Page 166 of Bad Bishop
“Then, yes. I can confirm his alibi. He was with me the entire night.”
I killed the call. Set my phone down.
Enzo wiped a hand over his mouth. “Fuck me, but’o chiattillois telling the truth. Which means…”
Which meant we were back to square one.
Only without any promising leads.
Angelo wasn’t the rapist.
I couldn’t let this go. Not because of my pride, or even Lila’s. But because whoever it was, he was coming after her and our baby. My only consolation was that, now that the issue with the Bratva was solved, I could throw myself into finding this bastard.
I was going to kill this cunt if I had to personally assassinate every single person on that guest list.
“Untie the motherfucker,” I told Enzo, turning my back on Angelo and going up the stairs.
Back to the drawing board we go.
_______
After I tucked Lila into bed and informed her that Angelo wasn’t the attacker, I met Tierney and Fintan downstairs for a pint.
“We were going at it like rabbits in Achilles’s room.” Tierney played with the stem of her chilled white wine, sitting cross-legged across from me. “He is surprisingly agile and feral, you know, for a pretty boy.”
“Christ. Like I didn’t need intense therapy as it is,” I mumbled into my Guinness.
“Is it still going on between you two?” Fintan asked her.
“No. He broke it off when he realized how serious Achilles is about protecting my nonexistent virtue.” She pouted. “Speaking of, I do hope Achilles was there when Angelo spilled the beans.”
“He was,” I confirmed, letting her bask in his misery. “And he lost his ever-loving shit.”
“Really, now?” Her eyes sparkled excitedly.
I nodded. “Enzo and I almost tore his arms off trying to unpeel him from the poor bastard.”
“He’s got it hard for you, sis.” Fintan lifted his pint in a cheers motion.
“I know.” Tierney swirled her wine, a faraway look on her face. Her bruises were meticulously covered in makeup. “I cannot wait to destroy his life.”
“He took two of Angelo’s fingers,” I goaded.
She winced, before remembering she was a cold bitch who wasn’t supposed to care.
“Shame.” She slouched against the vinyl bench. “He has talented fingers. I shall always remember them fondly.”
“Oi.” I tossed a crisp at her. She caught it in her mouth and wiggled her brows, chewing.
“Add that to your list of things to talk about with your nonexistent therapist.” She laughed.
We fell silent, each of the siblings sipping their respective drink.
I was running several options of who the attacker might be in my head.
“How’s Da doing?” Tierney broke the quiet.
“Grand, yeah.” Fintan stroked his chin. “His depression seems to be under control. The new meds are working wonders.”
