched, “I’m allowing this one surprise. Future gifts should always be announced. It would be difficult for us to be lenient again.”
Lucchese’s head jerked in a nod.
“I need to hear the words,” Beatrice pushed. “Or others will be spoken.”
Her father sucked in a breath, and his lips parted. “Understood, Coronella.”
Beatrice nodded in return.
The rest of the meeting was uneventful. Montrell led Beatrice to a corner afterward, his bulk easily hiding her face from the room. “Are you sure a threat is enough for you?” he asked, trying to make his voice quiet. “We could retaliate.”
“I’m sure.” She gave one of her softer smiles before moving into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his mouth. “I think I like being called by your name almost as much as being called your good girl.” She breathed the words against his beard, and Montrell reminded himself not to haul her against him. They still had an audience, and he wanted to give his good girl the whole world.
When Rossi approached them a few minutes later, wanting to discuss the newest, highly sought-after shipment, Montrell cut him off.
“You’ll need to set up time with Beatrice to discuss that.” He nodded at her as her head tilted up toward his. “She’s my new consigliere.”
Her eyes seemed to sparkle, taking away any concern he’d had that she would be mad they hadn’t discussed it first.
Montrell found himself leaning against the wall, watching Beatrice in her element as she spoke to everyone present but her father. She’d said all she needed to him.
Montrell’s eyes followed Lucchese. “Keep an eye on him,” he murmured to Vespa, who was still beside him.
“I thought you were calmer after your date yesterday.” Vespa frowned as she stared at Beatrice’s father. “You’re not calm at all, are you?”
Montrell considered the word. It didn’t fit, but he wasn’t feeling as out of control as he had the day before either. If he had to boil down how he felt to one emotion, it was one that surprised him. “I’m… happy,” he murmured, and the word felt right.
