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Some of Montrell’s tension left as her words of love replayed in his head.
“I’ll take Vespa with me if you’re concerned it’s a trap,” Beatrice said.
“I’m fucking going, all right,” Vespa snapped.
Montrell shook his head. “Vespa, you’re the last person who should be around my mother.”
Vespa’s grin showed teeth. “Because I’m willing to kill her.”
“That’s not a selling point. She’s my mother, Ves. Not much of one, but I don’t want her dead.”
“Which is why I never killed her over the years,” Giulia said. She wiped her hands on a towel as she frowned. “It might have been better for you if I had.”
“I’m who I am because of you, Giulia.” Montrell smiled at her. “Would you really change any of that? I wouldn’t.” He met Beatrice’s gaze. “Not when it led us here.”
“Damn sap,” Vespa muttered. Her cheekbones looked more pronounced as she stared at her feet. “There are a few things I would change.”
Montrell’s gut churned. “I’ve never run from my mother. I’m going to meet with her. I know you understand, Vespa.”
Vespa cursed under her breath.
Beatrice hesitated, then nodded. She slipped past a still-seething Vespa and didn’t stop until she put her arms around him, holding him tight. “I’d like to go with you.”
Montrell wanted to lift her off her feet and squeeze her tight. Instead he was gentle as he returned the hug. “I want you there. I want to introduce my wife to my mother.” He grimaced over her head. “Though keep your expectations low.”
Vespa stomped forward. “I’m going.” When Montrell opened his mouth, she gripped her bun again. “It’s not up for debate.”
Montrell nodded at the friend who had seen him at all of his worst moments. His mother hated her, but Vespa would always have his back. So he agreed, despite the nerves that were dancing up his spine.
Chapter 26
Montrell already regretted letting both of the women he cared about come with him. He watched Beatrice blink as the car pulled to a stop in front of one of the city’s condominium high-rises. The Irish side of his family preferred something with height over an estate with gates. Men with buttoned-down suits and hard eyes posed as security, and they were everywhere.
Montrell second-guessed his lack of men. Just like he was second-guessing everything. Knowing his mother was close filled him with staggering doubts, like always.
If they needed all the Coronella boys to mount a rescue, they were screwed already.
“A penthouse condo?” Beatrice asked, looking up.
Montrell gave her hand a squeeze. “Be prepared. The security is tight. That was one reason my father never tried to retrieve my mother when she ran here.” He slid out of the car first.
Vespa balked near the elevator as they were asked for their weapons. “There’re more of you than there are of us. Where’s the trust?” she pushed back.
“We’re here for business,” Montrell said, but he didn’t smile as he handed over his gun.
Beatrice handed over hers without a fuss as well.
Vespa took a little longer to disarm. She admitted to four weapons, but when they patted her down, the Irish found two more guns and two knives. They were a little rougher when they patted her down once again, finding nothing this time and motioning toward the elevator that led directly to the penthouse condo.
Montrell’s lips twitched. “Six guns, Vespa?”
“I like to be prepared,” she said with a scowl at the mirrored walls of the elevator.
Beatrice’s shoulders pulled tight as they rose to the top floor. Montrell moved a step closer to her, his arm warm where it connected with hers. He’d meant for his close presence to soothe her, but she remained stiff.
Montrell knew better than to expect his mother to be waiting with open arms, but being greeted with guns in their faces still set his own nerves on edge. He stepped in front of his group, catching how Vespa’s hands clenched in the mirror at the gesture.
“I thought you were expecting us,” he said to the old man who stood just behind the welcoming party, keeping his tone mild.
