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“But you deserve one,” Beatrice said.
Liam O’Connell was wearing his own scowl. “My daughter isn’t well.”
Beatrice leaned forward on the cushion, and Montrell wanted to pull her away from his mother. Beatrice’s gaze was as hard as Maeve’s, though. “Oh, she is more than aware. Maeve knows exactly what she’s done. I imagine she was very deliberate in the way she beat a helpless child, tore him down, and broke his bones. Isn’t that right?”
Maeve’s posture straightened as she settled back against the settee she’d chosen. One of her legs crossed over the other, the material of her skirt swirling around her foot. “I don’t regret a thing. And I won’t apologize for it.”
Her words didn’t surprise Montrell. He’d known long ago she felt no remorse, but the way her unfocused gaze firmed into something sharper made him feel dizzy.
“There you are,” Beatrice murmured, holding that sharp gaze. “Who was that performance even for?”
“Oh, I enjoy the guilt from both of them.” Maeve’s laughter scraped at his insides. “I should have known you wouldn’t fall for it, all the things I’ve heard about you.”
“I’ve heard some things about the O’Connells as well,” Beatrice said, drawing the Irish boss’s eyes to her. “About how your father knew what was happening to his daughter but left her with her husband for over twenty years.”
“Horrible, isn’t it?” Maeve ran a hand over her hair to smooth it. “But at least mine didn’t send me back.”
Liam stepped closer. “Now, Maeve. I would never have—”
“Quiet!” Montrell’s mother snapped, raising a hand. “I’m talking to this lovely woman. Don’t balk because she called you out for your failure.”
Beatrice continued to study her. “That raises a question for me. I ran home within my first year. It seems you never did. Not until twenty years later. Is there a reason you didn’t leave sooner?”
“And lose my wonderful toy?” Maeve’s gaze locked onto Montrell. “He always loved me, you know. He would be at my feet, beautifully broken, still whispering his love, still wanting to save me.”
Montrell stared into her cruel eyes, and it felt as if he was seeing them for the first time. It made his mind swirl.
“You sick—” Vespa’s words choked as she staggered forward before dropping to the carpet.
Montrell felt even dizzier as his gaze slowly turned to his friend. “Vespa?” The room blurred around him.
“The drug works faster in alcohol, but my boy was never one to drink.” Maeve smiled at him as he looked back at her dazedly. “No, Montrell was always such a good boy. It’s my own fault that I got bored with him.”
He tried to swallow, his hand numb under Beatrice’s touch. Montrell leaned into her, not feeling that either. He tried to tell her to run. Her hand came up to his cheek, the touch so very precious.
Beatrice was the last thing he saw as the world went dark.
Beatrice had thought she was angry when Montrell first told her about his mother. Watching her now, she wanted nothing more than to kill the woman.
She wasn’t foolish enough to try in that moment. The Irish mobsters who had entered the room all held guns.
“Take our gifts down to the Italians,” Liam O’Connell said with a wave toward Montrell.
Beatrice wanted to throw her body over his. She’d likely be shot for the wasted effort.
“Italians?” she asked instead, wishing her racing mind would focus.
“Your bastard of a father.” Maeve smiled. Her gaze held something deadly as she stared at her own father. “He doesn’t seem to appreciate his daughter.”
“Now, Maeve,” O’Connell said, his placating tone one that set Beatrice’s teeth on edge. Given the added flicker in Montrell’s mother’s eyes, she guessed it did the same to her. “I do appreciate you.”
“Then leave us,” Maeve said. “I’d like to talk to my daughter-in-law.”
Liam hesitated. “This alliance is new. We need to provide them all that was promised.”
Beatrice focused on her breathing. She could no longer see Montrell despite his bulk slowing the men down from removing him from the room. Vespa had been much easier for them to carry out. The door snicked closed behind them, leaving only Liam and Maeve behind.
Beatrice understood well enough what promise they had made to her father. Montrell and Vespa didn’t know his secrets. Only Beatrice had that knowledge.
