Page 148 of Bad Bishop
I spotted Jeremie and Slava, each of them hulking at six three with corded muscles. They must’ve taken after Igor’s second wife, because their hair was black, not blond, and the blue in their eyes several shades darker than Lyosha’s.
“What the fuck is Alex doing on his feet?” Achilles raged behind a table, firing a round of ammo despite his broken arm.
“Fixing this shit,” Alex barked in English. “Cease fire. Now.”
Both sides put their weapons down. Luca and Achilles slid from behind the tables, foreheads creased in confusion.
“We’ve reached an agreement,” I announced.
“That’s not for you to determine.” Luca pulled out the magazine from his rifle, checking how many bullets he had left as he wiped his brow. “You dragged us into a war that’s already in motion. You’re done calling the shots.”
“We have no natural border with the Bratva,” I reasoned. “And they’re willing to give concessions. For one thing, we’re taking all the ammo we found here today, even though they one-upped and ambushed us.”
“That’s right.” Alex’s stare swung between the two Ferrante brothers in disdain. “Let’s all pretend what separates them from being great warriors is not enough bullets.”
The Camorra and Bratva were natural rivals. Their mutual hate spanned centuries down each bloodline.
“Dead people make great enemies. Live ones, not so much.” Achilles spat on the floor, his gaze never wavering from Alex. “He’s a loose end, Callaghan. I don’t like those.”
“We’ll set some ground rules regarding New York. It’s a better deal than offing these fuckers and waiting for someone to take over and avenge them,” I replied tersely, turning to Alex. “I trust your word.”
“Well, I don’t,” Achilles said. “I’m taking something—someone—as a guarantee.” He looked between Jeremie and Slava. His eyes settled on Jeremie. He was busted up and bleeding, but looked proud as hell. A good soldier. One you wanted on your side in a war. “This one. I always wanted a tank.”
“Te pokhozh na litso so shramom,” Jeremie said with a smile.
“The fuck did he say?” Achilles narrowed his eyes.
“He said it’d be his pleasure,” I translated.
Actually, what he said wasYou look like Scarface. But I’d had enough bloodbaths for one day.
“Take him, and do what with him, exactly?” Alex asked through a clenched jaw.
“Why, find him a nice Italian girl to marry. This is how alliances are made.” Achilles patted the side of his tactical black pants, fishing out a cigarette.
Alex gave him a flat stare. “An Italian girl won’t do.”
“And why the shit is that?”
“He’s prone to headaches and has a limit on his credit card.”
Every Bratva soldier in the room laughed.
Achilles grinned serenely. His smile promised pain.
“Sounds like a real pussy. Don’t worry. We’ll make a man out of him.”
My phone rang again. Jesus fuck, Fintan needed to familiarize himself with the concept of working hours. I pulled it out.
Only this time I saw a different name on the screen.
Lila.
My wife never called me for obvious reasons. She texted.
I slid a finger over the screen and then pressed the phone to my ear. Didn’t speak. The meaning of it slammed into me all at once.
If someone kidnapped her…
