Page 215 of Bishop

I measure my breathing, my teeth clenched. Interrogations have always been my forte. What I excel at.

Today is different.

I feel like a fucking novice, my calm nowhere to be found.

My cell vibrates in my suit jacket, and I use the excuse to look away from the bitch, biding my time to slowly take it out and read the message from Lorenzo.

Il vecchio

She’s baiting you. Don’t fall for it. I will not condone more family bloodshed.

I shoot a glower to the surveillance camera in the corner to my left and return my phone to my pocket.

“You seem tense.” Adena places her knitting needles in her lap, the attached wool piled beneath it. “Don’t tell me you’re still under my daughter’s spell.” She clucks her tongue. “It was obvious you’d fallen for her when you fought so hard at that girl’s house.”

“That little girl is your granddaughter.”

“No,” she says sweetly. “That illegitimate child is no kin of mine. She was a decent money pot though. Her father never ceased to give in to our increasing financial demands. But I suppose he had no choice when all we had to do was wave a picture of the kid in his face and threaten to show his wife. We didn’t even have to tell him about the explicit video we had of him with Abri.” Her smile fades. “I’m afraid that was a wasted opportunity. But you could hold it over him if you like. The things he did to my daughter were quite—”

“That’s enough,” I snarl through the jealousy. Through the disgust and anger and need to carve the flesh from Adena’s bones.

She sits straighter, her enjoyment beaming back at me as she sighs. “Dear boy. How could such an intelligent man fall victim to the manipulations of a tramp? I would’ve thought you smarter than that.”

My pulse throbs in my temples. My throat. My chest. “What’s the code for the house safe, Adena?”

She chuckles. “Was it her eyes? Men always get ensnared by those lying baby blues.” She cocks her head to the side, scrutinizing me. “Or maybe you thought you were different. That she actually had feelings for you and you weren’t just another mark to get what she needed. Because with no money, no contacts, and no idea where her daughter was, she would’ve needed a lot.”

“The code, Adena.” I picture myself grabbing those knitting needles and stabbing them through her neck. The shock would be enough to knock her senseless. That I’d dare hurt Lorenzo’s own sister. Her fear would be more delightful than her screams of pain, the acknowledgement of her precarious situation a deliciously heady thrill.

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her. If the fear of STDs weren’t enough, you must realize you’re probably going to father her next child. Without family funds she needs to get her money from somewhere.”

My nostrils flare because, yes, the thought had crossed my mind. Not the STDs. But the offspring that could eventuate after what I did to Abri in that fucking dilapidated kitchen.

I’d been so goddamn mindless for her I hadn’t spared a thought to protection.

“Oh, Bishop. You pathetic fool.”

“That’s enough.” I inch closer, towering above her. “I’ll ask one more time, Adena—what’s the code to the family safe?”

She clutches the knitting needles like a weapon. “You know my daughter would fuck anything if it meant—”

I lunge, wrapping my fingers around her throat, dragging her backward off the stool to the cot.

She gasps, jabbing those knitting needles into my ribs, my stomach, my chest. The punctures don’t penetrate, the material of my suit too thick as my cell vibrates in my pocket with what I’m certain is another warning from Lorenzo.

“How long do you think it will take your brother to hobble down here to save you?” I sneer in her face. “To descend those stairs with his cane. To get through that fucking door.”

She drops the needles and grabs at my wrists, her face turning red as she scratches and claws.

“Did you know your daughter suffered like this the night of the gala?” I squeeze her throat tighter. “Her beautiful skin left bruised and sore by a man your husband knew would take advantage.”

My cell vibrates again, and again, and again, each jolt a warning I’m meant to adhere to.

This isn’t bloodshed, old man.

“You deserve death, Adena.”

Her hands lose the viciousness. Her eyes roll.

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