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His mother had always had the ability to do that without even a word.
He stepped into the kitchen. Watching Giulia cook would help to steady him.
“Maeve.” Montrell had expected Giulia’s head to lift at his mother’s name. “It’s been quite a while.”
“Not so long that you get to call me that.” He could practically hear her pouting through the phone. “I’m still your mother, Monty.”
His first instinct was to apologize. Nearly five years ago, with her shrill voice screaming at him to die, he’d told himself he would start using her given name instead of ‘Mother.’ After what he’d seen as rejection from the Luccheses, he’d broken under the continued rejection from his mother. He’d been done dealing with it and had stopped visiting or calling.
From the reports he received on her, he’d assumed she’d been relieved. She’d been acting almost content since she’d returned to the Irish. Well, as content as Maeve could ever be.
The silence through the receiver continued to draw out. “Did you call for a reason?” he asked.
“A business thing, or so my father says.” She sounded irritated.
Montrell’s grandfather was still the patriarch of the family. He’d heard rumors about the old man retiring, but it would never happen. Liam O’Connell liked power. Montrell had never fooled himself into thinking that his grandfather had been unaware of his daughter’s circumstances.
He was a hypocrite for wanting to kill Beatrice’s father for the same thing, but there was one slight difference. When his mother had run home, she’d been protected, not sent back.
Maeve’s family had never had much use for him. He didn’t trust the sudden interest. “I thought the Irish liked to remain separate. Why reach out?”
“Oh, you know I don’t bother with those silly business games.” Maeve sounded sick of the conversation already. “I wouldn’t be calling at all if Father didn’t ask me to.”
Montrell had thought he’d hardened himself against her disinterest, but the sound of her voice returned him to being the little boy who craved his mother’s attention, even if her attentions were a slap or a punch more often than not. Giulia’s concerned gaze helped him to breathe through it. “Just get it said.”
She clicked her tongue. He’d almost forgotten that sound. “Father wants you to meet with him.”
“He’s welcome at the Coronella estate.” Montrell cleared his throat. “You both are. I—”
“I can’t leave, Monty.” Her flat voice made him flinch. “It’s not safe. You’ll come here. Today.”
He should have refused her. He agreed instead, hanging up the phone.
“Why would Maeve contact you?” Giulia asked.
Montrell ran a hand over the back of his neck. “I was expecting it. The O’Connells want to do business with the Di Salvos.” He stared at the back door. “I should sneak away now. Before—”
“Absolutely not!” Vespa growled from behind him.
Montrell turned to find her arms folded and her expression livid. He’d expected it. His best friend didn’t just know of his past; she’d lived it with him. His mother had hated the strength she saw in Vespa and had tried to break it more than once.
“Ves—” he began.
“Your fucking mother. No wonder ants were crawling all over my skin.” She buffed her arms. “No way. No fucking way you go to see her without me watching your back.”
Beatrice had approached the kitchen as well. She looked calm as her gaze flicked from Vespa to him. “The O’Connells finally called?” Trust Bea to remember any scrap of business that had been discussed. “Do you know what they want yet?”
“My mother wouldn’t say over the phone.”
“Then don’t go,” Vespa muttered. “That bitch can rot.”
Montrell expected the harsh words, but they made the little boy lurking inside him, needing to protect his mother, that much harder to ignore.
“I agree with Vespa,” Beatrice said.
“You don’t—” But Vespa interrupted herself as she processed Beatrice’s words. She turned in the doorway, her arms dropping. “Wait, you’re taking my side?”
“This is supposed to be business. Let me go as consigliere.” Beatrice was acting logical, but the shadows in her eyes and her fingers rubbing the sides of her dress gave her away. She was worried. For him.
