Page 88 of King

My son wants to be a Bishop.

That’s something I never, in a million years, would have expected.

But it’s his choice, and I meant it when I said I would support him.

He might go down that road and veer off it. He might not. It’s not for me to know right now.

For now - I’ve got to find a way to get to the bottom of the threat against my family.

The bomb.

The cryptic messages.

The hints of betrayal.

My wife.

* * *

The day doesn’t get any better.

It starts off with breakfast, which is tense. Santino has joined us, and I feel the weight of what he’s told me sitting between us like a wall.He wants to be a Bishop.But again I remind myself it’s his choice.

I make small talk with my sons, my leg brushes against Zina’s beneath the table, Zina is quiet - breakfast ends, tensions are high.

By ten in the morning I have a headache. It’s sitting at the base of my skull, throbbing and threatening to turn into a migraine.

Tilting the glass back I take two gulps of water to wash the painkillers down my throat - just as my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s only ten and I already want to climb back into bed and wait for tomorrow to arrive. Not that tomorrow has any guarantee of being better than today. I’ll still have to face all of this shit and find a way to fix it. It’s not just going to go away.

Sighing, I pull my phone out.

And my heart sinks even deeper.

Unknown: We were disappointed about your wedding lacking an expositive element. Good job stopping the bomb. But don’t get too confident just yet, you can’t stop everything from reaching your castle, King of the Underworld.

For fuck sakes.

Then its war - and I need to prepare.

Whoever this is has no intention of backing down or giving up.

I march straight to the security room to talk to Fabio.

He reads the message and lets out a low growl of agitation.

“We need more men.” He sighs in frustration. “We’ll reinforce security around the perimeter. Nothing comes in or out of this estate without being scanned and searched. Cars. People. I don’t want a fucking bird flying overhead without registering on the system.”

“So, you understand. Good. You can go ahead with that. Keep my informed. Do whatever you need to do.”

“Yes, sir.” He grumbles. I’ve just made his day a lot more complicated and stressful.

My sons are all sitting in the living room, staring at me expectantly. Zina sits quietly in the single sofa, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. She’s the only one who looks calm while she waits to hear what this family meeting is about.

It bothers me that she’s so calm -as if she already knows.

But the only way she can know about the latest warning is if she was somehow involved with it.

My eyes pierce into her, trying to read her thoughts. Can I trust her?

---