Page 16 of Bad Bishop
My father huffed. “How much does she understand, really?”
A lot, Papa. More than you’d ever know. The only thing I can’t do is hear, and that is entirely not my fault.
“Set up a meeting,” my father concluded. “Tomorrow, at the latest. I want the entire Irish clan here.”
“No, no, no!” My mother fell to her knees again, pounding the carpeted floor with her fists. “I won’t let you take her. I won’t. You can’t do this to me. She’s all I have left.”
But there was no point.
I knew as well as she did, once my father made up his mind, there was no changing it.
My mother’s plan to keep me safe and unwed failed in spectacular fashion. Everything we’d worked for was in vain.
I was pregnant and getting married to Tiernan Callaghan.
And I had no say about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
TIERNAN
291 DAYS TO SELF-DESTRUCTION
There was only one thing I hated more than a Ferrante brother.
And that wastwoFerrante brothers interrupting me while I was splitting the G. The heavenly act of taking the first, large sip of a freshly poured Guinness.
I was sitting in Fermanagh’s, going over the books, when Enzo and Achilles showed up at my door.
I drew my weapon and aimed it at Achilles’s head. Let’s be honest, a bullet would only do his face good.
“That’s a weird way of saying hello.” Enzo flashed me a friendly smile.
“I don’t acknowledge lesser life-forms.”
“Ouch. That is so uncalled for.” Enzo almost pouted. “If it wasn’t for me stitching your ass, I’d be visiting a cemetery right now, not a lively pub.”
I forgot how chatty the Ferrantes were. Already, I wanted my fucking time back.
“What brings you down to my humble kingdom?” I asked.
“Maybe we just missed you.” Enzo tossed his knife in the air with a shrug, catching it by the hilt.
I cataloged the Italian jokester. A preppy black peacoat and black hoodie combo, slim fit chinos, and a three-hundred-buck haircut. He looked about as scary as a moldy piece of marshmallow.
“Have your fill, lover boy. You just entered my territory unannounced, and I have every reason to make lasagna out of your brain. Frisk them.” I jerked my chin toward the Camorristi men.
Three of my soldiers stood up, stomping over to the brothers and patting them down. They raised their arms sideways with a disgruntled look. I grabbed my phone and took a picture of the humiliating moment.
Astonishingly, they were both unarmed.
“What do you want?” I grumbled.
“Come with us, and we’ll tell you.” Enzo tilted his head to the Humvee parked outside.
“Tell me here. I don’t serve at the pleasure of your crown.”
“We have an offer for you.” Achilles’s tone suggested his offer was to drink cyanide straight from the source.
