Page 31 of Bad Bishop
“If I find out you touched her, I am going to snap your windpipe like a wishbone,” Luca said in a conversational tone.
“Your sister tried to kill me three times before breakfast,” I notified the worried brothers.
Achilles and Luca exchanged perplexed looks, both raising their brows.
“She doesn’t like it when you change her routine,” Enzo explained. “Think about it, man. She can’t control shit. Predictability is the only power she has.”
“And surely, you weren’t shocked by this turn of events.” Luca’s canine smirk made me want to bash those white teeth down his throat. “You bring out the violent murderer in people, Tiernan. Like Enzo plays with knives, and Achilles performs autopsies on his victims for shits and giggles. That’s yourthing.”
“What’s your thing?” I marveled. “Moping around like a teenage girl who’s just been dumped?”
“Cleaning up after everyone’s mess.” He paused, giving it some thought. “Always doing the right thing.”
“Morality is mediocrity’s dry-cunted sister.”
I burst through the French doors of Vello’s office, tossing the sullied sheets on his desk. He was in the midst of what looked like a dialysis treatment, two uniformed nurses fussing over him behind his desk.
He examined the bloodstained sheets with furrowed white brows. “Did everyone else see it?”
I nodded, helping myself to a drink at his liquor cart, making myself right at home.
“Drinking at eight thirty in the morning has a name,” Enzo pointed out behind my back.
“Yes. It’s called fun.” I poured three fingers of whiskey from the decanter, slinging the amber liquid down my throat.
“I don’t remember offering you a drink, son,” Vello said.
“I don’t remember asking.”
“Good. Now that unpleasantries were exchanged, let’s talk shop.” Luca lit the cigarette dangling from his mouth. The three brothers took their seats around Vello’s desk, which left no room for me. Just as well, as I didn’t plan to stay long.
“What’s your strategy?” Vello asked me.
“We wait for the perfect timing.” I swung my gaze between them, pouring myself another drink. “Then, we ambush them when they least expect it.”
“Ambush them? In their own territory?” Enzo’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a war declaration.”
“Wars have the tendency to end you if you don’t end them first,” I said curtly. “If we wait around twiddling our thumbs for the Russians to strike, we’ll lose. Better to throw our big dicks on the table and get it over with.”
“You can’t just barge in and go on a rampage,” Vello coughed out. A dying horse on his way to the glue factory. No wonder the Ferrantes hid him from plain sight.
“What a preposterous thing to say. Of course I can,” I countered. “You’ve been playing too much chess, Vello. Once you start moving knights and bishops, sacrificing pawns, you alert your enemy he is on a battlefield. Better to let him find out when there’s a sword wedged between his ribs.”
“Fine. Let’s say we ambush them,” Achilles said. “Then what?”
“We leave a void in the West Coast.” Luca took a drag of his cigarette, smoke skulking out of his nostrils. “Vegas, LA, San Francisco, Bakersfield, and the border.”
“We’ll divide them between us and take over.” I prowled over to them, plucking a U.S. map from my back pocket and splaying it on Vello’s table. “Appoint our own people, open our own charters. The Russians run a basic operation. Weapons. Human trafficking. Cartel. Igor never struck alliances with American governmental bodies. Mayors, senators, feds. Waltzing in and taking over will be a piece of cake.”
“And if his soldiers come for us in retaliation?” Enzo arched his brow.
I shrugged. “We kill their families and make them watch. Once we go through the first and second ranks, the rest will slink away.”
Vello rubbed his chin, tugging at the dialysis cords hooked to his arm. “And when do you suggest we strike?”
“A few months, when the dust settles.” Now that Igor was dead, the Bratva was in disarray. “His son Alex is a capable man, but he’s in Russia now, tangled up in cleaning up the mess his father left behind.”
“When’s he coming back?” Luca asked.
