Page 161 of Bishop

She didn’t touch her wine despite Layla being the one to prepare it. She thinks I attempted to drug her again. That I’m still capable of using underhanded tactics to get my way.

She’s wrong.

Even though I’ll do whatever necessary to make sure she remains safe, I have no plans to be deceitful. I’ll tell her exactly what I’m going to do before marching out of here.

I kill the water and close my eyes, raising my face to the ceiling as droplets fall from my skin to the tile.

But I don’t want to piss her off again, despite my addiction to her venom.

I want her to trust me. To rely on me.

And that’s just a whole new fucked up problem.

I have no business wanting anything from her.

I scrub a hand down my face with a sigh and walk from the shower, taking my time to dry and dress because all that awaits me is a fucking minefield.

My cell vibrates with a text on the vanity beside my weapons. No doubt an update from my men about Geppet.

I already know he’s in his suburban home. All alone. With no visible security system.

He’s a sitting duck without so much as a lock on his power box to stop me from killing the electricity before I sneak in to pay him a visit.

But as I finish towel-drying my hair and reach to place the material on the rack, it’s Il vecchio that stares back at me from the cell screen.

Lorenzo.

I snatch the device and unlock the screen to read the message.

Il vecchio

There’s been a change of plan. You’re leaving tonight. A car is on the way to take you to the airport. Unless you plan on altering your decision about my ultimatum.

I clench the cell in my fist.

Fucking Abri.

She did this. She instigated something while I was in the goddamn fucking shower.

I snatch my fresh suit pants from the hanger clinging to the side of the shower, get dressed into my suit with far too much aggression flooding my veins, then yank open the bathroom door to go in search of the conniving witch.

But Abri and Layla aren’t in the living room when I storm in. There’s only Langston seated alone at the dining table.

“What has she done?” I bark.

He glances up from his phone with a sigh. “I assume you mean my sister.”

“Of course I mean your fucking sister.” I slam my cell on the table and slide it across to him. “Apparently a car is on the way to take me to the airport.”

His gaze rakes over the screen before he slides the device back to me. “What did you expect? You still don’t want to let her do this her way.”

She told him?

I plant my palms on the table, the image of my hands around Abri’s delicate throat fueling my anger. “I’m protecting her. Far better than anyone in her family.”

He peers back at me, exhaustion heavy in his features.

My focus should be on protecting him. Keeping him alive.

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