Page 20 of Bad Bishop
“I suggest you keep your opinions about my sister to yourself,” I warned Vello. “It’d be incredibly rude of me to kill a man in his own office.”
“Oh, let him vent.” Tierney rolled her eyes, examining her dark nail polish with a pout. “The only time I’m interested in what a man has to say is when my personal shopper calls to tell me the new Balmain collection just dropped.”
“So.” Vello returned his attention to me. “Back to our negotiation.”
“Fuck your negotiation.” Fintan pointed a shaky finger at Vello. “She’s damaged goods. Why should my brother receive someone else’s scraps when he can marry a Mafia princess like Francesca Rossi?”
“Did you just compare your brother to the sittingpresident?” Achilles tilted his head, his dark eyes dancing with wicked amusement. “My fucking God, I knew you were an alcoholic, but I didn’t know you were a tweaker, too.”
“Damaged goods, huh?” Luca ran his tongue over his teeth.
“You heard it right.” Fintan’s flat tone held no hesitation. “My brother deserves a debutante, not a teenager with a bastard in her womb. He’s the rising king of the underworld.”
Luca shook his head, jerking his chin toward Fintan. Enzo nodded, waltzing over to my brother, grabbing him by the collar, and dragging him down to the basement of terror.
I was pleased Fintan was going to get a rib or two cracked. It’d keep him away from the gambling rooms for a while.
“Why me?” I asked Vello.
“You have a last name and are above killing women.”
“Glowing endorsement, but I killed three.”
Chiara gasped. I never said they didn’t deserve it. Sue me for being an equal opportunity feminist.
“You’re single, powerful, and discreet.” Vello ignored my confession. “And we’d rather fight with you, not against you.”
Prying the truth out of a Ferrante was like milking a cockroach.
“Why isn’t she getting an abortion?” I asked. “Seems easier than pawning her off.”
“Surely, as a fellow Catholic, you understand why.” Vello scowled.
“As a man who has committed every sin in the Bible and invented new ones in the process, I don’t consider myself a son of God.” I reached to grab one of his cigars, running it under my nose. “Truth be told, we’re not even second cousins. Besides, she’s a fucking fetus.”
“She turned eighteen two months ago.”
“Tiernan will take good care of Lila,” Da said earnestly. I didn’t know where he got this idea from. I wouldn’t trust myself with a bleeding houseplant. Not even a succulent, and those apparently didn’t need much water. “He won’t harm her. And this’ll squash all territorial and trust issues between the Irish and the Camorra.”
“Doesn’t she have severe intellectual disabilities?” I asked. “I’m not here to wipe someone’s ass, no matter how beneficial to me.”
“The fuck is wrong with you?” Achilles bared his teeth. “Don’t use that derogatory language.”
I couldn’t help but toss my head back and laugh. Achilles being inclusive was the height of comedy. I’d seen this man rip a person’s asshole with construction tools as a form of interrogation.
My best-kept secret was that I was not, in fact, a bigot. But in my line of work, not being an ignorant bag of shit was hardly a flex. I had a reputation to uphold. I was the man God didn’t want in hell from fear he’d corrupt its residents.
“Lila is self-sufficient.” Chiara straightened her spine, her urge to defend her daughter overriding her disdain for me. She had dark circles under her eyes. “She doesn’t require any assistance to fulfill basic tasks such as eating a meal and tidying after herself, as well as using the bathroom and showering independently. Besides, she’ll be with me all day, every day. She has activities to attend to. Occupational therapy. Swimming. Horseback riding. She’ll barely be at your…” She twisted her upturned nose in revulsion. “Place.”
“I’m not marrying her,” I drawled, so we could start bargaining. I would marry a fucking crack pipe if it brought me closer to my end goal. I had no scruples to speak of. But I wasn’t doing it for free.
“Rethink your answer, Callaghan,” Luca demanded. “You owe me. Filippo, remember?”
“Kill one of my soldiers to even the score.” I kicked my feet onto Vello’s desk, tossing the unlit cigar back to the floor. “I’m not giving your sister my ring and my name to get in your good books.”
“Look at her.” Vello gestured to the helpless creature on the couch. “Would it be so terrible to claim this fine woman as your own?”
“Vello,” Chiara warned. “You’re taking advantage of her mental disabilities.”
