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Beatrice eyed the two of them as Montrell’s hand came up to rub her good shoulder.
“You ready to finish this?” He’d already asked her before they came, multiple times, if she wanted him to be the one to end things. He hadn’t seemed surprised when she’d refused.
Beatrice nodded, straightening away from his chest.
They found Santino Lucchese alone in the sitting room, right where Luka had confirmed he’d be.
Beatrice’s father poured another glass of whiskey, his hand steady. “I always knew it would end like this.” He replaced the crystal stopper. “From the first moment I held you.”
“It didn’t have to.” Beatrice didn’t move any closer to the man. She didn’t trust him. “I actively avoided it, actually, Daddy.” She shook her head. “Was giving the Coronellas what you promised all along really so hard on you that you had to fight it?”
Santino tossed back his whiskey, turning to face her. “It wasn’t that. It was you.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at her. “First the Albanians and then the Irish were supposed to kill you. Them, or my men would have, during the exchange.”
Beatrice lifted her gun. “Because of what I held over you? Or did you want me dead all along? Is that why you sent me back to the Albanians when I needed my father to protect me?”
He shook his head. “Your mother ran from me once.”
The last of her pity for her father died. “You told me you loved her.” She had never known her mother, but she’d always imagined she had loved her father in return. If he’d hurt her enough to make her run, that wasn’t love.
“I did,” he said. “But I’d gotten angry and scared her, and she ran to her father. I was grateful to the man for giving me the chance to fix things.”
“The Albanian continued to break me in front of you when he came. Did you really believe he wanted to fix things?” She shook her head. “No, you were just scared of what he knew. You’re scared even now. You’re a pathetic worm of a man, and I’m lucky to have realized that before I killed you.” Her hand tightened on her gun. “After this, I’ll never think of you again.”
“This life always ends in death, but every moment since you took my wife from me, I’ve lived with the pain of that.” He swung his own gun up, pointing it at Montrell. “I want you to do the same.”
Beatrice shot him, but her sudden panic made her bullet enter his stomach, not his chest, and he was able to squeeze the trigger.
Vespa jumped in front of Montrell. Antonio cursed her and lunged as well. The three of them landed in an awkward pile as Beatrice continued to shoot, emptying her gun into her father even as everything in her screamed with the need to make sure Montrell was alive.
It was Antonio who was groaning as Vespa shoved him off.
“I took a bullet for you. Stop pushing at me.”
“You’re an idiot. I had that.” Vespa slid her gun to Beatrice. “Add one to his head while I stop this one’s whining.”
Antonio laughed, the force of it making him wheeze as his face scrunched with pain. “Should have known you wouldn’t be gentle.” He held his hand over the wound in his arm. They continued to argue, but Beatrice couldn’t focus on them.
Her eyes found Montrell, who stared back at her. He nodded, and she let the panic inside her dissipate. He was fine. She repeated that truth to herself one more time.
Then she picked up Vespa’s gun, approached her father’s body, and shot him in the head to make certain he’d never try to take what was hers again.
Chapter 29
Giulia directed two of the Coronella boys to shift the dresser another few inches. “There!” she said finally. “You all can go now.”
Beatrice thanked them as they turned to leave, and they nodded with grins as they passed.
They almost ran into Montrell, who took up all the space in the bedroom doorway. “What’s all this?” he asked.
Beatrice tried a one-shouldered shrug. “Me doing what I want, like you said.”
Giulia patted her cheek as she headed toward where Montrell stood, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll see you all at the restaurant later.” She slipped past without another backward glance.
She’d talked to Beatrice about Montrell’s mother. Like Vespa, she hadn’t thought the woman’s death much of a loss. She’d told her about some of the incidents Montrell didn’t remember from when he was young. Beatrice thanked Giulia for keeping him alive.
She couldn’t picture life without him.
Montrell moved toward her, careful as he pulled her against his chest. “You moved your stuff in?”
